


Commentarius

by BeeDaily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, Humor, Romance, pre-OotP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-09-10
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 701,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeDaily/pseuds/BeeDaily
Summary: The always ordinary Lily Evans enters her 7th-Year with a whole slew of unordinary changes. And with everything changing, Lily fears she may be going a bit mad. Suddenly, she’s Head Girl, her friends are acting strangely, and there’s a new James Potter she just can't seem to get rid of. [Pre-OotP]





	1. August 29th: Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Open Doors has officially moved Commentarius over from UR (sobs). It's going to take me a bit to reformat all these chapters correctly, so bear with me. Glad that Commentarius has found another home, though. =)
> 
> **Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist:** this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017.

 

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“As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way.”

-Jack Handey  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

**Friday, August 29th, the Evans’s Household**

He's mad.

In fact, they're _all_ mad. Every single one of those so-called "professors” are ABSOLUTELY NUTS.

Who in their RIGHT MIND would make _me_ of all people, HEAD GIRL?

I mean, I seriously have to be the most ordinary, boring, and disorganized female to ever grace this _planet_. And Head Girls, they're just not like that. Boring, disorganized and ordinary, I mean. And this isn't even one of those times where I can say they picked me because I'm special, seeing that I'm a witch, because NEWSFLASH! EVERYONE AT THAT BLOODY SCHOOL IS MAGICAL! PLENTY OF DESERVING 7TH-YEAR WITCHES TO CHOOSE FROM! (all of which whom, by the way, HAVE lives, unlike me)

That's right. I, Lily Christine Evans, am in desperate need of a life. Seriously. I even LOOK boring and ordinary. I mean, normally redheads such as myself stick out like sore-thumbs. All the other redheads I've ever known are either:

A. Supermodels

Or

B. Extremely successful businesswomen, who SHOULD be supermodels.

But then of course, there's me. All alone in Group C– the completely boring redhead, whose hair has a mind of its own and should just do everyone a favour and dye it blonde like everyone else and fade into the crowds. Or else just place a large brown paper bag fully over her head until so-called "hair" turns gray.

However, hair isn't my only problem. Nope. I'm also stuck being a measly 5'7, which means I'm not short, and I'm not tall. I'm stuck right smack dab in the middle of _that_ genetic mess. And even though my doctor insists that 5'7 is a perfectly decent height, she just doesn't get it. She doesn't understand that my 5'7 height just chalks another one up on the Ordinary Board of Life. So what if I'd be too skinny if I were any taller or possibly bordering on obesity if I were any shorter? At least then I'd have some sort of distinct characteristic. I'd be able to say 'Hey, I'm Lily, tall and far skinnier than what is considered healthy,' or 'Hi, I'm Lily, short and bordering on possible obesity.' Either of those would be better than what I'm forced to say now, which is pretty much just, 'Hi, I'm Lily, not anything special and/or unique. I'm just ordinary.'

See what I mean? It's complete and utter rubbish.

And, okay, forgetting the fact that my looks are less than perfect, those professors are _still_ mad. Because you know what? Academically, I'm not that brilliant either. I mean, I absolutely cannot do Transfiguration. I'm serious. I'm about three points away from _failing_ that stupid class. How can you pick a Head Girl who is practically failing a main class? It just doesn't make any _sense_. Even if it's honestly not my fault that I'm failing. Professor McGonagall is just too fast for me. Slow learners, such as myself, need slow teachers. McGonagall is just not a slow teacher. We can't all be super-smart Transfigurers like my good friend, Emma Vance, or James Potter, the transfiguring twit. That's just life. Some people are going to have it, and others aren't. McGonagall should try to understand this and not fail me when I can't do anything, because really, it's not my fault I don't have it. It's my parents' for not giving me the 'it' gene.

Oh, and let's not forget that I'm also a complete social outcast. I go around unleashing my completely uncontrollable temper onto all of Hogwarts biggest social butterflies, completely unaware of the consequences. This of course, does not go over well with these so-called "victims" and causes me to fall even lower on the social ladder (HA! As if I could get any lower!).

So now I ask you, after revealing only a _few_ of my _many_ faults:

WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME WERE THEY THINKING?? HAVE THEY ALL COMPLETELY LOST THEIR MINDS? I CANNOT TAKE THIS PRESSURE!!!!

Please excuse me while I go _drown myself in a puddle!_

**_________________________________________**

**Saturday, August 30th, packing in the Evans's Household**

THINGS TO DO:

1\. Find missing Head Girl badge. See? I can't even keep my BADGE, let alone do my _job._ PRESSURE!!!! 2. Re-collect all of the clothes I borrowed from Grace and Emma. I'm sure they'll be wanting them back. 3. FORCE Winnie into her cage. Stupid owl. 4. Ask Mum about train station transportation. Please, please, please, not Petunia! 5. Keep searching for puddle.

**_________________________________________**

**Later, the Evans's Household**

DAMN IT!

Every year! EVERY BLOODY YEAR!

How can my mother possibly not comprehend the IMMENSE DISLIKE my sister and I share for one another? Does she not understand that the reason we do not SPEAK to one another on an every day basis, is not because we're too busy, but because it's difficult to be in the same ROOM together for extended periods of time?

My mum is completely mad. She must be. It's the only logical explanation. I mean, I haven't gotten along with my horse-faced felony of a sister since I got my Hogwarts letter seven years ago! You'd think my mother would've picked up on the mutual dislike going on, but she hasn't.

Bugger. This is just not _fair_. Petunia completely DETESTS driving me anyway! WHY is my life so rotten?

Mum obviously still thinks there is hope for us. Petunia and me, I mean. That’s why she keeps throwing us together like this. I mean, we _did_ get along when we were younger– before we found out I was a witch, that is. Then it all changed. Petunia was never one for change. Everything needed to be perfect and neat, for her; the complete picture of normalcy. I didn't mind so much her need for perfection when I was younger. After all, Petunia was my big sister– pretty and perfect in every way. Anything she did, I wanted to do. Anything she was, I wanted to be as well. Everywhere she went, you bet your buttons I was right there trailing behind her. She was, to put it lightly, my idol.

Boy, was I a stupid kid.

I remember when I got my Hogwarts letter, I thought it was completely brilliant. I thought that being a witch was the most extraordinary thing to ever happen to me. My sister, on the other hand, thought it was strange and abnormal. She basically thought I was some sort of freak (which I am, but that’s not because I'm a witch). She talked to me a total of six times that summer, and all of her comments were short, curt, and absolutely necessary (“Don't touch that, Lily!" "Put that stick away! My mates will see it!" "Hide that owl and keep it quiet! What on _earth_ will the neighbors think?"). The summer after my first year was worse. Instead of ignoring me like she had the previous summer, Petunia switched to a new tactic. Insults.

So from then on, I just gave up on repairing our relationship. I learned to ignore Petunia’s stupid remarks and just went on with my life sisterless.

This is why I don't understand my Mum's line of thinking. I've accepted my sisterless life, why can't she?

I need therapy.

In fact, my whole _family_ needs therapy.

Pah.

Two more days! PRESSURE!

 **Note to Self:** FIND BADGE!

**_________________________________________**

**Sunday, August 31st, the Evans's Household**

One more day until I leave for Hogwarts. I'm excited, regardless of the fact that I am now a wrongly chosen Head Girl and I haven’t practiced my Transfiguration as much as I promised McGonagall I would...

I am excited, though. Sort of. Kind of. It's just that... I mean, don't get me wrong, Hogwarts is brilliant– I wouldn't trade it for anything– but... even the juiciest apples have worms. And now with all this pressure and everything... I just don't know.

I really should stop complaining. No matter how many worms Hogwarts's apple has, it'll always have that star in the middle. It'll always have my mates.

Grace Reynolds, Emmeline Vance and I have been best mates since our first year of Hogwarts. That first September 1st, I was a little scared, to say the least. I remember wandering aimlessly around Kings Cross Station, looking for Platform 9 ¾, all the while praying that this whole magical dream world I'd somehow been accepted into was actually reality. This was one of the only situations I can ever remember where my parents were about as helpful as wooden logs. They walked along side me, scratching their heads and looking around, trying to help, but failing miserably. You see, I’m Muggle-born and had no idea what the wizarding world was like. I was jumping head first into a new world with nothing but my own smarts and minimal knowledge of the wizarding world to get me through.

I first met Grace when I was standing stupidly in front of the barrier (I was eleven years old! Eleven-year-old Muggles don't think about walking through walls!), nearly in tears as the panicking worry that I would somehow miss the train, or worse, come to realise that this whole thing was just someone’s idea of a cruel joke.

“Are you going to Hogwarts, as well?”

I spun around, my heart crashing into my chest at the word ‘Hogwarts’ coming from someone else's mouth. I wasn’t mad! It was real! I was so excited that I forgot to answer, as the small brunette in plaits who'd asked me the question inquired again, “Well, are you?”

I nodded immediately, a large, ridiculous grin spreading across my face. “Yes!” I breathed out quickly, relief spreading like wildfire through my veins.

The girl accepted this with a nod. “I’m Grace Reynolds.” She held out her hand to me.

I pumped it excitedly. My first magical mate! “I’m Lily,” I told her. “Lily Evans.”

Grace smiled, her blue eyes shining. “Are you going on the platform?” she asked me. “My mum says it’s a bit early, but we still have to load our trunks and such.”

I went to nod, but then stopped myself as I once again remembered my fifteen-minute search of that very same platform. “Er, I was _going_ to, but…” I looked around once more, seeing if the platform had suddenly popped up as a result of my new friend. “Where _is_ it, exactly?”

Grace’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean ‘where is it’? It’s right there!”

She pointed to the wall.

I looked around it. I looked above it. I even looked to see if there was some secret staircase going below it. There was nothing. Just a wall.

I tried not to laugh as I turned back to Grace. “Er…what?”

Grace once again shot me a curious look, the confusion evident on her face until it finally hit her. “ _Oh!”_ she said, slapping herself in the forehead. “You’re _Muggle-born_ , aren’t you?”

I stared blankly at her. “I’m what?”

Grace smiled. “Are your parents magical?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “Only me. No one else I know is–" I tried to keep the giddy smile off my face as I said, “–magical.”

Grace nodded. “That explains it,” she said. Then she grinned and threw her arm around my shoulder. “Well, looks like I have _a lot_ to teach you, Lily Evans.”

I nodded back, excited and nervous at the same time. If she was ready to teach me, I was ready to learn.

After my last good-bye’s with my parents, Grace helped me through the barrier (after I finally realised that the wall _was_ the barrier), filling me in on all the basic wizarding facts she could think of as we boarded the train. Grace is a pureblood, so as much as I didn't know, she did. It wasn’t until we were on the Hogwarts Express, looking for a compartment that wasn’t filled with intimidating fifth and sixth years that we met Emma.

"Can we join you? Mostly all the other compartments are full," Grace had asked Emma when we had reached Emma’s compartment towards the back of the train. Being the little bookworm that she is, Emma didn't even bother raising her head from the large tome she was reading in her lap to answer us; she just nodded and continued on reading. Emma instantly caught my attention, though. You see, both my mates are on the rather pretty side. They’re like a duo of perfect life-sized Barbie dolls– except, you know, not plastic. And perhaps not _as_ large breasted, either. But still Barbie dolls. With personalities, I mean. Somewhat strange personalities, when you get down to it, actually.

Emma’s mostly the quieter of the two and has the nicest dishwater blonde hair and the loveliest crystalline eyes. She’s also the most studious of us all (at least, she is now that I’ve become the slacker that I am. I never _used_ to be this bad. Honestly. I wasn’t always the professional procrastinator that I am today. It just happened). Although, she also has this odd fascination with foreign and strange objects. She’s always bringing them back from her holidays away, or buying them at that really dodgy store in Hogsmeade. Once when she went with her family to India, she got this emerald coloured shawl and insisted on wearing it all the time. Every day she'd find a new way to wear it. Grace and I thought it was quite odd, but we were used to Emma's strange fascinations by then. However, the day we woke up to find Emma with a new emerald coloured turban on her head was the day that Grace and I put a stop to _that_ madness (though I know Emma still has it. The shawl, I mean. I saw it once when I was looking through her trunk). Emma's like, Valedictorian Barbie (includes a special emerald shawl! See how many ways she can wear it!).

And Grace? She'd probably be something along the lines of, Trouble-Making Teresa. The girl has far too much energy and an attention span the size of a pea. She's a complete madwoman when she doesn't have anything to do, which has gotten her– not to mention Emma and I– into a whole load of trouble more than once. Like this one time when she had nothing to do, she decided it would be fun to get some ice cream from the freezer in the Hogwarts kitchens... of course, it was only ‘fun’ at _three in the morning_. So one night, she dragged a protesting Emma and a half-sleeping me down at least 14 flights of stairs to the kitchens at three-thirty in the morning. This in itself would have been bad enough, but _then_ we somehow managed to lock ourselves in the stupid bloody freezer, when Grace accidentally closed the self-locking door behind us as we entered. Five hours later, when a House Elf finally opened the freezer, we were all sent to the hospital wing.

And do you know what? As we were all lying there in the hospital wing, frozen from head to toe, Grace decided that we should do that again someday (which of course, will NOT happen, as I prefer to keep all my fingers and toes, and do not want to loose them because of frostbite). See what I mean? Mad! But Grace also somehow inherited the beauty genes. She's got long dark brown hair and permanently tanned skin. She's got a bit of a long nose, but that's just a distinct feature of hers, not anything to cry home about.

And me? Well, I’m the redheaded Barbie who was discontinued because no one liked her. How I ever became mates with these supermodel look-a-likes, I'll never know.

But that wasn't my point. Where was I… oh, right, the train. So anyway, Grace and I spent the first twenty minutes or so chatting about ourselves until Emma really had no choice but to join in. It’s funny how three people who are so different can get along so well, but we somehow manage it. We have like two things in common, but that never seems to matter.

"My mum was in Ravenclaw, but I'd like to be in Gryffindor," Emma said when we were discussing the Sorting Ceremony that would take place later that night.

"My whole family had been in Gryffindor for ages." Grace shrugged. "I just hope I'm placed there, too." Then she turned to me. "What about you, Lily? What house do you want to be in?"

The question caught me off-guard. I really didn't understand the difference between all the houses. Grace’s brief description had contained that all the bad kids were put in Slytherin, all the brave kids in Gryffindor, all the smart kids in Ravenclaw, and all the nice kids in Hufflepuff. I didn't think I belonged in any one of those specific categories, but I wanted to be with Grace and Emma, so I answered Gryffindor as well.

"Wouldn't it be the greatest if we were all in Gryffindor together?" Emma asked, smiling brightly.

"That'd be brilliant!" Grace agreed, nodding her head. "But with my luck, I'll probably be placed all by myself in _Slytherin_!" She made a disgusted face as she said the last word, which caused us all to giggle. Our laughter was cut short though, when our compartment door was violently thrown open and then thrown closed again in the same haste, revealing one of the many bad sides of Hogwarts.

James bloody Potter.

(Well, not only him. 3 out of 4 of the Marauders were also there. What kinds of people name themselves “marauders”, anyway? I mean, I can’t even _remember_ a time when they weren’t all labeled as “marauders”. I know they cause trouble and all, but honestly, how stupid)

"Gracie!" cried a very amused and very dirty (I still to this day have no idea why), Sirius Black. Sirius is one of Grace's many cousins. That’s another thing about the wizarding world– everyone is somehow related to everyone else. Seriously. Well, in all the pureblood families, anyway. Grace and Sirius are very distant and very removed cousins, but still cousins, nevertheless. Sirius is a rather popular one among us Hogwarts kids, as everyone thinks he's so wonderful and handsome. I can't very much object to these comments, seeing how he is very funny and he is rather fetching in that dark and mysterious sort of way, but I wouldn’t ever consider him as dating-potential. I mean, he’s way too immature. It’d be like fancying a six-year-old.

"Black!" Grace smiled, greeting her cousin. She looked over the three boys, who were all sporting very dirty robes. "What in Merlin's name were you three up to?"

"They insisted we visit Snape for a bit," said the second comrade, Remus Lupin, as he jerked a thumb in the direction of his mates. Remus is a bit different from the rest of the life-centered-around-pranking-and-being-prats Marauders. He's rather studious and actually cares about his schoolwork, as oppose to the other three who never seem to be studying and merely consider classes a time to sleep and plan pranks. I don't know him that well, even though we've been prefects together for the past three years, but it seems as if he's not as persistent in the trouble making and pranking area as the rest of the Marauders. He’s not that bad looking either, though in a different way than Sirius is. Remus has light hair and brown eyes, and while he is a bit mysterious (what bloke isn’t?), he’s not exactly ‘dark’. I don’t think, anyway.

Grace snorted. "You lot are such prats."

"Come now, Gracie! We aren't that bad!" insisted the third and final comrade.

Merlin, I detest him.

James Potter has to be the most self-centered, pompous, arrogant male specimen to ever walk the planet. He has the largest head of anyone I know. Seriously. Plus, he’s _mean_ – well, okay, not to _everyone_ , but he is to _me_. Everyone else seems to think he’s perfectly fine, but that’s only because _they_ don’t dread even passing the bloke in the corridor. Yeah, he’s _that_ annoying. Just because he's smart and he plays Quidditch everyone seems to think he's something brilliant, even though all he ever does is show-off. He thinks he's Merlin's gift to the world! It's pathetic. And so what if he just happened to hit the genetic intelligence jackpot? And he's not THAT good-looking. His hair is ALWAYS messy, his eyes are too hazel, and not everyone likes a Quidditch trained body…

All right, he _is_ that good-looking, but the point is that he _knows_ it. He's completely conceited.

"Who's Snape?" Emma had whispered to me as Grace continued chatting. I shrugged.

Grace went on talking for at least five minutes, completely unaware that Emma and I were still in the compartment. We, of course, still had no idea who these strange intruders were.

"Oh! I forgot!" Grace finally said, looking back at Emma and me for the first time. "Lily, Emma, this is Remus Lupin, James Potter, and my cousin, Sirius Black. Guys, this is Emma Vance and Lily Evans." We all shook hands and nodded our hello's.

And then started the legendary Evans-Potter Wars.

"You know," Potter said to me, "your hair looks like it’s on fire."

He, as well as Remus and Sirius, seemed to find this comment rather witty and completely hilarious and they all began laughing quite loudly. I, on the other hand, was quite offended. I know my hair is completely horrible and I detest it greatly, but that DOES NOT mean I was going to let an arse like James Potter insult it.

"It does not!” I snapped angrily, pushing the offending locks behind my ear. “Besides, _your_ hair looks like a dirty old mop! Ever try combing it?"

Which is completely true. About his hair, I mean. I've come to discover that either Potter's hair is just naturally messy, (proving someone actually has worse hair than me) or that he honestly just doesn't care (proving that I still hold the World’s Worst Hair Award).

Unfortunately for me, my completely witty and ultimately offending comeback did not seem to bother the great James Potter. Instead, he just rustled his hair as he always does and went on laughing.

"They're really weird," Emma whispered as she watched the trio continue to laugh like a pack of hyenas.

"Boys," Grace sighed, by way of explanation.

Then, when I was certain things couldn’t _possibly_ get any worse, (I did, after all, have a group of my potential classmates laughing at me), they did.

 _She_ came in.

The _real_ reason that Hogwarts can be a living hell.

Hogwarts's REAL life-sized Barbie waltzed her way into our compartment (which was actually quite full by then, by the way. A complete fire hazard, though I didn't notice at the time).

"James! Sirius!" she shrieked as she waved her perfectly manicured hand in greeting. "I was hoping I'd run into you! And is that Remus Lupin? I haven't seen you in _ages_!"

The only good thing that came out of this whole scenario was that the Marauders had finally stopped laughing.

"Elisabeth," I watched Potter choke out slowly. "Er... how've you been?"

You know, I think I might've actually felt a bit bad for Potter right about then... nah, never mind. Even stuck-up, snotty, unnaturally beautiful, Elisabeth Saunders couldn't make me feel bad for that stupid prat.

"Just fine," Elisabeth cooed, as she sat herself between the three boys, who all looked as if they'd just swallowed something horrid. "Mother took me to Paris this summer. I was _so_ upset I couldn't make it to your summer party. I was _so_ looking forward to seeing you."

"Really?" Grace asked, joining the conversation. "We really didn’t miss your company. _At all_."

Elisabeth began to glare daggers. Grace was smiling triumphantly.

"Did I ask for your opinion, Reynolds?" Elisabeth snapped. Grace glared back at her. “I didn't think so."

And then, even though I had nothing to do with this little feud and I barely knew any of these people, my uncontrollable, self-activated temper got the better of me (told you it was horrid).

"Well, I don't believe we asked to be graced with _your_ presence, either, but you see, that's just life.”

The second the words burst forth out of my mouth, I wanted them back. Elisabeth’s glare instantly turned from Grace onto me at my rude and completely out-of-the-blue insult. She looked shocked at first, but then her eyes opened wide as she looked over my apparel: Muggle clothes. She let out a very Elisabeth-like snort. I didn't know she was snorting at me. I didn't know anything was wrong. I was too busy trying to look intimidating. I tried to squint my eyes in a glare-like fashion, but I think I was just scrunching my nose. I watched as Elisabeth turned slowly back to Grace.

"Gracie, Gracie, Gracie…” She sighed, placing her hand on Grace's shoulder in a mockingly comforting way. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd start befriending _Mudbloods_. What _ever_ will everyone think?"

I saw Emma's mouth fall open and I heard an angry grumbling noise erupt from Grace, and even the Marauders looked offended, but I just stood still, not doing anything. I had no idea what they were all gawking at. I didn't know what a Mudblood was. I didn't know Elisabeth had just insulted me in the worst way possible.

"Leave. _Now_ ," Grace ordered in a very cold voice

Elisabeth just smiled and daintily stood up out of her seat and proceeded towards the compartment door, and then, almost as an after though, she turned back to me.

"Watch yourself. You don't want to be getting on the bad side of certain people."

And then she left. I wish I would have kicked her, or pulled her perfect hair, or swore at her until my head hurt. Something. Anything. But, no, I still had no idea what she was talking about. I just "glared" at her until my nose began to hurt.

And that's it.

So here I am, seven years later, no better off than I was then. Elisabeth and I still completely despise each other and by some utter phenomenon, she– along with Emma, Grace, the Marauders and I– were all sorted into Gryffindor. You could only imagine what it's like in our dormitory. Not fun. I can tell you some crazy stories about–

Hey.

Wait a second.

I just realized something…

 _I'm_ Head Girl.

Which means… Elisabeth _isn’t!_

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!

I KNEW THERE WAS AN UPSIDE TO THIS!!!!

I'm going to have good dreams tonight! YES!

Oh, and I found my badge. It somehow found itself on my robes for tomorrow. Now, who would put it there? Possibly someone responsible... and organized... and not so completely ordinary.

Not me.

**_________________________________________**

**Monday, September 1st, In the Car on the Way to Kings Cross Station**

My sister is stupid.

I mean, really, _really_ stupid. It's almost funny how stupid she's being.

She seriously thinks that by wearing _sunglasses_ , no one will recognize her.

This is completely ridiculous because I _know_ you can recognize her. I know this because there are not many horse-faced, giraffe-necked, bony females living in Little Whinging. In fact, I don't think that there are many horse-face, giraffe-necked, bony females living in _England_. Or the _world_ for that matter. See what I'm getting at? She's just stupid.

I really have to stop being so mean. I don't like when people are mean to me, so why should I be so mean to Petty? After all, what goes around comes around, and I have bad enough karma as it is already.

"So, how've you been, Petty?" I've just asked my sister, in an effort to be nice.

She snorts and does not respond.

Well, that attempt at conversation has just failed miserably.

You know what? Petunia just snorted. I don't think she’s supposed to snort like that. Pigs snort. Petty is not a pig. She has a horse-face and a giraffe-neck, but she has no pig-like characteristics. Horses and giraffes don't snort. In fact, giraffes don't even have vocal cords. Horses make many odd noises, but they don't snort. That's why she shouldn't snort. I think it's against the rules of nature or something.

Drat, I'm being mean again. I really have to stop. I'm going to learn to be nice. Maybe I'll ask Emma for lessons. She's the nicest person I know.

Yeah, I think I will...

**_________________________________________**

**Later, Aboard the Hogwarts Express**

Something is wrong.

Something is terribly, horribly wrong.

Either that, or something is GOING to be terribly, horribly wrong.

As I sit here, watching Emma read and Grace sleep, I'm worried. I'm worried because if what I _think_ just happened, actually happened, one out of these two things is correct:

A. I'm going to be pranked _very_ badly by the Marauders sometime in the very near future.

Or

B. I just had a decent, FLIRTING, conversation with James Potter.

Yeah, I was thinking A, too.

Let me explain, because I need to get this out, and I'm afraid of what Emma and Grace might say/do if I told them. Here's what happened...

I arrived at Kings Cross a lot earlier then I had expected. It seemed Petty was most anxious to get rid of me, as she drove away with my trunk still in the car. This, of course, was not a pretty sight, as I then had to chase her down the parking lot until she finally stopped at a stop sign 100 kilometers away from the train station entrance. Luckily, there was an abandoned trolley back there, so I dumped my trunk onto it and walked the 100 kilometers back (okay, it was more like 100 meters, but it _seemed_ farther). By the time I got to the entrance, it was still only 9:55. So I wandered around a bit.

I never realized how big King Cross Station actually is. I mean, obviously it’s a train station and all, so it’s going to be _big_ , but I never really appreciated just _how_ big. Next to Platform 15, there was even a small band playing. They were actually pretty good for a bunch of old musicians playing on a train station platform, so I threw them some change.

When I got to Platforms 9 and 10, it was around 10:15. I figured it was better to be early than late, so I crossed through the barrier. It was actually quite easy. Last year, this man wouldn't stop looking at Emma, so her dad had to distract him while we jumped through the barrier. It wasn't fun. Kind of funny looking back on it now, but not fun.

The platform wasn't as full as it usually is, but it had a decent amount of people. There were a few students talking on the platform with their parents, but none I recognized. I assumed most of them were in their first year, as they weren't wearing any trace of house colours. I took another quick look around before heading to the train’s main doors to lift up my trunk and board the train.

That's when it happened.

There were none of the usual trunk-lifter-blokes by the front of the train like there'd always been before. I'd never actually put my truck on the train before, as those helpful blokes were always there to do it for me, but I was pretty sure it couldn't be too hard. After all, women are getting stronger all the time. I saw this women's muscle contest on the telly over the summer, and they could lift _cars_ , why couldn’t I lift a trunk? I totally could. I'm a strong, buff, young chit. I could do it.

Yeah. Sure. Right.

 _Why_ am I such an idiot, sometimes?

I was lifting my trunk onto the train, when it suddenly decided to feel very heavy… _extremely_ heavy. And I don't mean like no-Mum-I-can’t-carry-the-laundry-up-to-my-room-because-it’s-too-heavy heavy. It was more like twice-my- _body-weight_ heavy. Now that I think about it, I was being pretty stupid. Like Petunia stupid. I should have just waited for one of those strong blokes to come and lift it for me. The fact that I have absolutely no muscles seemed to slip my mind at that particular essential moment. I was too busy thinking about all those muscled women who could lift trunks like this with one finger to even consider the fact that I was not one of them. So I stood there stupidly, my trunk lifted in mid-air and me about to drop it. I was waiting for my arms to just give out and for my trunk to fall and split open, revealing anything and everything a girl would hide in her trunk... but it didn't.

In fact, my trunk was lifted clear out of my withering hands and onto the train before I even had a chance to realise that it was gone. At first, I had no idea what had happened. I thought that maybe, out of sheer desperation to keep my unmentionables from falling out of my trunk and onto the platform for all to see, my adrenaline had kicked in and I'd boosted up the strength to lift it. Then I noticed that someone was standing next to me, and the pieces all clicked together.

"Thanks," I said, turning around to face the stranger, who had at that point become my knight-in-shining-armor.

Except it wasn't a stranger who was standing behind me.

And it sure as _hell_ wasn't my knight, either.

It was James Potter.

"You're welcome," he replied, in a very non James-Potter-speaking-to-Lily-Evans voice. This nice and friendly tone he was using was not one I’ve ever heard before, seeing how we’ve never actually been nice to each other. I looked over him skeptically, waiting for him to blurt out some rude comment about how I can't lift things and I was such a stupid weakling... but that didn’t come either. He just stood there, smiling down on me– and I mean _down_ because, unlike me, he didn't get cursed with a height such as 5'7, but with a nice, tall, manly height, like 6'2. But his height wasn't what was bothering me. What _was_ bothering me was his smile. It wasn't one of those, I'm-better-than-you-and-can-lift-heavy-trunks smiles that I would have expected from James Potter at a time like this. It was more like an I'm-a-nice-guy-and-you-really-want-to-like-me smile that I _never_ would have expected. I was too absorbed in contemplating his smile and actions to even notice that I really should have responded to his "you're welcome”. I just stood there, staring and being completely rude. Naturally, he didn’t seem to notice. That, or he just didn’t care.

"You're Head Girl?" he asked, breaking my ridiculous train of thoughts and making me snap back into reality. He pointed to the badge that was fastened on my robes.

"Er– yeah. Yeah, I am.” I looked down at the pretty, shiny badge that was now completely mocking me. "Actually,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them, “I'm sort of waiting for someone to come and take it away from me. You know, they'd tell me it was all a mistake and give it to someone like Elisabeth Saunders or something."

 _Why_ did I tell him that? WHY? Was there _any_ need whatsoever? What a traitor mouth I have.

"Why would they do that?" he asked, his tone making it seem as if he was actually concerned. It threw me completely off-guard. I have no idea why he was being so nice to me– well, not nice _exactly_ , that part hasn't come yet, but certainly not how he _usually_ is. He hadn't insulted me yet, which was a big record in my book.

"Because I'm completely unorganized and ordinary,” I replied, the words once again coming out on their own accord. “Not to mention I'm not smart at all. So why give it to me when you can have a perfect little social butterfly like Elisabeth?" Which was all very true, but I hadn't intended on telling anyone that. Why I was suddenly spilling my guts out to James Potter, I have no idea. I blame it fully on my traitor-of-a-mouth.

Then he laughed.

But once again it wasn't a mean laugh or a conceited laugh, like the ones I was use to hearing. It was a friendly and very nice sounding laugh (which I really shouldn't be saying because I don't even _like_ James Potter, so his laugh shouldn't be sounding nice).

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, still laughing that same laugh. "They'd have to be mad to pick Elisabeth over you."

My mouth nearly hit the floor.

I've never _ever_ heard James Potter say something nice like that. At least, not _seriously_ , anyway, which was how he said it then. I was expecting some sort of "Ha! You're right! LOSER!” but no, he had to go all nice on me, which only led to more mind-blowing headaches on my part.

Then an idea hit me.

It had to be a prank.

Somewhere around there, the rest of the Marauders were hiding and waiting to dump something on my head, or push me onto the tracks, or something equally as devious. That was the only logical explanation I could come up with. So I did what any other person in my position would start to do; I began looking and searching around us, scanning our surroundings for any trace of the Marauders, or maybe a bucket of some sort, or a rope, or any other suspicious looking object.

Though it made perfect sense to me, Potter was obviously a little lost as to what I was doing.

"Er, Lily? What are you doing?"

I instantly stopped my Marauders/bucket/rope search, my body frozen in place. My head began to spin.

He had called me Lily.

 _Lily_.

He NEVER calls me Lily. I've always been Evans. Never Lily.

That's when my traitorous mouth switched onto suspicious mode and really let the stupid bloke have it.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes as a small smile remained on Potter's face. “Is this some sort of prank or something? Am I going to be hit or possibly thrown somewhere–" My mindless interrogation was cut short when Potter started laughing again.

"I'm not allowed to be nice to you?" he asked, an odd expression on his face. "I'm nice, and instantly you think it's a prank? Is that honestly how you think of me?" Through his laugh, he looked almost hurt, but that didn't fool me. I just wish my Benedict Arnold mouth had felt the same way.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" I heard myself say. Though, low and behold, my disloyal mouth had ruined my speech yet again, because instead of sounding completely serious like I had intended the comment to sound, it came out all flirty-like, which was most definitely NOT what I was going for. I wish I would've explained to Potter about my traitor-of-a-mouth because he seemed pretty shocked to hear that sort tone from me.

Then again, so was I.

"You _want_ me to be mean to you?" he then asked in a half-flirty, but more serious than me kind of way. I wonder if Potter has a rebellious mouth as well. If so, that half/quarter-flirty comment had to be unintentional. Because it certainly wasn’t _in_ tentional. That's just not possible.

"Well..." I sighed, searching for an answer to his question. DID I want him to be mean to me? I don't _think_ I do... but... a _nice_ Potter? That'd be just weird. I mean super-weird. So I told him that.

The stupid bastard just flashed his stupid I'm-a-nice-guy-smile, which is now on my list of things to hate (along with his laugh) and looked at me thoughtfully.

"Weird?" he questioned, rubbing his chin and pretending to ponder my response. Then my stupid mouth just HAD to go and smile this goofy little grin. Of course, I wasn't SUPPOSED to smile, considering the old, not-controlled-by-her-mouth Lily would NEVER have smiled at ANYTHING James Potter said or did. Even if he did look completely ridiculous rubbing his chin like that. "Yeah, I'd imagine so," he said smiling (the one I hate) back at my smile (which I remind you, was NOT there on my own free will).

"Yes," I nodded, still trying to wipe that stupid, self-activated smile, off my face. "Very weird."

Then there was silence. To anyone watching, I'm sure this whole scenario must have looked quite odd. You'd never think you'd see Lily Evans and James Potter standing in front of the Hogwarts Express, smiling like idiots at each other (although I'm pretty sure both smiles were unintentional), having what seemed to be a normal conversation. I'd be a bit scared, actually.

"So," he said, breaking me away from my internal war (my head vs. my mouth). "You wouldn't happen to know who the Head Boy is, would you?"

This had not been the first time I'd been asked that particular question. I'm sure that any other organized, popular, non-ordinary Head Girl would've known exactly whom she was working along side with, but naturally, since I don't have ANY of these said qualities, I had no clue. Secretly I was praying it'd be Amos Diggory, a Hufflepuff who I've had a crush on forever. He was one of the top choices, the last I’d heard, so maybe Dumbledore decided to give me a break and picked him.

"Of course not," I answered with a shrug. "Only a responsible and rightly chosen Head Girl would know such facts, and seeing how I am soon going to be impeached from my position, they didn't bother to tell me." This was the explanation I'd given my mother, as well as myself, when this question was asked, so I didn't see why I shouldn't be telling James Potter this, as I had already stupidly told him about my insecurities about the position.

"Didn't we go through this already?" he teased, shaking his head. Then he _had_ to go and put his hands on my shoulders, trying to become all firm and such by the gesture, which was not only _completely_ unexpected, but it also sent one of those unwanted shivers down my spine. "You're NOT going to be impeached, all right? They couldn't pick anyone more perfect for the job. Got that?"

I wish someone had warned me that all of this would be happening in advance. That way, I could've mentally prepared myself for all this niceness and flirtiness and would not have been so completely tongue-tied like I got at that moment. I probably looked like such an idiot, standing there nodding as James Potter held my shoulders. Of course, I probably wouldn't have thought of anything to say anyway, even if I did have an advanced warning.

"Good," he said, finally releasing his hold on me. I hadn't realised I'd been holding my breath, but apparently I had been, considering the long exhale that escaped from my mouth after he'd released me.

" _You_ wouldn't happen to know who it is, would you?" I asked, once I had regained my lost composure. James just shrugged, obviously disliking the topic. It was then I remembered that, even through all his troublemaking faults, James had also been one of the main candidates for Head Boy, and I instantly felt horrid for bringing it up.

"I do know one thing though," he'd said rather quietly. "Whoever he is, he sure is one lucky bloke,"

"Why's that?" I asked stupidly. It was obvious James had wanted to be Head Boy and was mourning the loss of the position.

At least, I _thought_ he was.

"Well," he answered very softly, taking a step closer to me. "He gets to work with you, doesn't he?"

THAT was when I lost it. I mean totally and COMPLETELY lost it. Boys like James, they just don't _say_ things like that to girls like me. Maybe girls like Elisabeth Saunders, or the Grace Kelly look-a-likes, but NEVER girls like me. It goes against just about every social status rule in the book. And let's not forget that before this whole conversation, Potter and I completely DETESTED each other.

So then the whole pranking idea resurfaced again, because I was pretty positive that what he'd just said went against all the forces of nature.

It was a bloody miracle that the rest of the Marauders chose that particular moment to come and collect James, because I was pretty sure that, even through my pranking suspicions, my traitor-of-a-mouth was about to go and say something I'd fully regret like "I wish it was you," or something equally as inappropriate.

"PRONGS!" was the yell abstracted from Sirius as he, Remus, and Peter Pettigrew– the fourth and final Marauder– made their way over to where Potter and I were standing. James instantly backed away from me, for which I was most grateful. I watched as Sirius catapulted himself over to us, instantly putting James into a full headlock.

"I think he's glad to see you, Prongs," Remus laughed, as Sirius began mercilessly messing with James's hair, causing his victim to pull at Sirius's tightly locked arms. James made a loud sound of protest in response to Remus's comment. I couldn't help but giggle a bit, which ultimately led to Sirius realising I was also standing there. Of course, he then launched fully off of James and onto me. Just my luck.

"EVANS!" he cried, pulling me into a huge bear hug. "Boy is it great to see you! 'Reckon I haven't seen you all summer!" A slight agreeing noise escaped from my throat, as I watched the other Marauders over Sirius's shoulder. Remus and Peter were openly laughing at my tight predicament and James seemed to be readjusting his glasses from his own attack. He had an odd look on, though, almost one of slight disappointment. _I_ wouldn't have been disappointed if _I_ was him. I was very much looking forward to seeing MY mates. Why wasn't he?

Thinking about my mates made me realise that I was supposed to be meeting them in our traditional compartment a long time ago. Plus, I needed an excuse to get myself out of there.

"Have you seen your cousin?" I asked Sirius, once he decided to release me from his death-hold.

"Gracie?" he asked, rubbing his chin like James had been just moments before (of course, my perfidious mouth didn’t smile when SIRIUS was doing it. Damned stupid mouth). I nodded. I realise now I really shouldn't have said 'cousin', considering half the school is somehow related to Sirius, but I would really only be looking for Grace, so I guess it was acceptable. "She got on the train a few minutes ago,” Sirius told me a few seconds later. "I think she was looking for you, though."

"Thanks! Er, bye, then.” Then I rushed as quickly as I could away from the Marauders. I jumped onboard and walked quickly down the corridor to the back of the train. Our compartment was the sixth from the back. It was the one we'd always sat in since first-year, and we'd always meet there at the beginning of term.

"Lily!" cried Grace as I slide open the door to our compartment. I instantly smiled at the familiar sight of my friends. Emma was, as usual, seated on the middle seat, reading a large book, and it looked as if Grace had already set up her regular bedroll on the right-side seat. I pulled Grace into a hug and Emma instantly got up to receive one as well. It was an instant relief to see at least _they_ hadn't changed. I've had quite enough of _that_ for one day.

"Where have you been?" Emma asked as I sat down in my traditional seat next to her.

I really didn't want to tell them what had distracted me, because I was afraid of what they might say, or that they'd point out the obvious (which was not what I wanted to hear). So, instead, I lied.

"Traffic," I stated hesitantly. "I got stalled on the way here."

I was relieved when they didn't press the topic any further.

We sat down and chattered about what we'd done over the summer. Emma had gone to Rome with her mum the whole month of July. She snagged an old stone off one of the building there and had tied it on a string so that she could wear it as a necklace. Both Grace and I "ahhh"ed at the odd piece of jewelry, though I personally thought it was a rather ugly rock and belonged in the rubbish bin rather than around Emma’s neck. Grace had been busy all summer traveling around to all her family parties. She said it was completely boring because Sirius wasn't at any of them, on account of him living with the Potter’s now (because of some family splat, I think) so she had no one to talk to (what she really meant was, she had no one to cause trouble with). I, of course, sat home all summer, doing absolutely nothing except eating and watching the telly. They were both extremely happy about my Head Girl position (I had written them about it the second I’d gotten my badge in the mail) and insisted once again that I wasn’t going to be impeached and was rightly chosen for the job.

Psh. What liars.

So, here I am.

Wow.

That feels so much better.

Maybe I will tell Grace and Emma.

We'll see.

**_________________________________________**

**Later, 7th Year Girl Dormitories**

HE LIED TO ME!

THAT SLIMY LITTLE BASTARD LIED TO ME!

I CAN’T _BELIEVE_ HIM!

I was sitting happily at the Gryffindor table, chatting away with Grace, Emma, and a few of the new first-years, when Dumbledore stood up to make his yearly Welcome Speech.

"Greetings, Hogwarts students!" he called, smiling as he glanced around the Great Hall. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have but a few announcements to make before you can all begin your feast. Firstly, let it be known to everyone of _all_ years, that the Forbidden Forest is just that: forbidden." I'm pretty sure he was looking directly at the Marauders when he said that, for it is common knowledge that they've been there on more than a few occasions. Why on earth they'd want to go into a creepy, monster-filled place such as the Forbidden Forest, though, I'll never know.

"Secondly," Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling in the glow of the candle lit Great Hall. "Mr. Filch has asked me to remind all students that all products bought in Zonko's Joke Shop are not to be used inside of the castle. A list of other restricted items can be found next to Mr. Filch's office in the fourth floor corridor. Thirdly, I'd like to inform all Hogwarts students, third-year and older, that the first Hogsmeade trip is scheduled for October the eighteenth. And lastly," he said looking around the Great Hall, catching my eye for but a moment. "I'd like to announce this year’s Head Students, as Miss Lily Evans of Gryffindor," I slowly stood up (it was actually more like Grace forcing me up, but I was up nevertheless) from my seat, as everyone lightly applauded. "And our Head Boy," Dumbledore continued, as I took my seat once again, silently praying that he would call Amos’s name, "is Mr. James Potter, also from Gryffindor."

_James Potter._

It was _him_.

 _He_ was Head Boy!

It took all the will in my entire body not to jump up again and start strangling Potter. Instead, I just sat there, my mouth hanging open, staring at the bloody idiot. And you know what? He didn't even _care_ that he'd lied. You know how I know he didn't care? Because he was looking back at me too. And you know what he did?

HE SMILED!

Now why on EARTH would anyone SMILE when they knew they had LIED and gotten a poor girl’s hopes up? WHY WOULD HE DO THAT? I THOUGHT HE WAS SWITCHING TO NICE MODE? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?!?

And I'd felt BAD for him, too! Him and his stupid ‘let’s-not-talk-about-this’ tone. One thing's for sure, I'm NEVER feeling bad for James Potter again! In fact, I'm never going to TALK to James Potter again! Ever! In my entire, pathetic, excuse-of-a-life!

And the evening just kept on getting worse, too. Not _only_ was I completely miserable all during the Welcoming Feast, (as I was greatly looking forward to working with Amos Diggory, who I'm certain would _never_ lie to me, seeing that he's perfect in everyway) but I also had to sit there listening to Grace and Emma trying to comfort me. They just didn’t get it, though.

And that's not even the WORST of it! For after I led all those chatty first-years to the Gryffindor Common Room (keeping as much space between Potter and myself as humanly possible), I was most content to just go up into my four-poster bed and sleep off my horrible evening, but Merlin knows _that_ could never happen. EVERYTHING has to go wrong for Lily.

ELISABETH SAUNDERS JUST HAD TO INTRUDE ON MY SLEEPING TIME!!

"So,” came the venomous drawl as I entered our dormitory. I looked up, not at all in the mood for a confrontation, but knowing it was going to occur regardless. Elisabeth was sitting on her bed, looking as perfect as ever, with her loyal sidekick, Carrie Lloyd, (who also happened to be a 7th-year Gryffindor) seated next to her. "You're Head Girl.”

I bit my lip to keep from responding. I didn't want to deal with her. I didn't want to let her get a rise out of me.

She shook her head ruefully at my silence. “I could honestly say it came as a _complete_ shock, Evans." A small, smug smile played at her lips. “After all, who would pick a girl like _you_ for a position like _that_?" She then turned her head away from me and towards Carrie. "My father always said Dumbledore was completely off his rocker." She turned back to me, with her stupid menacing smile. "I guess this just goes to show he was right."

I hadn't moved out of the doorway throughout the entire short conversation, and just stood there with my mouth hanging wide open, unable to respond. After all, she was right. I SHOULDN'T be Head Girl. I've ALWAYS known I was wrong for the position.

Maybe it was the whole rotten day that had gotten me so emotional, or perhaps it was the fact that it had been Elisabeth who had pointed out the obvious facts, but whatever it was, I did about the stupidest thing a girl in my position could've done.

I started to cry.

It was such a stupid thing to do, I know, but I honestly couldn't help it. It'd been such a horrid day. And it was just so unfair because I'm usually not the sort of girl who would just burst out in tears at any given thing either. I'm usually quite good at keeping the waterworks to a bare minimal. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd cried. But nevertheless, there I was, standing in the doorway, the tears threatening to pour out as I held them back with all my might.

"Oh, did I hit a soft spot, there, Evans?" Elisabeth mocked as she and Carrie made their way towards me. I didn't move an inch, but that seemed to give Elisabeth even more satisfaction as she and Carrie pushed past me and made their way, laughing, down to the Common Room.

So that's me. The big, old, crybaby Head Girl. WHY did I get picked for this job? It only made this whole year a thousand times worse.

Merlin, do I have a horrid life.


	2. September 2nd: The Chicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note: **Another chapter down. Thank you's go to Megan, the original beta of this chapter.****

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()  
"If you lose your job, your marriage and your mind all in one week, try to lose your mind first, because then the other stuff won't matter that much."

-Jack Handey  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

**_________________________________________**  

**_Tuesday, September 2nd, the Great Hall_ **

 

There are morning people… and then there are the rest of us. The latter group is where I’d place myself. Mornings and me, we don’t exactly mesh well together. We just don't get along. We never have, we probably never will. It's no one's fault, really, that's just the way it is.

I do wish someone would inform Emma of this, though, because– great mate that she is– she obviously just isn't aware of this mutual dislike that is shared between me and the hours before 10 a.m. On the other hand, perhaps she _does_ know and just doesn't seem to care about my feelings and/or preferences. She just kept on yapping on this morning about 'meeting the new morning with a happy face' and pulling the blankets off my very cold body at a completely ungodly hour when I really should've still been sleeping. Apparently, getting up at an indecent hour somehow leads to meeting the morning with a smile, and not with a yawn, as I previously thought. But either way, I’m almost positive that waking up a non-morning person, such as myself, at 7 a.m. is a severe felony no matter HOW good her intentions were.

So as I sit here, poking at my waffles and tiredly sipping my pumpkin juice, I inform Emma of her committed crime.

“Come off it, Lily,” she says. “It’s not that early.”

Sure, easy for _her_ to say. She _likes_ this sort of thing.

“We need to get our books together anyway,” Grace has just informed me, though I KNOW she’s just as tired as I am, for her eyelids keep flickering closed when Emma is not looking. Plus, she's just yawned into her oatmeal.

They’ll all be sorry when I fall asleep in my waffles and they have to carry me down to the Potions dungeons, all syrupy and sticky. I tell them so.

Emma let's out one of her big, long, never-ending sighs. “Honestly, Lily! If you have enough energy to write away in your diary, I think you have enough energy to stay awake!”

Oh, bugger.

 

**_________________________________________**

**_Later, Potions_ **

 

Why would _anyone_ ever need to learn a SHIVERING potion?

Seriously. Who would ever want to _shiver_? Does it even have a purpose? When will I ever need to use a Shivering Potion in my entire life? When will _anyone_? Professor Abbott really needs to get her priorities straight. Does she even CARE that I’ve been up since seven this morning? I don't have _time_ to deal with this nonsense!

Shivering Potion-

1) Creates shocks of chills to run through drinker’s body. 2) Gives drinker… blah blah blah.

NOTE TO SELF: Copy Shivering Potion notes from Emma.

 

**_________________________________________**  

**_Later, Divination_ **

 

Why do we even bother with this class? -LE

**I don’t know. -EV**

_She’s awfully funny, don’t you think? -GR_

Funny? I was thinking more along the lines of mad as a hatter.

**I like her skirt, though.**

_Here we go again. Quick! Distract her! What do you say we start a list?_

Good idea.

**Emmeline Vance, Grace Reynolds, and** **Lily Evans’s list of the Best-Looking, Single Blokes at Hogwarts School (With Added Commentary)**

1) Amos Diggory \- a sexy, 7th-year Hufflepuff who not only is incredibly good looking– with that sexy light brown hair and those _adorable_ dimples– but is also a fabulous Quidditch player, with the body to prove it. Need I say more? **EV: This opinion is totally biased, Lily! He is not as perfect as you make him out to be.** _GR: Incredibly sexy, though he does have his downsides._ LE: You’re all mad. He’s perfect.

_2) Thomas Dunn \- So what if he’s a third year? This boy has got MAJOR brownie points in the beauty department. Have you seen his eyes? A picture perfect among all men (or boys)._ LE: He’s adorable, and not even cocky! A perfect match for any THIRD-YEAR girl’s affections. _GR: Forget about the third years! I’d love to find a broom closet with him. _**EV: Ignoring Grace’s child molesting tactics, I must say that Thomas is not lacking in the** **looks or the personality department. A fine choice, Gracie.**

**3) Remus Lupin \- Although he is ¼ of the notorious Marauder clan, Remus is an incredibly likeable fellow. His studious habits and occasional mischievous streaks make him a perfect mix of everything. A good catch for any deserving girl.** **EV: Remus is my proud choice as he is a mix of everything a girl could want. Besides his sickly habits and his somewhat crude choice in friends, I think you’d find Mr. Wonderful in Mr. Lupin** _GR: Oh, I see someone has caught quite a fancy for our friend, Mr. Lupin, eh? That_ _aside, though, not a bad choice. Remus is very cool._ LE: That’s so adorable, Em! Remus is not a bad choice. Why don’t you two get together and “study” for a bit, hm?

** NOTE ** ** FROM WRONGLY ACCUSED (EV): I DO NOT FANCY REMUS LUPIN.**

4) Sirius Black \- Another member of the mischievous Marauders, you can’t help but notice Sirius’ good looks. We all know he’s immature and completely off his rocker, but definitely not lacking in the looks department. **EV: Agreed. Sirius is loony, but not ugly.** _GR: I don’t think I can respond to this seeing how family (no matter how distant and removed) shouldn’t be saying such things about other family members._ LE: This list is strictly for looks and that’s why I added Sirius. You cannot deny his handsomeness (or his insanity for that matter).

_James_ _ Potter \- James also belongs to the Marauder clan (what good-looking men they are!) and is an incredibly good-looking male. Not to mention his elite Quidditch skills and unnatural smartness (which rivals that of our very own Ms. Evans), this boy has it all._ **EV: Very true. Although a prat at times, you can’t fight with James’ incredibly** **handsome features and rowdy sense of humor. Thumbs up!** _GR: I love James. In fact, if he weren’t SUCH a good mate of mine, I’d make him my lover._ LE: Come on! POTTER? He’s such a prat! Besides everyone knows he’s practically married to Saunders. They’ve only been going out and breaking up since third year. You people make me sick.

** NOTE ** ** TO GIRL IN DENIAL: This is a list strictly for single, GOOD-LOOKING people, and you cannot exclude James Potter from such a list. Besides, James and Elisabeth broke it off ages ago. Everyone knows that.**

NOTE TO MENTALLY INSANE: Bugger off.

 

**_________________________________________**

**_Later, Dinner in the Great Hall_**

 

I love dinner at Hogwarts. Truly, I do.

I mean, when you’ve had a tough day and everything just seems to be going wrong (so basically every day for me), you always have the nice expectation of dinner ahead of you. You can just sit back, relax, and let it all go.

Of course, my love for Hogwarts dinner might have something to do with my large and abnormal infatuation with rice.

Yes, rice.

I don’t really remember when my obsession for rice started, but ever since I was little, it’s all I’ve ever eaten. I remember my grandmum use to make the most delicious rice ever. She’d add all these different herbs and special sauces, which I could always name separately, but would never even think to put together. I use to watch her as she’d mix everything together and it’d sizzle and bubble, but I could never make it myself. After she passed away, Mum and I tried various times to try to copy her rice, but it always tasted horrid. Maybe my grandmum’s rice started it all, I’m not really sure.

And do you know what? Hogwarts must have at least _three_ types of rice _every night_. Yeah, _three_! What’s not to love about _that_?

AND while you’re sitting down at the Gryffindor table, eating your various types of rice and chattering with your mates, you happen to have a perfect view of the Hufflepuff table. This means you also have a perfect view of a certain 7th-year Hufflepuff prefect (and no, I’m not talking about Julie Little).

So as I sit here, eating my rice and watching the Hufflepuff table, I don’t have to worry about liar Head Boys and antagonizing roommates, or the fact that I don’t have the notes on Shivering Potions because I forgot to ask Emma for her copy. Nope. I can just sit back, relax, and do my two favourite things.

Eat and swoon over Amos Diggory.

Can life GET any better?

 

**_________________________________________**

**_Wednesday, September 3rd, Charms Classroom_ **

 

I hate my life.

I hate my life, and I hate my stupid self-controlled mouth.

If I could go to a mouth store and exchange my mouth for a different one, I would. And I would have to hope that my new mouth wouldn’t be as bloody independent as my old mouth was because then I’d be in a whole lot of trouble (plus, I’d probably have to go back to that mouth store and the thought of such a place isn't so appealing to me).

I just don’t understand it. What did I ever do to my stupid mouth that would make it so rebellious? I DON’T DESERVE THIS ABUSE! I REALLY DON’T!

I mean, perfect people like _Elisabeth Saunders_ deserve mouths like mine. Not already-failing-in-life, people like me.

If Elisabeth Saunders made a complete fool of herself, almost got kicked out of a _very_ important class, and THEN started bawling her eyes out in front of her (former?)enemy/Head partner/newly-made-transfiguration-tutor, I probably wouldn’t even have laughed at her! I probably would’ve felt pretty bad for the girl, even if she is a total coot. But, no, things like that just don’t HAPPEN to Elisabeth Saunders. They happen to people like _me_. It always has to be _me_. Always Lily.

This morning started out perfectly fine. In fact, it started out _more_ than fine. I, for once, actually _understood_ a potion. A potion, nevertheless, that I’d forgotten to copy the directions for the previous day! Do you know what an ego boost that is? I’d actually received TOP MARKS on my practical assignment! This is _very_ exciting considering I _know_ that Professor Abbott hates me and would only force herself to give me top marks if my potion was really _really_ brilliant. Who _wouldn't_ be in a good mood after that?

So off I went to Transfiguration in a bright and bubbly mood (something that doesn't happen very often), not even worrying about the fact that I am absolutely APPALLING at Transfiguration and the fact that a lying prat-of-a-Head-Boy– which whom, by the way, I wasn’t ever suppose to _talk_ to again–was seated in back of me, chatting with my mates.

“Settle down, all of you! Take your seats!” Professor McGonagall said at the start of the class. Everyone’s chatter instantly died down as their eyes riveted to the professor at the front of the room. “Thank you,” McGonagall said as she turned to the chalkboard behind her and began to write.

ORAL ANIMAL TRANSFIGURATION

Ugh. Even writing that now makes me want to die with embarrassment. But in all fairness, I’ve never had any talent in Transfiguration. I’m brilliant in Charms and do plenty more than the average in Defense, but Transfiguration? Never. I really shouldn’t even be in the class. McGonagall never takes anyone who gets under an Exceeds Expectations on their O.W.L.S into her NEWTs classes, and I’m most definitely nowhere near that. However, by some utter miracle, I persuaded McGonagall to take me into the class with the promise to study like mad over the summer and the guarantee that I would improve. I think she only agreed because she has a favouring for me (why she likes me so much, I have absolutely no idea. I mean, if you're going to favour someone, go ahead and pick an extra extraordinary child with endless talents. Why on earth McGonagall chose an ordinary, boring piece of human flesh like me to favour is beyond my comprehension). I was supposed to be studying all summer (which I did… sometimes) and McGonagall would judge my improvement and tell me if I could stay in the class when I returned this term. I was– and still am– determined to stay in the class, but things in my life always seem to find ways to mess themselves up. I know Aurors need to know Transfiguration and all, but honestly, if you just don't get it, you just don't get it. Can't they just make an exception for me? I'm sure ONE Auror with no Transfiguration talents would be okay. I can stick with Charms. I can do those.

“All right." McGonagall turned to face the class once again, looking at each of us with her judgmental eyes. I hate it when she does that. “You’ve all refreshed your summer bound memories of the theory of Animal Transfiguration yesterday and are now going to be performing the spell orally today. Remember to flick your wands in the correct circular motion and to think clearly about changing the spotted lizards in front of you into chickens. Does everyone understand?”

There were small murmurs of consent all through the room. Internally, I began to panic.

“Good,” McGonagall nodded curtly. Her eyes flickered towards the back of the classroom. “And I’ll be having absolutely _no funny business_ – Black, Potter, do you understand me?”

Many girls giggled as both Potter and Black nodded innocently. What stupid prats they are.

“Good,” McGonagall said again, still eyeing the two boys suspiciously. “You may begin.”

Right.

Begin.

Sure.

If _only_.

I sat there for a few moments, watching Emma turn her lizard easily into a chicken and back again. Then, looking for a bit of sympathy, I turned to Grace, hoping that she may be having even a bit of the difficulty I was, but my search ended in disappointment as Grace had also easily achieved a chicken. A quick look behind us showed me that the two Marauders had also succeeded in transforming their lizards and had moved onto other forms of entertainment. Sirius was now trying to persuade his chicken to attack Potter’s, who in turn was prodding his chicken in the opposite direction. I turned cautiously back to my own lizard, looking at it critically. It didn’t SEEM too hard. Everyone else could do it, why couldn’t I? I could. I totally could.

Merlin, _why_ am I so stupid?

I picked my wand up off my desk, determined to turn that bloody lizard into a chicken at any cost. I checked my notes one last time before attempting the impossible.

“ _Animus Nero,”_ I said softly, swishing my wand in the appointed pattern. Apparently, though, it wasn’t the _exact_ appointed pattern, because instead of a chicken, standing before me was more of a chicken head, a feathery lizard body and a slimy tail. A Chicken-Lizard.

Of course, this wrong transfiguration might not have been so bad, if, naturally, I hadn't created a _possessed_ lizard _-_ chicken that decided it seemed appropriate to make a huge riot.

“CCCUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!” the half-lizard/half-chicken cried out (in an amazingly high volume for such a small animal, by the way). All heads instantly turned my way as the chicken hopped off my desk and started on its desired warpath.

The chaos began when the crazed animal knocked straight into Jervis Rennet’s chair, causing poor Jervis to topple over onto Penny O’Jene, who shrieked rather loudly into Jervis’s ear. The chicken then made its way onto Tammy Turner’s desk, shuffling her parchment and quills in all odd directions, causing Tammy to start yelling obscenities in some other language, which I believe sounded a bit like Mermish. That done, it then decided to parch its ink-stained feet upon Carrie Lloyd’s delicate shoulder.

“GET IT OFF! EWWW! GET IT OFF ME!” she’d screamed to her partner, Timmy Ricks, who seemed to find the situation very comical, and was unable to help on account of he was laughing so hard.

At that point the whole class was in complete chaos as my creation bounced from one desk to another, jumping on people, ruining assignments and raging havoc wherever it went. The only one who really seemed to be enjoying the entire fiasco was Sirius, who was loudly proclaiming to his own chicken that it should follow my creation's example. I truly wished the floor would just open up and swallow me whole. I could only imagine how red my face had gotten at that point. The whole time I followed the crazed animal with my eyes, willing myself not to burst out into tears right then and there.

The madness finally came to an end when McGonagall dropped a rather large edition of _The Nooks and Crannies of Transfiguration,_ on top of the chaotic beast. There was a collective sigh that spread throughout the room before the tension rose again and I felt everyone’s eyes sway from the then unconscious animal, to its creator.

Me.

“Ms. Evans,” McGonagall said quietly, lifting her eyes slowly from the creature to me. “See me after class, please.”

Just the look in her eyes– disappointment, regret– was enough for me to crack. My whole body quaked with fear and nerves. I nodded, but just barely. I was shaking far too much to do anything more. It was possibly the worst moment of my entire life.

The class calmed down after that. Carrie Lloyd was sent to the girl’s lavatory after she’d stopped screaming and McGonagall fixed Jervis Rennet’s chair, as well as Kiki Molter's desk. Everyone began recollecting their belongings, which had been thrown in various different places around the classroom as a result of my chicken's rampage.

I just sat there, frozen with worry and shame, watching everyone watch me. There were pitiful smiles and worried glances thrown my way, but I ignored them. I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. I KNEW I should have studied more! I KNEW IT! But no, I just _had_ to watch that show on the telly, or I just _had_ to go see that film, or I just _had_ to take a nap. See what happens when you slack off?  I AM UNDOUBTEDLY A FAILURE IN LIFE!

The class was coming to an end and I was most relieved that no other problems had arisen.

“Potter,” McGonagall said a few minutes before class ended. “See me after class.”

Potter looked up, surprised.

“But I didn’t even _do_ anything yet, Professor!” he'd cried, looking towards McGonagall for answers. The fool actually thought he’d get some.

“The fact that you say ‘yet’ can’t mean anything good, now can it, Mr. Potter?” She regarded him suspiciously, her look conveying her distaste at his 'yet'. Potter shrugged, but was obviously still confused.

I instantly started panicking after this little interaction. Had she forgotten about me? Was she going to kick me out of the class with Potter standing RIGHT THERE? Could she possibly be that cruel? McGonagall is strict, but I've never seen her as _cruel_. And what did Potter _do_ anyway? Couldn't she talk about it at a different time? Say, sometime when, I don’t know, I’m NOT there? Did she have any idea what she was _doing_ to me?

Class ended a few minutes later, much to the relief of all inside. Silently, my insides panicking, I watched as everyone except Potter and I began walking slowly out of the classroom, whispering and gossiping about the eventful class. The gossip mill will be flowing freely for quite a while.

“We’ll wait for you if you want,” Emma offered with a comforting smile, gesturing outside the classroom where she and Grace were willing to wait. I shook my head, still not in full control of my vocal chords.

“Don’t worry about it, Lily," Grace said kindly, obviously trying to comfort me as well. "Everyone makes mistakes.”

Yes, but not _mad-chicken_ mistakes.

"Are you sure you don't want us to wait?" Emma offered again. "We only have lunch. It's okay if we're a bit late."

Again, I shook my head.

“Okay." Emma sighed lightly, placing a comforting hand upon my shoulder. "We’ll see you at lunch, I suppose."

Then she and Grace left, leaving Potter, McGonagall and me the only ones left in the previously filled classroom. I tried to ignore Potter and I looked up expectantly at McGonagall. She was seated at her desk, writing something.

“Wait outside, Potter," she ordered quietly, not even bothering to look up from her writing. I let loose a quick sigh of relief as I realised McGonagall wasn't cruel enough to kick me out in front of him. I watched silently as Potter collected his belongings in an equally silently fashion. His eyes riveted back and forth between McGonagall and me as he gathered up the last of his books. I looked away, not wanting to see the ridicule I would undoubtedly find in his eyes. He exited the classroom a few seconds later. He closed the door behind him.

“Come here, Ms. Evans.”

My head snapped back towards McGonagall, my stomach instantly in knots. With some difficulty, I stepped slowly up to her desk, praying to everything and everyone I knew.

“Professor–” I started.

“We had a deal, Ms. Evans,” she interrupted me quietly, looking up from her writing for the first time. I cringed, blinking the tears out of my eyes. She looked so disappointed. I wanted to die.

“I know, Professor,” I whispered sadly, looking down at my shoes. I couldn’t stand to look her in the face any longer.

“I told you that I’d allow you to take my class again this year, and you promised to study and improve. I don’t see any improvement, Lily." The instant she called me 'Lily', I knew it was all over. Her tone was quiet, but stern. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on both what she was saying while also trying desperately to keep the wetness out of my eyes. I'd never been more ashamed than I was at that moment.

“I-I know." I swallowed, trying to get rid of the ball of emotion that had wedged itself in my throat. "And I _did_ study, Professor! Honestly, I did!”

“I’m not saying you didn’t, Ms. Evans, but I just don’t see how I can keep you in this class if you can’t improve.”

“But it’s only the second day of classes, Professor! I’m just a little out of practice.” My voice was cracking with each word. She was going to kick me out, I just knew she was. There was nothing I could do about it. Why was I even trying to fight it?

“It’s only going to get harder from here, Lily," she told me softly. "All this is just very basic review. Do you honestly want to have to go through another demonstration like this, again?”

I shook my head, waiting for the worst.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I truly am, but I swear I’ll try harder! I’ll study all the time! Just _please_ let me stay in the class! I _need_ to stay in this class.” I knew it was a hopeless case, but I was desperate. McGonagall sighed deeply and my insides began to crumble. " _Please_ ," I begged, trying one last time to plead my hopeless case. I stood there silently, just waiting for the words... _dreading_ the words...

“I’m not going to take you out of the class, Ms. Evans.”

I froze, the hysterical words of a prepared argument fresh on my lips as my heart began beating wildly in my chest. Did she say what I _thought_ she'd said? “I-I– what?”

McGonagall's cool gaze flickered up to me. “I’m not going to take you out of my class,” she repeated.

She's... she's not...

_YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

“Oh, _thank you_ , Professor!" I cried happily, forgetting myself in the heat of the moment and nearly throwing my arms around the older woman. "Thank you _so_ much! I’ll get better, I truly will! I’ll study constantly and I'll improve and I'll...oh, _thank you_!”� I was so relieved, I could hardly catch my breath. I made a vow right then and there that I _would_ study harder, no matter what. After all, no one would want an Auror who failed Transfiguration, right? I still had this small pit in my stomach, though. What if I couldn’t? What if, no matter how much studying I did, I just didn’t get it? What would I do then? I tried to shove those unsettling thoughts out of my head. I was still in the class and that’s all that mattered.

“I’ll make sure of it, Ms. Evans,” McGonagall told me sternly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I glanced at her, confused. “What do you mean?” I asked.

McGonagall began shuffling things around on her desk as she calmly explained, “I’m assigning you a tutor, Ms. Evans. You’ll meet with this tutor once a week for at least an hour. Study for as long as you deem necessary on your own, but if I don’t see any improvement, I’m going to have to take you out of my class. Is that clear?”

I nodded.

A tutor.

Hm.

I’ve never had a tutor before. Who would it be? What would it be like? Could they actually help me?

“Potter!”

McGonagall’s yells snapped me out of my reverie. My eyes flew to the opening door behind me. Potter reentered the classroom, still donning a confused look.

I glanced towards McGonagall uncertainly. Was she done with me? Should I leave now? But who was my tutor? When was I meeting with them? She didn’t seem to be giving out any of the answers. I turned back to James, who had come up towards McGonagall's desk and was now standing next to me.

“Whatever it is, Professor, I didn’t do it," James insisted instantly, looking seriously at McGonagall. "It wasn't me, I swear.”

I had to hold back a laugh as McGonagall stared him down. He looked so innocent. What had he done, anyhow? To my knowledge, nothing had been blown up recently, and no one’s hair had changed colours.

“It’s nothing like that, Potter"–she looked at him sternly–"for _once_." She began shuffling her papers again. "Do you remember what I talked to you about yesterday?” She turned back to her writing from before. Again, I questioned whether or not my presence was required there. If Potter wasn't being scolded for something, there really was no entertainment left there for me. What was he doing anyway? What had they talked about yesterday?

“The tutoring?”

Oh, tutoring.

Wait, TUTORING?

Then it all clicked.

“Yes, the tutoring," McGonagall said with a nod. She turned towards me. "Meet your new student, Potter.”

_Meet your new student, Potter._

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to take the words and shove them back. I wanted to do anything except look at James Potter. But, of course, me being the emotional wreck that I was at the time, didn't do anything but stare and gawk.

_Why_ him? It could have been _anyone_! WHY DID SHE HAVE TO PICK HIM?

“Lily?” he asked, though I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to McGonagall. He had said my first name again. Why did he keep _doing_ that?

“Yes," McGonagall answered, her gaze not lifting from her writing. "You’ll be tutoring Ms. Evans from now on.”

My gawking shifted back to Potter, who was looking a bit too pleased for my liking. I’d _never_ be hearing the end of this. I could only imagine the sorts of things he'd say... the sorts of things he'd tell people...

Bloody hell. I _hate_ him.

“But, Professor,” I argued, speaking up for the first time since Potter had entered the room. “Won’t Potter be too busy to be bothered with tutoring me? I mean, he has Quidditch a-and his Head duties. I’m _sure_ someone else can do it...”

Desperate, you say?

Most definitely.

“Tutoring is apart of his Head duties, Ms. Evans, as it is part of yours." My heart sunk at her words. "If it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else. I thank you for your concern, though.”

Plan A thwarted. Damn her.

“I suppose I’ll leave you both alone to conference about a meeting time." McGonagall rose from her seat, sending a meaningful glance our way as she stood. The parchment she'd previously been writing on was held tightly in her hand. “I have a note to deliver to the Headmaster. Good day to you both.” Then, without another word, she left us.

Alone.

I think that’s when my brain really started to fully comprehend the situation.

Potter.

_James Potter_ was my tutor.

A tutor was someone who helped their student.

Potter, help _me_? It wasn’t likely.

I HAD to pass this class, though. I had no choice. If I didn’t improve, McGonagall would never let me stay in the class and then I'd never become an Auror. But how am I supposed to improve when my tutor is the biggest prat I know? How am I supposed to improve when I have a self-made vow never to speak to my so-called ‘tutor’ ever again? How am I supposed to improve when my tutor positively despises me?

Does McGonagall even realize what she’s done? Does she realise that my whole life has just washed itself _down the drain_ because she's assigned me a worthless tutor? Does she realise that you cannot be an Auror without having a Transfiguration NEWT? DOES SHE?!

I can’t believe this. I’m going to fail. Potter’s probably going to go on feeding me false information, telling me I’m doing well, while really, just laughing at me and my Transfiguration disabilities. MERLIN, he’s such a prat!

While I was going on with my internal ravings, I s’ppse Potter was trying to talk to me, as he was quite startled when I suddenly plopped myself down onto the floor and started bawling my eyes out like mad (hey, I was an emotional wreck, remember? I had no control over my sudden, impulsive reactions).

“Lily!” He instantly dropped down beside me. "Are you all right? What hurts?"

Oh, jeez. The stupid git actually thought I was _hurt_ or something.

"I'm _fine_!" I sobbed angrily. "Just leave me alone!" I buried my face into my knees as I cried harder.

I think it was then that Potter realised that it wasn't some internal body damage that had me in fits. I could tell he was obviously surprised at my tears and a bit uncertain of what to do with me, as I felt him back away slightly from my shaking form. I knew he was confused as to what to make of the silly crying girl sitting next to him–hell, _I'd_ be confused too!– but that confusion seemed to disappear slowly, as a few seconds later, I felt his arms wrap hesitantly around me.

Maybe he was trying to be comforting (ha!), but it just made me more upset. Couldn’t he just forget about this stupid prank or whatever it was and just go back to being mean to me? He’s already ruining my life, _why_ make it worse?

“Go away!” I cried into his shirt, struggling against his hold. At least it was a nice feeling shirt. I suppose if I had to be crying into someone’s shirt, it was nice to know it was a comfortable one.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me quietly, not loosening his tight hold on me in the least. He obviously wasn't unsure of what to do with me anymore. He also didn't seem to think that holding his long-term enemy in a very intimate grip was all that awkward, either. I, of course, was so confused I didn't know what to think.

“I said, _go away_!” I shouted even louder as I continued to struggle against him.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong!” he yelled right back.

Oh, yeah. Definitely not nervous anymore.

But if he thought I was just going to go and tell him all my problems, he had another thing coming to him. So what if he’s being nice? So what if his shirt is comfortable? HE’S A HORRID, STUPID LIAR!

“ _Everything!”_  I cried, trying even harder to tear myself away from him. It seemed like a decent enough answer. He tightened his grip on me. It hurt, so I stopped struggling. Stupid prat.

“Everything?” he asked softly, loosening his death grip on me.

“Yes! Are you satisfied now?”

He shook his head. “No.”

I gaped at him in disbelief. “ _No?”_

“Nope,” he repeated. I wanted to scream in frustration, or punch him really hard right in his pretty little face. Instead, I just cried harder.

“Ugh! Just _go away_!”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he still insisted. I felt his finger under my chin as he lifted my tear-streaked face up to his. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said again.

My mind screamed that this was not normal– that something was definitely going on here. Why was he still being so nice to me when I was not only being incredibly rude (which he totally deserved), but was also practically wrenching myself out of his grasp? Instead of spitting in his face as I originally intended, I quickly searched his face for any clue as to what was going on, but he revealed nothing. His expression was blank as he waited calmly for me to answer and his eyes were filled with a strange emotion I just couldn't place. Though, I must say, they _are_ very nice. His eyes, I mean. Even though he doesn't deserve them, being the un-nice (or usually un-nice, anyway) person that he his. I hope he donates them to Hope House or something.

“Why do you even care?” I asked him as coldly as I could manage through all my tears. “You despise me.”

I had said the last bit rather stately, as if it was common knowledge, which I’d thought it was, but Potter looked confused.

“I don’t despise you," he said. "You know that, don’t you, Lily?”

Uh, no, I didn't.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, annoyed that he was even suggesting otherwise. This is all part of his mastermind plan, I just know it. Comfort the crying girl, tell her you don’t hate her, continue being Mr. Nice and Noble, and then prank the girl until she goes mad. “You’ve hated me since first-year. You’ve made your intentions _quite_ clear.”

He sighed loudly, shaking his head regretfully. “I've never hated you, Lily.”

What a _liar_ that boy is!

“Don't lie!” I cried, glaring daggers at him. "What are you, some sort of _pathological liar_ or something?"

“Am I what?” he asked blankly.

“You lied before and you’re lying now!" I explained matter-of-factly, not bothering to keep the anger out of my voice when I did so. "Do you _enjoy_ lying, or are you just sick and can't help it?”

Potter sighed once again, moving one of his hands from around me to reach up and push his hair aside. “I didn’t mean to lie before," he said. "I’m sorry.”

I had to hold back my snort of disbelief. What was he _talking_ about? How can you NOT mean to lie? When you lie, you KNOW you’re lying. He totally knew! I mean, he _smiled_! Not only did he _know_ he was doing it, but he took a bit of satisfaction in doing it as well!

“You can’t _not_ mean to lie," I snapped angrily. "You did it on purpose.”

Potter fought to find his words for a moment. “I know," he said, "but… it was... I never meant...oh, never mind! You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” I shot back, now actually curious as to how he 'didn't mean to lie' as opposed to before when I was just trying to sway the conversation to a topic other than me crying. If he could be persistent, so could I.

“Not until you tell me why you’re crying," he countered with a pointed look.

Oh, damn.

I should have seen that coming.

I never intended to tell him why I was hysterical, of course. Even if he was being nice and all. In fact, I had every intention of screaming and yelling and making a big scene out of him wanting to get into my private business. But, naturally, my notorious mouth chose that specific moment to strike again. I think it might have been those stupid eyes of his that somehow set my idiotic mouth off (!), but one way or another, I soon found myself pouring out the entire Transfiguration story– my dreadful O.W.L.S. scores, my deal with McGonagall, my Auror problem, even my tutoring doubts about him– to James Potter, right there on the Transfiguration classroom's floor.

Yeah, I know, I'm an idiot.

He listened intently, as if he actually cared about what I was saying, which is why I think my mouth just kept going, even after I thought there was nothing left to tell. Then, finally, after my traitor-of-a-mouth had finally finished its rather long piece, I ended my story with a pleasant, “My life is a living hell,” and then quickly clamped my mouth together, mentally kicking myself all the while. Potter seemed to be waiting to see if I was finished before he said or did anything. He actually seemed a bit stunned that I had given in so easily. A few seconds past in silence before he began to laugh.

“Is that all?” he asked with a smirk. I scowled at him. “I honestly thought it was something important.”

“This _is_ important!” I snapped.

He laughed again, taking no heed of my angered disposition. “Listen," he started, giving me a small smile. "First off, _everyone_ has their fair share of problems. _Everyone_ thinks their life is a living hell at one point or another– I mean, hell! I hate my life, too! And secondly, you’re _not_ going to fail Transfiguration. That’s what I’m here for.”

He sounded so sincere when he said that last part, that I almost believed him. _Almost_. I mean, I _wanted_ to believe him, really I did, but this is _James Potter_ we're talking about here. The same James Potter who lied to me. The same James Potter who has hated me since first-year (even if he insists that he didn’t. That was a lie, too). I mean, after all of that, why should I believe him _now_?

“ _You're_ going to help _me_?" I asked, not bothering to hide the blatant sarcasm from my voice. "Right. Sure.”

“I will!” he insisted, still looking very sincere, though I knew he wasn't.

I rolled my eyes. “You will?” I asked flatly.

“Of course, I will!” he answered. I threw him a suspicious look. His arms moved away from my body and into an ‘oath’ position. “Sacred Marauder Promise."

I rolled my eyes again. “Like I’d believe any promise _you_ four came up with!” I laughed. Well, at least it was an attempted laugh. I sort of started coughing halfway through, so it was more of a coughing fit than a carefree laugh.

“You all right?” Potter asked me after my coughing had died down a bit. I could see he was trying to hold back a laughing fit of his own.

“I’m fine,” I choked out.

“Good.” He smiled and nodded. I watched as he pushed himself off of the floor and into a standing position. He then offered me his hand, helping me off the floor as well.

“Thanks,” I croaked, still not completely over my coughing fit.

“No problem,” he answered with another smile. I looked away from him and busied myself with wiping the invisible dirt off my skirt. I figured if I didn't look at him, maybe I could just forget this entire thing had happened.

“So." Potter looked towards me expectantly, obviously not sure what else to say at that point. If he was looking towards me to restart the conversation, he was mad. I think I'd done _enough_ talking for one day, thank you very much.

I didn’t know how much time had past, but I knew it had to have been a good while after spilling out my entire life story to the poor bloke. It seemed mad that I had I really been talking to _James Potter_ for all that time. Is that even possible? I never thought so.

“I’d... better get going," Potter finally said, breaking the silence. "Lunch and all."

"Yeah." I nodded, wiping at my eyes and hoping that I didn't look like too much of a mess. "Lunch. Right."

There was another quiet pause before Potter went, "But about those tutoring sessions... I have Quidditch Mondays and Fridays, so how about tomorrow? Say, around 8?”

I nodded again, though I still wasn't sure if this tutoring thing was even going to be worth it. What if the prat actually DOES feed me false information? What if he CAN’T help me? What on earth will I do then?

"Good." He looked relieved that I'd actually consented. "I’ll meet you in the common room, then?”

I nodded stupidly once more. He smiled at me and then moved to grab his things off one of the desks. I watched him as he started for the door, but for some reason, had the distinct feeling that our conversation couldn’t end right then.

I should've known, of course, that my traitor-of-a-mouth could _easily_ take care of something like that.

“Potter!”

He turned around to face me, looking as if he’d expected such an outburst. At least one of us had.

“Uh…well…er…thanks. For, er... letting me yell at you.”

Oh, Merlin.

Did that _actually_ come out of my mouth?

I am _such_ an idiot.

What he must have been thinking of me at that very moment, I can only guess. It was probably something along the lines of ‘bloody moron’.

“You're welcome,” he laughed.

Yes, Major Moron Lily.

He gave me one last smile before he started for the door again. I tried to return the smile best I could, but I was so red at that point, I really don’t think it mattered.

I turned quickly back to my books, which were scattered across my desk, trying not to think of our previous conversation. There was only one way to find out if Potter really was the liar I envisioned him to be, and that was to go through with this whole tutoring thing. Who knows, maybe he _was_ telling the truth. Maybe he _could_ help me.

“Lily!”

My head snapped up at the sound of my name. Potter was leaning on the doorframe, looking expectantly at me. What did he want now?

“Hm?”

I tried to sound as casual as possible. Of course, there’s no reason I _shouldn't_ have sounded casual. I mean, it’s just Potter. Even if I _had_ just blurted out my entire life story to him.

“James,” he said simply.

I looked at him confused, thinking he’d elaborate. “What?” I asked.

“My name,” he said in the same simple tone, “is James.”

I gave him a strange look. “I know it is,” I said with a nervous sort of giggle. How was I supposed to know what he was talking about?

“I reckon that’s what you should call me then, right?”

My body froze. I stared at him in complete and utter disbelief.

Did he say, what I _thought_ he'd just said? Did he honestly just tell me to call him _James_? After six years of constant surname calling, he tells me _now_?

“Er-yeah," I choked out. "I-I s’ppse so.”

He grinned. “All right." Then he disappeared completely.

Now, I ask you, what was _that_ all about? What was he _doing_? What must he think of me?

Wait, why am I even _caring_ what he thinks? Potter's opinion never mattered before! What, two days of unusual niceness and suddenly he’s my bloody idol or something? I really should stop that. After all, he’s just Potter. The stupid, bigheaded, prick that I’ve hated since first year… right?

RIGHT?

 

**_________________________________________**

**_Later, 7th Year Girls Dormitory_**

 

You’d think that people would have other things to talk about.

Seriously. It's as if the whole lot of them haven't had any decent gossip in ages.

I mean, I _know_ it was a very eventful class, but you’d hope that people could find entertainment in something _other_ than making the Head Girl feel like a fool.

The fact that I couldn’t even finish eating dinner (which included FOUR different types of rice, by the way) because of all the stares and pointing, really just has to say something about my fellow student body. I had hoped that they’d understand that no one is perfect, least of all me, and would just lay off, but that simply just wasn't the case. It really just isn’t appropriate. I know I’m a Transfiguration failure, but they don’t have to rub it in.

I told Grace and Emma about my whole “Potter/James” incident when we’d gotten back to the dormitory. They seemed to think it was perfectly natural. Apparently, I’m “over-examining” the situation. How silly of me.

“It’s good he’s trying to make peace,” Grace said. “Your stupid fights have been going on for too long.”

This is probably true. The whole fight thing really is somewhat stupid. But it was always _him_ who started in with _me_. I never attacked him without being provoked.

“James is very good at Transfiguration,” Emma had told me in regards to the tutoring situation. “He’ll be a good tutor. You just have to be sure to study harder. Let James do his part, but be sure to do yours, as well.”

I had also told them about the day at Kings Cross and about the prank idea. Grace found this absurd.

“He’s being nice and you automatically think it’s a prank?” she asked me with an odd look on her face.

“That’s what he said,” I muttered quietly, feeling a bit guilty now. It seemed like a perfectly valid explanation before. What else could it be?

“Well, maybe it’s just not what you think,” she said. “Maybe there’s another reason, but you just don’t _realise_ it.”

That’s when I knew that she knew something I didn’t. I hate it when she does that whole ‘mysterious’ act. You can never get anything out of her when she’s like this. She always expects you to know exactly what she’s talking about. I never can understand what she’s trying to tell me anyway, so why bother saying anything at all? Is it that amusing to confuse me?

“Or maybe it’s _exactly_ what I think,” I countered stubbornly. It couldn’t be anything else. There WAS no other reason.

Grace just shook her head and the conversation ended.

I really do hate when she does that.

 


	3. September 4th: Tutoring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Another thanks to Megan, the original beta reader for this chapter.

 ()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Instead of having “answers” on a math test, they should just call them “impressions,” and if you got a different “impression,” so what, can’t we all be brothers?”

-Jack Handey-  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

**_________________________________________**

**Thursday, September 4th, Divination**

 

Well, it's official.

I suppose I should be relieved in some way. I mean, the cat is officially out of the bag. It's off my shoulders. I no longer have to pretend.

Because now–thanks to my rubbish Transfiguration skills and my lovely friend, Mr. Chicken-Lizard–rather than just _most_ of the Hogwarts population knowing that their Head Girl is a complete and utter fraud, the _entire school_ knows.

This is a good thing, I swear.

Psh. Stupid wankers.

Breakfast was, to put it lightly, a complete and total disaster. It was bad. It was _so_ bad.

It was _humiliating_.

Why can't they just leave me alone? Seriously. I mean, I _know_ I'm a failure, I _know_ I'm a fake, I _know_ I'm perfectly dreadful and should be shipped off in a cardboard box to China where I'll be made into something plastic, but do they honestly have to _rub it in_? Can't they just leave it at that? Do they honestly have to talk about it _all through breakfast_ in the most _horrid_ form of whispering ever recorded? Do they honestly have to keep _pointing at me_ , trying to be discreet, but failing miserably? DO THEY?

They're all bloody insane and that's all there is to it. Completely off their rockers, every last one of them. In fact, I plan to suggest that we take the entire school in for examinations at St. Mungo's because if one more person asks me if I’ve truly discovered a new species of chicken, I just may go on a killing spree and Merlin knows a whole lot of people are going to need psychiatric help after that.

I think I'm just better off living in Guam.

Seriously. No one in Guam expects you to be perfect. The people in Guam don't care if you're a wrongly chosen Head Girl or if you're completely horrid at Transfiguration. Nope. All they care about is whether or not you know how to make clothes out of coconuts.

Which I don't, but if it came down to that, I'd learn.

_T minus: 12 hours until Mission: Tutoring commences_

 

**_________________________________________**

**Later, Charms**

 

Rumor Count: I've discovered a new animal species: 93 I've obtained a new possessed chicken from my mate, The Devil: 34 I have a new pet lizard that got sick and sprouted feathers and just happen to find his way into the Transfiguration classroom: 22 I'm a complete failure in life: 1 (Saunders) There's nothing wrong with making a mistake: 2 (Grace and Emma) Have no idea why they're laughing and talking about me, but they enjoy doing it anyway: The rest of the Hogwarts population.

Do you see what a ruckus I cause?

Guam, here I come.

_T minus: 7 hours until M: Tutoring commences._

 

**_________________________________________**

**Still Later, Dinner in the Great Hall**

 

It is now exactly 7:18.

42 minutes until Mission: Tutoring commences.

Okay, make that 41 minutes.

Oh Merlin, I'm nervous. I know it’s stupid and I shouldn’t be worried, but I am. I don’t even have what can be classified as butterflies in my stomach anymore. They’re actually more like evil, flesh-eating vultures that enjoy feasting on my very sensitive internal organs now. I can't even enjoy my _rice_ I'm so full of anxiety. Even looking over at my dear sweet Amos isn’t helping!

And when _Amos_ can’t help, you know it’s bad.

Merlin, what is _wrong_ with me? I have to stop this. I have to calm down. This can’t be good for my already fragile mental state. Breathe, Lily. Breathe.

Okay.

All right.

Calm.

Sort of.

What am I even nervous _about,_ anyway? It’s not as if _I_ could do anything wrong in this little tutoring session. Potter already knows how horrid I am at Transfiguration, so I'm sure he's not exactly expected too much from me. And even if I do mess up dreadfully, it would be pretty hard to top the Chicken/Lizard incident. It just doesn't get much worse _that_.

So I have to stop stressing over this. After all, it's just _Potter_.

I mean James.

I mean...

Ugh. I don’t know _what_ I mean.

 

**_________________________________________**

**Still Later, Still at Dinner in the Great Hall**

 

I wonder what tutoring will be like.

Well, I mean, I know what it will _be like_ , but I wonder what it will be like _with him_.

I don't know why I think it'll be any different because it's Potter/James doing the tutoring. It'll just be the same things that always go on in tutoring sessions– he'll ask me questions and I'll stutter like an imbecile, making up answers because I don't know anything. He’ll probably get a few good laughs off of that. My imbecile answers, I mean. He’ll definitely find my stupidity amusing, stupid bloody wanker that he is...

I hate him.

I hate him _so much_.

You're not supposed to hate your tutor, are you? I mean, that’s like against the Tutoring Code, isn’t it? But I suppose I don’t really _hate_ _him_ , hate him. I just… I… I hate what he’s _doing_. I hate that he’s making me worry like this. I hate that he had to go and try to be all nice and helpful instead of fulfilling my expectations and being an arse like he normally is– or normally _was_ , anyway. I’m not really sure what’s going on with that. I guess I’m being a bit dramatic saying I hate him. It’s really a lie. I don’t think I _hate_ anyone. I dislike certain people to a very large extent (i.e.: Elisabeth Saunders), but I don’t _hate_ them. After all, hating can give you incredibly bad karma, and I already have enough ridiculously bad karma of my own to deal with, I don’t need any more. So I really have to stop taking out my nerves on my tutor.

But you know what? _He_ hates _me_.

I mean, I know he _insists_ that he doesn’t, but you don’t tease and annoy a girl like Potter/James annoyed me if you don't hate her. Because he could say and do some pretty dreadful things when he set his mind to it. So even if I _did_ hate him, karma can’t call me on that one, because he hates _me_. So it should definitely be okay that I’m having these hateful feelings towards Potter/James. My karma should just let it go, because our mutual hate evens out. It's balanced. Karma should embrace the _balanceness_.

Oh, Merlin. Now he has me contemplating my _karma_.

DOESN’T ANYONE CARE THAT I AM HAVING A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN OVER HERE? Over a TUTORING SESSION nevertheless? DOES ANYONE CARE?

God, I need therapy.

Or Guam.

Or both.

_T minus- 33 minutes until Mission: Tutoring commences_

 

**_________________________________________**

**Still Later, 7th Year Girls Dormitory**

 

I KNEW IT!

I BLOODY WELL KNEW IT!

I KNEW he was up to something!

Merlin, _why_ am I so _stupid_? _Why_ didn't I just run hard and fast in the opposite direction the _second_ he started being so nice again? _Why_ did I actually start to believe he was a decent human being?

WHY?!

I am by far the _stupidest_ piece of human flesh ever procreated.And James Potter is by far the BIGGEST, STUPIDEST, MEANEST GIT I'VE EVER MET!

I _hate_ him.

And this time, I _mean_ it. Screw stupid bloody bad karma, I hate him. I hate him so much I want to scream and cry at the same time.

I've NEVER in my ENTIRE LIFE been kicked out of ANYWHERE, much less a LIBRARY for something I _didn’t even do_! I _knew_ he wasn't being nice for no reason! I _knew_ Grace was wrong! I _knew_ there had to be some stupid, backwards scheme to make me feel like a complete fool!

Who am I kidding? I _am_ a complete fool. Not even the people of _Guam_ will want me now. Coconut designer or not, they’d never take me. I am by far the _biggest, stupidest, most idiotic fool to ever walk this planet!_

BUT WHY DOES EVERYONE HAVE TO RUB IT IN MY FACE?

And you know what the _worst_ part about the whole thing is? He actually had me believing that he had _changed!_ I'll admit it. For the first forty minutes of the session, I was seriously starting to doubt the whole prank idea. I began to seriously consider Grace's explanation as truth. Maybe it _wasn't_ what I thought. Maybe Potter (call him James? Ha! OVER MY DEAD BLOODY BODY!) _wasn't_ lying. Maybe he _didn't_ hate me. Maybe there _was_ no prank. Maybe he _was_ a decent human being. Maybe he'd changed when I hadn't noticed.

Psh.

Yeah.

Sure.

I should have just stuck with my original instincts. I should have never believed him.

I AM SO STUPID!!!

But who could blame me for believing, really? The night had started out perfectly fine, after all. At precisely 8 o’clock, we’d met in the common room as planned. I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t surprised to find him there on time. I thought for sure that this disaster of an evening was going to start out with him arriving a half-hour late, a useless excuse as his explanation, but that just wasn't the case. He was actually on time. I had wondered why the normally late Potter was finally being punctual, but didn’t ask. Now, of course, I understand why. He just couldn’t wait to make a fool out of me.

Stupid anxious bastard.

"Hey," he'd greeted me causally, waving his hand slightly as I made my way over to the table he'd been sitting at. I hated the way he was so carefree when there I was, just few feet away from him, dying of nerves and practically sick with anxiety. Life can be so unkind sometimes.

With my stomach in my throat and my heart pounding uncomfortably in my chest, I tried to respond with an equally as casual greeting, but failed miserably when the only sound I seemed to be able to produce was this helpless, high-pitched squeaking noise that sounded more like a sob than any actual word. Potter grinned at my squeak, causing me to blush furiously, completely mortified.

After that, it's pretty easy to understand why I didn’t attempt to speak again.

"So, the library, then?" Potter asked, still grinning slightly at my red-tinted face. I nodded in consent, still not trusting my voice enough to try again.

But it unfortunately wasn’t my vocal chords that were causing my silence as Potter and I walked through the corridors towards the library. It was _him_. James Potter had caused me to get tongue-tied… er, again. I don’t know _why_ I couldn’t speak to him, though. I mean, all the time we were walking, he attempted to keep up this one-sided conversation about school which I could've jumped into at any given point, but for the life of me I couldn’t get a single ruddy word out. I just walked along beside him, nodding my head like the imbecile that I am, listening to him chatter on. Worse, I think he _knew_ he had caused me to get tongue-tied. I bet he was just dying to laugh the entire time. I bet he was just _reveling_ in the fact that he would soon have me in an even worse state of embarrassment. I bet he just LOVED that.

It seemed like forever when we finally found our way into the library. It was actually surprisingly full for a Wednesday night–which, you know what, he probably planned as well. I mean, the more people, the more humiliation for Lily Evans, right? He was probably selling tickets and making money off of the whole damn thing! Do YOU want to see Lily Evans make a fool out of herself YET AGAIN? Well, then _STEP RIGHT UP AND GET YOUR FRONT ROW SEATS!_

And this entire time, I had no idea he was planning this. In fact, I was actually quite relieved. He was being perfectly nice. Not saying that this niceness didn’t make me nervous as well, but it _did_ make the prospect of sitting with him for the next hour a bit more tolerable.

"Let's take that table back there," Potter had said, pointing out a table towards the back of the library. It was in a secluded area, covered by many bookshelves. Those damned ticket buyers must have been upset because of the blocked view. They'd only get the after-effect. Pity.

"Okay," was the first thing I'd muttered all night. I followed him towards the table, taking the seat across from him. He seemed relaxed, lounging back in his chair, a smile plastered on his face (yes, the one that I USED to like. Not any more. The dirty bastard), watching me. I sat there, stick straight, unsure of what to do.

"Don't you think we should get started?" I'd said rather harshly a few moments later. At the time I'd felt a bit guilty for my tone, considering he'd recently been nothing but nice to me, but now I'm glad I could wipe that smile off his bloody face, even if it was just for that second.

"Uh–yeah. Sure. Let's get started."

He started shuffling through his stuff, pulling out textbooks and other large, scary-looking Transfiguration books. My stomach dropped at the sight of them. Instantly, I knew this was going to be bad. I just didn't know HOW bad it would eventually get.

And then, after bringing out all those scary, intimidating books that made me want to dig my grave and bury myself right then and there, he brought out our REAL lesson tool. Do you know what it was?

A paperclip.

"This," he said, holding the paperclip up to my face, "will be our lesson today."

_This will be our lesson today._

A _paperclip._

My mouth nearly fell open.

I stared at him, trying desperately not to scream– or cry. I easily could've done either at that point. I thought he'd said he was going to take this _seriously_? No jokes, no tricks, no trying to be funny. I needed to be tutored and there he was, telling me that he was going to teach me Transfiguration with a _paperclip_? I was a bit ticked off to say the least.

"A paperclip?" I asked, trying to hold back the evident anger in my voice.

"A paperclip," he repeated, cracking another grin.

That's when I _really_ got cross. I had no idea the bloke was actually being _serious_. I mean, come on, teaching a lesson with a _paperclip_? Who'd ever take something like _that_ seriously? I thought he was just trying to be funny! I needed to be tutored and he was making a joke out of the entire thing!

"I thought you were going to be serious about this?" I snapped, not caring if my anger showed anymore. I was cross, and I made sure he knew it.

"I am being serious!" Potter protested, a look of befuddlement etching his face. I wanted to strangle him. At that point, all my hopes that the whole tutoring thing would actually work out all fell apart. Was this honestly the bloke that I had spent half-an-hour CRYING to yesterday? Had he even been LISTENING to ANYTHING I had blubbered on about? Didn't he comprehend how IMPORTANT this was to me? Could he possibly be THAT thick?

"Listen," I seethed, talking through clenched teeth, trying desperately to keep my voice low. Madame Pince was already looking our way and Merlin knows that woman has absolutely no patience. "I don't know if you were listening to me yesterday, but you obviously don't understand how _important_ this is to me. If I don't pass Transfiguration, I'm in deep trouble and I know you may not care about that, but I am _not_ going to sit here and listen to you _rattle on_ about a bloody _paperclip_ , wasting my time and wasting yours. So if you're not going to be serious about this, I might as well just go straight to McGonagall now, because I'm _not_ going to fail Transfiguration just because you're not _mature enough to handle this!"_

By the time I was finished with my mini-rant, I was out of breath and flushed the colour of my hair. I was angry, I was embarrassed, and I was more than a little bit disappointed. I sat there, glaring at Potter through narrowed eyes. He, meanwhile, just sat there, staring at me as if I was speaking some sort of foreign language. This, of course, only made me more upset.

"But I AM being serious!" he insisted once again, this time without a smile.

I shook my head, holding back the barrage of angry words that were threatening to fall out of my mouth. I didn't want to hear it anymore. I was so sick of all his 'I'm serious, I'm serious' nonsense. A loud noise that sounded like something between a scream and a sigh escaped my mouth, earning a threatening "shhh!" from Madame Pince as I grabbed my things to leave. I had finally reached my breaking point.

"Lily, wait! Will you just _wait a second?_ "

Potter grabbed my wrists, stopping me from leaving the table. I fought against his grip, but as always, in a battle of strength, the odds were not in my favour. I really need to start working out or something. He began pushing me back down into the chair. I glared daggers at him. Naturally, it had no effect. "Just _listen_ , will you?"

"You have five seconds," I spat out, not because I was actually interested in what he was going to say to defend himself, but because he was still pushing me down into the seat and I didn't have much of a choice.

"Fine!" He took a deep breath and stared straight at me, his eyes hard. "I _am_ being serious. The paperclip... I know it may seem ridiculous, but it'll honestly help. You didn't seriously think that you were just going to come in here and instantly start transfiguring animals, did you? You'd never get anywhere that way! You have to start from the beginning. Start out easy and then progress. Hence, the paperclip. Understand, now?"

I sat there motionless, not wanting to think about what he'd just said, but doing it anyway. I guess it _did_ make sense, starting from the beginning. _Had_ I thought we were going to instantly start off transfiguring animals? Truth be told, yes, I had. I mean, that's what I needed help on, wasn't it? But as much as I hated to admit it, the blockhead was right. You CAN’T just start off with the hard stuff. You _do_ have to start from the beginning. But a paperclip? I mean, that's like first year! I may be bad, but I'm not _that_ bad. Still, I somehow found my previously over-the-edge anger transform itself into a large bout of embarrassment.

"Er, I'm... that is..." I tried to find the words, but couldn't. I hung my head and drooped lower into my seat. Potter removed the hand that had been keeping me held in place. He was right. I hated that. "I'm sorry," I finally forced out, though I despised saying it. "I thought...well, I just figured–"

"Doesn't matter." Potter waved off the apology that I had worked so hard to force out. "Just take out your wand. Let's get started."

And so, with nothing left to say on the matter, we began.

For the next ten minutes or so, I worked on the paperclip, changing it into different things and whatnot according to Potter's instructions. It wasn't hard. I KNEW how to do all those things. I mean, a first year could do most of those things. I may be stupid, and I may be a fraud, but ANYONE could have done the things I was doing. They were that easy.

"That's your problem," Potter had said, after I'd explained to him the stupidity of this simple exercise. "You can do all this properly because you _know_ you can do it and you're confident about it. When you're transfiguring animals, you're probably concentrating just as hard as the next person, but unlike them, you're not confident. To truly transfigure something, you have to get rid of all your doubts. If you're thinking about all the things that could go wrong, it reduces your abilities and you mess up– your wand flicks the wrong way or the words come out wrong. You have to _believe_ you can do it before you actually can."

I wonder if he planned that whole little speech out beforehand, because let me tell you, it was _convincing_. I bet he stole it out of a textbook or one of those large, intimidating Transfiguration books he had brought, because when you think about it, that could so totally be my problem. Maybe, if I ever decide to speak to him again, I'll ask him which book he got it out of because I bet there's a whole lot of stuff in there that could help me. It's quite a shame that by the time I decide to speak to him again, he'll probably be dead.

And so we spent the majority of the session transfiguring different sized paper clips. First, small tiny ones, then larger ones, then _even_ larger ones, and then, if you could imagine such a thing, EVEN larger ones. And just when you didn't think a paperclip could get any larger, Potter pulled out a large paperweight and we started working on that.

Stupid?

Yup.

Silly?

Most definitely.

Useless?

Surprisingly not.

I remorsefully have to admit that I think I laughed more tonight with Potter than I had ever in my life let myself laugh with any other bloke. I couldn't help it, though. I mean, he'd just do these ridiculous things or say something so stupid that I'd find myself laughing. He's a funny bloke when he's pretending to be nice. It's a curse. 

You know, it's extremely odd how I could go and hate Potter for six years straight and then suddenly out of nowhere, start laughing it up with him and acting like he's just a normal mate or something. I mean, who DOES that? It's not as if someone can change overnight. What was I thinking? I'm sure Potter was getting a real large kick out of my stupidity.

But anyway, as we sat (or stood occasionally) transfiguring our paper clips and paperweights, laughing at random intervals, Potter came to find that he had left one of his precious textbooks in his dorm, so he insisted that he'd quickly go find another copy. Finding nothing at all suspicious with him going off to fetch a textbook, I nodded, giving him permission to leave.

And that's when it all came down.

You see, the normal, non-Potterized Lily would've instantly been suspicious of Potter leaving her alone and gallivanting throughout the library "looking for a book". However, this _new_ Lily– the one who had uncharacteristically been thinking Potter a decent human being– didn't seem to comprehend that Potter is a dirty wanker and always has things up his sleeves. THIS Lily didn't understand that Potter plus Library Search equaled Big Fat Lie. Normal Lily would have understood this perfectly well, but according to my knowledgeable sources, she was vacationing somewhere in Guam, learning how to make clothes out of coconuts from the local Guamanians.

"I'll be back in a minute. Just keep practicing," Potter had said as he walked towards the various shelves of books, disappearing somewhere behind the Potions section. I paid his disappearance no mind as I sat there, fully engrossed in transfiguring a 40 gram paper weight, silently thinking that somehow Potter had completely changed without me knowing...

And then it hit me.

Literally.

It was wet.

It was wet, slimy, mushy and green. It was disgusting.

And I was COVERED in it.

And then, at that exact moment, while my brain was still trying to comprehend the large amount of green goop currently residing all over my body, Potter returns from his library search, obviously VERY amused.

And I honestly tried not to jump to conclusions. I'm serious. I was honestly trying to think of any way that this could all be a misunderstanding and that Potter really had nothing to do with it. I was trying to discover a way in which the "new" James Potter could be innocent. I was thinking all this up until I happen to spot the rest of the Marauders cracking up behind a bookshelf in the same direction Potter had just come from.

All of their hands were covered in green gloop.

Then it got bad.

When I looked back over at Potter, he was laughing. "What in Merlin's name did you _do_ to yourself, Lily?"

Then– yes, you guessed it.

Normal Lily came back from Guam.

"What did I _do_ , Potter? WHAT DID I _DO_?! MERLIN, I thought you'd _changed_! I'd thought you'd GROWN UP! You are so... SO IMMATURE! I CAN'T BELIEVE–"

Now let me tell you, Normal Lily was not quite finished just then. In fact, I know for a fact that Normal Lily could've continued on ranting for a least a good three minutes or so more, but such was not the plan, for right about then, it seemed Madame Pince had had quite enough of all the noise.

"MISS EVANS! MR. POTTER! THIS IS A LIBRARY, NOT A DORMITORY! _OUT!_ NOW! YOU ARE DISTURBING ALL OF THESE STUDENTS AND I WILL NOT HAVE IT ANY LONGER! _OUT!_ BLACK! LUPIN! PETTIGREW! OUT, OUT, _OUT!"_

And so, with a mean glare at Potter and the rest of his crew, and a quick swipe of her books, Normal Lily left the library, completely embarrassed, utterly mortified and covered in some unidentified green substance. All of the Marauders were happy that their evil plan had worked and Madame Pince finally got her peace and quiet. And as for Normal Lily?

Well, who really cares about her anyway?

 

**_________________________________________**

**Friday, September 5th, Divination**

 

This is like the chicken-gone-bad incident all over again.

It seems that we Hogwarts students have yet to conquer the art of whispering and pointing discreetly. Even worse, it seems just about EVERYONE has heard of and/or seen the whole Big Green Goop Incident, and now finds it vital to discuss it with EVERY OTHER PERSON THEY HAVE EVER MET. But, you know what? I think I should be pleased. I mean, I've been the main topic of Hogwarts' grueling gossip mill for the past few days! Who wouldn't be happy about that instant popularity? AND (I think you'll get a real kick out of this one)–

He _actually_ tried to talk to me this morning.

He being Potter.

Actually, he tried to talk to me _three_ times.

The first time, I simply glared and walked away, Emma and Grace in tow, shooting glares of their own (after I told them about yesterday night, they are very cross with him as well. Mates are great that way, aren't they?). After that, I thought that he– being the intelligent bloke he claims to be– would pick up on the whole "don't talk to me" signal, but alas, no, this is _James Potter_ we're talking about. We needed to go over it _at least_ a dozen times in order for the information to process through his incredibly large, incredibly conceited head.

The second time, he tried to interrupt me when I was eating. That time, I shoved a piece of waffle into my mouth and ignored him again. He was rambling on about something or another, but I paid him no heed and just continued eating my waffles and drinking my pumpkin juice. Potter finally seemed to realise that I wasn't listening to a goshdarned word he was saying and left a few minutes later

And finally, the third time, as I was pouring myself some more juice, he came over and cornered me.

"Will you at least just listen to me for a _second_? It wasn't what–"

I was fed up, tired, and completely crabby, so I did what anyone else in my position would do...

I dumped the pitcher of pumpkin juice over his head.

Classy, I know.

 

**_________________________________________**

**Later, Defense Against the Dark Arts**

 

Someone really needs to give that child staring lessons.

I'm not kidding. If I weren’t so cross with him, I'd have to force myself to volunteer to give them to him myself because he's just perfectly horrid at it. He's even worse than most of the first-years, and they're just about as bad as one can get.

He's completely disregarding the number one, most important rule of staring:

You're not supposed to let the person _SEE_ you staring at them! I mean, that completely defeats the purpose of staring! THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU’RE LOOKING AT THEM!

And then, when they accidentally DO catch you staring at them, you're supposed to QUICKLY TURN AWAY. That's just how things are! You are NOT, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, supposed to start MOUTHING WORDS at them as if the person whom you're staring at (who is, by the way, located on the _complete_ opposite side of the room) will actually understand what your saying. BECAUSE THEY CAN’T. Even if they WERE interested in what you had to say, THEY WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND YOU.

And WHILE you're mouthing these non-appropriate words, if your supposed victim starts glaring at you and giving you dirty faces because they are TRYING to concentrate on learning about the proper way to use a Acid Charm (even if they've done it more times than they can count) that generally means you should stop your non-existent chatter.

See what I mean? Horrible!

 

**_________________________________________**

**Later, 7th Year Girls Dormitories**

 

I'm too tired to write all that much. I've been doing homework for the past, oh I don't know, THREE HOURS, and have finally just threw in the towel.

What is WRONG with these professors, anyway? Don't they know that we have better things to do than write three-foot essays on the workings of the Renewal Potion? Can't they comprehend that no one CARES if Mars starts affecting Jupiter's moons?

And most importantly, do they CARE that while one particular student is involved in an endless fit of homework doing, this student may have to hear that her two over-trusting best mates think that she should listen to what a lying, cheating, bastard Head Boy has to say (even if they were completely on this said student's side earlier that morning)?

I truly just don't think they do.

 

**_________________________________________**

**Saturday, September 6th, 7th Year Girls Dormitories**

 

I've recently discovered that hiding in my bed with my blankets firmly placed around my body, doing my Potions Essay, is not such a bad way to keep away from taunting students and persistent bastards. It is, actually, quite an effective way of hiding from the Hogwarts population. Well, except for Saunders, who's probably the worse out of them all, but she's not here. She's probably off doing her social "I-Have-A-Life" things, so she can't invade my haven.

Grace is here, though. She says that I'm just being a coward and that I should go talk to Potter. Yeah, I'm sure. What happened to being on MY side, Gracie? What happened to being MY MATE? Who cares if she is also HIS mate? I'M her BEST MATE. Does that count for nothing?

She's just too trusting, that one.

We've also seemed to have lost Emma. When I woke up this morning, her bed was empty. I figured she was probably off in the library or maybe taking a shower, but that was nearly five hours ago, and she has yet to turn up. Grace says that she's probably off having a secret love affair (she was reading one of her romance novels at the time). I say that she's doing something good for mankind, like discovering a cure for cancer or tutoring a helpless student or possibly retrieving a large bowl of rice for her depressed mate who is currently hiding in her bed so that certain stupid Head Boys won't come and harass her. Grace says I have to stop throwing myself pity parties and get my own goddamned rice. I inform her that she is no longer my mate.

But no matter what Emma's doing, I'm not too worried. She's a big girl, after all. She can take care of herself.

Though I do hope she's fetching me some rice.

 

**_________________________________________**

**Later, still hiding in the 7th Year Girls Dormitories**

 

No Emma. No rice. However, on the bright side of things, a finished Potions essay. I'm now moving on to Divination. Jupiter and Mars, here I come.

Things just MAY be looking up for me.

 

**_________________________________________**

**Sunday, September 7th, 7th Year Girls Dormitories**

 

Emma has gone missing again. She came back yesterday at dinner, insisting that she'd been in the library all day (yeah, no rice) and now she's gone again. What could possibly be so interesting in the LIBRARY? It's a bloody rotten place, and I'm not just saying that because I have recently acquired a rather large bolt of hatred for the place. I mean, it's big, it's dusty, and it gives a group of troublemakers a clear shot at innocent victims. So again I ask, what's so good about it anyway?

I've finished my Divination homework. I think Lily-of-7th-year may just be taking at whack at being Lily-of-5th-year for a while. Lily-of-5th-year did her homework all the time. She was a nice girl, that Lily-of-5th-year. So I supposed I'll be her for a while.

Just without the library visits.

 

**_________________________________________**

**Monday, September 8th, Potions**

 

Once again I was awoken at 7 a.m. by the girl formally known as my mate (who is now not lost).

I really do think that she didn't understand me when I went through the whole "no waking Lily until breakfast has been going on for at least an hour" speech. If she had, I definitely would've had _at least_ an extra half-hour of sleep. You don't know what a good half-hour of sleep can do for an ordinary girl like me. You can do a lot of things in a half hour.

"What is the main ingredient in a Renewal Potion, Evans?" Professor Abbott has just asked me. She probably thinks that I don't know the answer, but low and behold, I DID do my essay last night, and I DO know the answer.

"Knotgrass, Professor," I answer, succeeding on keeping the completely smug tone that's dying to come out, out of my voice.

"Correct. Five points from Gryffindor for not looking at the Professor when being addressed to."

I just can't _win_ with her, can I?

 

**_________________________________________**

**Later, Double Charms**

 

Oh, god. What an idiot.

Does he honestly think that throwing ball-shaped projectiles towards my head is going to get me to talk to him? What is WRONG with this kid? Is he seriously THAT ill? Does he seriously believe that small balls of parchment being thrown in the direction of my face will somehow make him appear a better person?

Therapy!

This whole school needs _therapy_!

 

**_________________________________________**

**Later, Still in Double Potions**

 

I'm guilty, I admit it.

I finally got fed up and started throwing ball-shaped projectiles over my shoulder and back at HIS head. I couldn't help it. It was driving me MAD. But I think I understand why he's doing it now. I must say, for a tremendously stupid waste of parchment, it's wicked fun.

I wonder if he's made a game out of it, as well. I know I sure have. I already have 70 points, seeing how I hit him in the nose four times. For such an ordinary girl, I DO have rather extraordinary aim.

Grace is so obviously trying to keep her laughter back as I chuck another ball over my shoulder. She says I got him in the chin that time. 3 points.

"Will you two stop? You're going to get in trouble! Pay attention!" Emma has just hissed in our direction. I just think she's just bitter because Potter hit her with one of his balls a while ago. Quidditch Chaser or not, he obviously just doesn't have the great aim that I do.

Damn! He got my ear again. Grace grabs his ball and stuffs it in her bag. She's done that with all of them. I have no clue why. Maybe she's preserving ammo.

Uh-oh.

"Miss Evans, if you and Mr. Potter can please refrain from throwing paper at each other, can I please get on with my lesson?"

Flitwick does not look happy. The class is laughing. I'm blushing. What else is new?

 

**_________________________________________**

**Still Later, 7th Year Girls Dormitory**

 

I've discovered why Grace kept all of Potter's ammo. It turns out, he wasn't just throwing ball-shaped projectiles in my direction for fun.

They were _notes_.

Who’d ‘a thunk it, eh?

_Please just listen to me._

_If you'll just let me explain, I can tell you what happened!_

_At least write SOMETHING back._

_Can you quit throwing these things in my eyes? The desk seems like a perfectly fine landing zone!_

_Are you even READING these?_

_Lily!_

Go on, say it. I'm an idiot.

Though, I am an idiot who had fun.


	4. September 9th: Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Another thanks to Megan, the original beta of chapter four.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()  
"If you rob a bank, and your pants fall down, it's okay to laugh. And let your hostages laugh too, because come on, life is funny."

-Jack Handey-  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_________________________________________

**_Tuesday, September 9th, Charms_ **

 

Oh, bother. I really _am_ an idiot.

I definitely remember having my parchment this morning. I _know_ I had it, but it's not in my bag. Not even one single stupid piece. But I _know_ I had it. In fact, I remember quite vividly taking it out of my bag this morning, fixing up that bit of Potions homework that really didn't make even a bit of sense last night and then...

...and then putting it on my desk. In my dorm.

And not back in my bag.

_Ugh_.

Double damn damn damn _damn_.

"Gracie! Hey, Grace!"

I nudge a sleeping Grace in the shoulder. She mutters something incoherent, turns her head away and ignores me. I nudge her again, harder, and she groans softly, lifting her head off of the desk. She blinks up owlishly at me. "Mnh _wha_?" she grumbles through her sleep.

"Do you have a bit of parchment I can borrow?"

"Sfhparch?"

"Yeah, parchment."

Grace stretched her hands above her hand as she yawns quietly, not even worried about the fact that we're in the middle of a Charms class and she's making it quite obvious that she's just been woken up from a nap. Much to my annoyance, even through her fatigued state, Grace is still able to give me what can be referred to as a rather devilish grin. " _Lily_ ," she chides, shaking her head. "In order to build up your responsibility, you have to learn to face the consequences of your forgetful actions!"

I roll my eyes and glare, ignoring the scolding mantra that Emma always repeats to Grace whenever _she_ forgets something. What a bloody hypocrite this girl is.

"Grace! Come _on_!"

"You're _Head Girl_ , Lily. I'm _just_ trying to help you be the best you can be!"

I give her a nasty look as she places her head back down on the desk and promptly closes her eyes once more.

She can go on with that nonsense for as long as she wants, but I think we both really know this has nothing to do with helping me be the best I can be, and everything to do with Grace's own amusement.

Bloody rotten best mate.

But what am I going to do now? I have no parchment and Flitwick is just going on and on and I'm going to miss it all...

Hey, wait a second.

Parchment. Here. In here.

Oh, Merlin. Sometimes I wonder where my senses go.

** Restoring ** ** Spell**

**1) What is a Restoring Spell used for?**  
_A Restoring Spell forces an Animagus who has transformed into animal form to revert to their human form **.**_

**2) What are the effects of this spell?**  
_The spell's effect is a large bright blue-white flash of light._

**3) How to properly perform a Restoring Spell:**  
_Does he seriously think I'm going to copy all of that down?! [pg. 843 in Charms and Their Likes by Newton J. Riter...]_

Well, that lasted long. I really am just turning into such a skiver. Seriously. This time last year, I would have sat here and copied down every single solitary word off of that blackboard. And fifth year... Merlin, in _fifth year_ I would've written down extra reading material! I was a bit of an anorak back then. I really don't know what's gotten into me recently. Aren't you supposed to _gain_ responsibility as you get older, not _lose_ it?

See? Another clear example as to why I shouldn't be living.

 

_________________________________________

**_Wednesday, September 10th, Breakfast in the Great Hall_ **

 

I'm not going to my tutoring session tonight. I'm simply not going. No one can force me to. I am not going to be humiliated any more. I won't stand for it.

Plus, since I am never again speaking to James Potter, it might become a bit difficult if I _did_ go.

No one can blame me for not going. Seriously, they just can't. If I have to, I'll sit down with McGonagall tomorrow and explain exactly why I didn't show up. I intend to talk to her anyway, because I need to have my tutor switched. Once she hears all about my green-glop catastrophe (if she hasn't already, that is), I know she'll let me switch. I am, after all, a favourite of hers– unfortunately, so is Potter, but us women have to stick together in times like these, and if I have to remind her of that fact, I will.

Female Power, Professor, it's all about the Female Power.

I'll switch my tutor, I'll pass Transfiguration and my life will once again be back on track.

So I'm not going.

There.

_________________________________________

**_Wednesday, September 10th, History of Magic_ **

 

Had a _fabulous_ morning, even though I had Transfiguration, which usually means that the morning doesn't turn out too well. Today was a note taking class, so I needn't had to worry about humiliating myself in front of everyone, at least for today. This put me in such a brilliant mood that I didn't even mind that Grace kept on poking me with her quill because I refused to stop drawing hearts on my notes (did I mention that Amos had brushed past me not moments before with a polite ‘excuse me’? Ah, heaven). She is so lazy. She only wanted me to copy them down because she didn't want to and Emma said her hand hurt. What is with that anyway? Aren't I the Head Girl? Isn't it me who's supposed to be bossing _her_ around? How unfair is that?

But I did it anyway. Copied the Transfiguration notes, I mean. I think I did it quite well, too. When you hold the parchment away from your face, the cursive looks all neat and organized and just totally fab– well, except for the hearts drawn along the edges. Those look a bit silly, but at the time, I really couldn't help myself.

I'm such a riot.

"Miss Evans? Will you please stay after class for a moment?"

Miss Evans? What? _Me_?

Excuse me?

What in Merlin's name could McGonagall want from me _this_ time? I hadn't even _done_ anything yet! I mean, I'm working perfectly hard at trying to be a good role model and all– you know, living up to my 'Head Girl' image– but it's just _not_ going to happen if she keeps holding me after class. It ruins my good reputation (pah! _What_ reputation?). And the shooting "what-in-Merlin's-name-have-you-done-this-time" glances I was receiving from Grace and Emma weren't helping either. Stupid birds.

So when the ending bell rang and I was still being shot "what-did-you-do" glances from just about everyone in the class, you have to understand my extreme sense of discomfort. I mean, wouldn't you feel uncomfortable as well? This was the second time in the first bloody _week_ of school that I was being talked privately to by a professor. That has to be a record or something.

"Professor?" I asked rather timidly, once I had made sure everyone else was out of the classroom. No one was going to hear _my_ horrors. Especially when I didn't even know what they were yet.

"Miss Evans." McGonagall nodded towards the desk in front of her. Miserably, I sank slowly into the chair. Ah, déjÃ  vu. This wasn’t going to be good, not good at all. I mean, you _know_ it's bad when they make you sit down.

"What is it, Professor?"

I tried desperately to keep the panicked tone out of my voice, but couldn't manage to completely rid myself of it. And who could blame me really? In the short time that I had been sitting there, I'd tried desperately to figure out just what it could be that McGonagall could want. She couldn't be kicking me out of class already– she'd just assigned me my tutor (albeit, that hadn't worked out very well, but she didn't know that yet)! But what else could it possibly be?

McGonagall regarded me with a curious glance, raising her eyebrows slightly at my obvious nerves. "Do relax, Evans. There's nothing to fret about. I simply wanted to inform you that the Headmaster requests your presence for a Heads meeting tomorrow night in his office after dinner."

A meeting?

She made me all nervous and ready to have a nervous _breakdown_ because of a _meeting_?

Ugh! Professors!

"Oh," I sighed, dropping my shoulders in instant relief. I think I heard a slight chuckle from McGonagall’s general direction. I'm sure I’m just _incredibly_ funny to her. "Is that all, then?" I asked, a little ticked that McGonagall had been laughing at my obvious relief. Are teachers allowed to do that? Laugh at their students, I mean? Isn't it against the Professors Code of Conduct or something? If it's not, I truly think it should be.

"Actually," McGonagall said, once she had gotten over her little Lily-humiliation moment. She looked a bit edgy, right about then, with her face all scrunched together and a slight fidget in her chair. That's right. _I_ made _Professor McGonagall_ edgy. Ha. The tables have been turned, Giggly-puff.

"Actually," she repeated a moment later. “I do have a question for you. How has your tutoring been going?"

That was like a kick in the stomach.

Er... well... the thing about my tutoring, Professor...

What was I _supposed_ to say?

Of all the stupid things to ask, she _had_ to ask about tutoring? Well, I suppose it does make sense, seeing that she's my professor and all, but come on! How hellish! What did she expect me to say? "Well, you see Professor, during my recent tutoring session, a large green goopy object was thrown directly at my body by my tutor and his mates which led me to _completely_ spaz out, for which I, along with my tutor, got kicked out of the library for. Any other questions?" Oh yeah. _That'd_ go over well. What was I to do?

"They're going perfectly well, Professor. I actually learned more than I thought I would last session."

That's right. I lied my head off.

I am so _so_ bad.

"I'm glad to hear it, Evans." McGonagall nodded, and it looked to me as if _she_ was the one now feeling relieved. I wanted to chuckle a bit, you know, just to spite her, but then I remembered she was my teacher and I was Head Girl, and Head Girls just don't do stupid, childish things like laughing at their professors in the name of revenge. "But," she added, causing my thoughts to pause. Buts are never any good. "I do have a slight favour to ask of you."

A favour? From me?

"You see," she continued. "I've been having a bit of a problem with the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

The Gryffindor Quidditch team? What in Merlin's name do I have to do with the Gryffindor Quidditch team? I don't play Quidditch. I can hardly fly!

"It seems that we're in desperate need of replacing two members from last year’s team. Although I told you that Potter would not have Quidditch problems clashing with your tutoring sessions, we do need to get the tryouts done soon. It seems that Professor Sprout already has the Hufflepuff team out and practicing, and I'd like to actually have a chance at the Cup this year. So would you mind if your tutoring session was cancelled tonight? I'm sure you and Potter could find another sensible date to reschedule for."

_YESSSS!_

THANK YOU, LORD!

I wouldn't have to not show up! I wouldn't have to explain to McGonagall why I was not attending tutoring this week! She was making up the excuse _for me_! And she thought she was asking me a _favour_? Is she out of her _mind_?

"Well, I suppose it would be okay," I answered, keeping the happiness out of my voice quite well, even sounding a bit disappointed, I think. I'm such a talented actress. "Anything for Gryffindor, right?"

McGonagall nodded with a smile. "Thank you, Miss Evans. I'll inform Potter. You may go now."

She didn't need to tell me twice. Quickly grabbing my books, trying to ignore the fact that I had just blatantly lied to my professor, I gathered up the last of my things and then dashed off.

But now I feel quite bad. I mean, if I had told Professor McGonagall the truth– that my tutoring sessions weren't going well and were in all actuality, rather failing in their purpose– she probably would've never allowed this canceling bit to happen. However, because my stupid mouth goes off and lies all by itself without my consent, I don't have tutoring tonight.

You're definitely not supposed to lie to your professors. That I know for certain. But I did. And rather easily, in fact.

When I die, I'm heading straight for hell.

I don't think they'll even let me stop and pack my bags, or let me wish my owl good-bye.

Nope. Straight there.

And as soon as I get there, I'm going to have a personal meeting with Satan himself, because the really _really_ bad lot get to meet Satan. And when Satan says that I've been a very bad person, I'm just going to have to nod and agree because, you know what? I _am_ a horrible, terrible, stupid, thick, miserable little girl.

Pah.

I bet Satan never lied to _his_ Transfiguration teacher.

_________________________________________

**_Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitories_ **

 

** TOP FIVE REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD NOT LEAVE NOTES FROM JAMES POTTER HANGING AROUND YOUR DORMITORY **

**5)** The 7th-Year Girls' dormitory is already an incredibly messy place. I'm serious– bras, magazines, books, parchment, clothes– pretty much anything you imagine can all be found on our floor. Just everything everywhere. It's insanity. Why add fuel to the already blazing fire? **  
4)** Ew, man germs. **  
3)** If said "notes" are lying worthlessly upon the floor, that means they haven't been burned yet. Hello? Get that bum in gear and burn those ridiculous things! Go on! Get going! **  
2)** Er... I don't really HAVE a number two, but a Top Four list didn't seem as appealing as a Top Five list, so I changed it.  
**1) ELISABETH SAUNDERS IS QUITE ABLE TO PICK THEM UP AND READ THEM! RED ALERT! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!**

Double damn and fiddlesticks.

_________________________________________

**_Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitories_ **

 

My life is so miserable. My fabulous morning turned out to be just way too much for my bad karma to handle. Apparently, I just wasn't suffering enough. Now, not only am I feeling ridiculously guilty for lying to McGonagall, but Elisabeth Saunders is currently strutting around the room, giving me nasty looks and then glancing towards her bag where she has stashed Potter's notes. Brilliant. It's all just wonderfully brilliant.

This is all Grace's fault. It really truly is. _She_ was the one who kept those wretched notes and _then_ had the nerve to leave them out in the open for ANYONE TO SEE! WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER? WHY DO I HAVE SUCH BLOODY CLUELESS FRIENDS?

This is why I had absolutely no sympathy for her when she walked into the dormitory a few minutes ago, muddy, dirty and with a nasty look on her face. Apparently Potter was in some sort of homicidal mood at tryouts this evening and ran the entire team into the ground. And as cruel as it may seem, all I have to say is: better them than me. Or really, better Grace than me. I currently have no personal vendettas against any other members or potential members of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Only my mindless mate.

Oh, Merlin, here she goes again. Saunders, not Grace. Yes, I understand you despise me you stupid little twit, and I understand you're offended that your boy toy would much rather throw bits of parchment at me than he would at you, but really, I don't _care,_ SO JUST STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

Blast it all. I'm moving to Guam.

_________________________________________

**_Thursday, September 11th, History of Magic_ **

 

I don't believe this. I really don't believe this.

Emma is missing.

_Again._

Except this time, she's decided to _skip class_!

That's right. "Smarty-Pants Vance" has completely blown off History of Magic.

I'm so proud of her, I could nearly burst.

There's no chance in hell that she can pull off the whole “I was at the library,”� gig, now. She can't possibly "be in the library" when she's supposed to be in class. I have her now. 

Who would have thought that our little bookworm Emma had it in her? I mean, _I've_ never skipped a class. That's just bonkers. With my bad karma, Filch would catch me before I could even make it out of my dormitory. Life's just unfair like that sometimes.

I just wish she had _told_ me. Maybe with my bad karma combined with her good karma, I would've stood a chance and could've come with her. Who knows?

Oh, well.

_________________________________________

**_Still Later, Charms_ **

 

Emma's still missing. Simply smashing, isn't it?

 

_________________________________________

**_Even Later, Ancient Ruins_ **

 

**Lily Evans' Letters to Amos Diggory That She Will Never In Her Life Send, But Still Enjoys Writing Anyway Because She Has Nothing Better To Do But Stare at and Dream of Him in Ancient Ruins**

Dear Amos,

Hello! You don't really know me, but I'd just like to let you know that I believe that I'm in love with you.

Sincerely,  
Lily Evans

\----------------

Dear Sex God,

Hello, again, Amos! I just thought I'd write you another quick note to inform you that I would love you _even more_ if you would just stop talking to Penny O'Jene because you are making me _terribly_ jealous. Sure, she's nice and all, but honestly, have you _looked_ at her hands recently? When was the last time she washed them? It's disgusting!

Sorry about that, Sex God. I'm going to start taking nice lessons from Emma Vance (when I find her), so you won't have to worry about all my negativity.

Oh, and when you become aware of my raging jealousy rush, you may also want to take notice that I am struggling with number 13 in section B. Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,  
Alone and Desperate

\----------------

Dear Object of My Unrequited Affections,

Did I forget to mention that I want to have your children? Just thought I'd let you know.

Sincerely,  
Still Stuck On Thirteen

\----------------

Dear Dishy Diggory,

I do love you with all my heart, but if you don't move your hand so that I can see the answer to number 13 on Julie Little's paper, I think I may become a bit brassed off. Thanks. I love you.

Sincerely,  
Revolting Red

\----------------

Dear Adoring Amos,

Brilliant! We didn't even have to _do_ number 13! Why didn't you _tell_ me, love? Could it be because you are too involved in your conversation with Penny to even pay me any mind? Ditch her, darling. For the sake of my already decreasing sanity.

Sincerely,  
Loosing Her Mind

\----------------

Dear Cracking Boy Sitting Two Seats In Front Of Me,

Great Merlin, love! Was that just _you_ who turned about and asked me for a spare quill? Was it? O' faithful Merlin, I do believe it was!

"Oy, Lily! You got a spare quill?"

I will give you _more_ than just a quill if you'd smile at me like that just one more time, my dear sweet Amos. Thank you for making my day bright and until next time, I say farewell.

Sincerely,  
Your Future Wife (er... or stalker)

_________________________________________

**_Still Later, Defense Against the Dark Arts_ **

 

That's four classes, Grace! Four! Where could she be? -LE

**I reckon she's run off for a dirty weekend with some old bloke. Wouldn't _that_ be just brilliant? -GR**

I hardly think there's anything _brilliant_ about that, Gracie. Besides, it's Thursday. Can you _have_ a dirty weekend on a Thursday? I think not. Not much of a weekend.

**Does Emma know contraception spells? Merlin, I hope she does. Getting pregnant is just _not_ an option for her right now. **

I don't think I'm even going to respond to that.

**Oh, lighten up, Lily! The world is not coming to an end! She'll come back eventually. I thought you were proud that she was skipping class?**

Yeah, _one_ class, _maybe_ two, _not_ all of them! What if something's wrong? What if something bad has happened to her? What if she's sick and dying on her deathbed and we'll never be there to see her? What if they whisk her off in a casket before we even get to say good-bye? WHAT HAPPENS THEN?!

**Er... I don't know?**

Yeah, well, I'm glad _one_ of us can think of these things.

**You're such a loony coot, Lily.**

_________________________________________

 

**_Later Later, Dinner in the Great Hall_ **

 

Well, we found Emma.

Yup.

Emma and her _boyfriend_.

BOYFRIEND!

THE BOYFRIEND SHE NEVER EVEN BOTHERED TO TELL US ABOUT!

There is going to be _hell_ to pay tonight. I'd go strangle her right now, but one, she's sitting at the Ravenclaw table (with her boyfriend) and two, I have to go meet Dumbledore.

I have Satan on my side now. She'll never make it out alive.

 

_________________________________________

**_The Latest It Can Possibly Get, 7th-Year Girls Dormitory_ **

 

In all the time that I've known Professor Dumbledore, I've heard some pretty strange things about him. The most frequent would have to be that he's a bit off his rocker. Now, being the sensible girl that I am, I never truly believed these silly rumors. I mean, the man is possibly the most powerful wizard of our time! How could he possibly be mad _and_ do all those amazing things he's done? You just can't do both. I'd know. I've read about it. So all those rumors? Straight over my head.

That is, until I saw his office tonight.

Dear. _Merlin_.

I don't think I've ever seen so much _junk_ since my Aunt Mae had that garage sale back when I was seven. It was _terrible_! I mean, I assume all his little knick-knacks and gadgets had their own little uses, but honestly, did he truly need so _many_? I just don't think so.

And I think Dumbledore must have noticed my unnecessary gawking as I entered his office because he smiled and started looking at his trinkets rather affectionately as he told me, "One can never have too many useful gadgets, Miss Evans."

Useful? USEFUL? He called some of those things _useful_?

But of course I couldn't tell him that, so I just sat there, nodding like the idiot that I am. Maybe one day I'll actually ask Dumbledore why he chose me as Head Girl, because I truly am a complete idiot. Maybe he figured he'd be most comfortable with someone as equally insane as he is. Well, if so, he found her.

"Before we begin our meeting," Dumbledore started, glancing meaningfully at Potter (who I was ignoring wonderfully, might I add) and me, “I must first congratulate the both of you for achieving this high position. It's not an easy job, being Head students, but I'm sure the both of you will fulfill the duties wonderfully."

Wonderfully? Me and Potter?

Oh, yeah. Barking mad, this one.

Potter and I murmured our thanks as Dumbledore began fiddling with one of the trinkets on his desk. His fingers wiped lightly at this small, bowl shaped piece of metal with lots of rods and balls sticking out of it. It was a rather odd-looking thing and it made me wonder what it's actually used for. It didn't look like it could be used for much.

"Miss Evans, Mr. Potter." He said our names so formally, so seriously, that a set of chills ran down my spine and I snapped my glance away from the gadget. Dumbledore looked as serious as he sounded. "There are going to be things said tonight– and other nights as well– that you may or may not know or want to hear. Some of them may be petty things, like schedules and prefects, but others," he paused here, taking a deep breath. "Others may be vital. Others, like the issue of Voldemort."

_Voldemort_.

I suppose it's odd, me not mentioning Voldemort before, but I try not to think about him and all the disaster and destruction the man the wizarding world refers to as You-Know-Who has been causing. It's not so much that I'm not afraid of what this... this _thing_ , is doing. On the contrary actually, I'm a Muggle-born and am affected more than many of the other wizards and witches my age. But that's just the thing, isn't it? I'm Muggle-born. As much as I hate to admit it, I just don't... _know_ enough. I don't have the thousands of generations of purebloods fighting the Muggle-borns instilled in my head from birth. I never got to see the separation between certain pureblooded families over the great blood debate. I simply lived in my own safe haven until the age of eleven when I was thrown into all of this unawares. How can you be afraid of a name when you don't really understand what the whole thing is about?

Not that I'm not doing all by best to help the situation. I am, after all, studying to become an Auror.

However, despite all my ignorance on the subject, I suppose I was still a bit startled when Dumbledore mentioned his name. You don't hear it used often. Dumbledore caught my reaction and nodded his head understandingly.

"I do apologize," he said, running his fingers along the bowl and rod trinket once more. "I'm not trying to frighten either of you. If I didn't believe that the both of you could withstand the burden of hearing such news, I would not be telling you. But part of the reason you are both sitting here today is because your professors and I believe that you are both able to endure these things. The times are getting worse, and you, as Head students, need to be able to take control of your school if certain dire situations commence." He stopped again, lowering his voice and looking out of the top of his half-frame spectacles. "Do you both understand what I'm saying?"

I didn't want to nod, but I did anyway. What did he mean, 'do you understand'? No, I most certainly did _not_. I mean, sure, I now know why Potter was chosen for Head Boy as oppose to Amos– everyone knows that fighting the dark arts run in his family. In fact, I think both his parents are Aurors– but really, _me_? Sure, I know all the Charms and spells and such, but in 'dire situations'? I just don't know. Maybe I shouldn't even be trying to become an Auror. Seriously. If you think about it, I'm really just too immature. I mean, I sit and complain all day long about my mates and my life and am really just completely oblivious to everything. Not exactly Auror material. I'd die within ten seconds.

"Sir? I have a question, if you don't mind me asking?" This was from Potter.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course."

"Well, the thing is, it's not like this is the first year that Voldemort's been raving havoc– my parents have been chasing after him for years. So why this year? Why pick us now? I hope you don't mind me saying, but last year's Head Boy was Rabastan Lestrange, and everyone knows the Lestranges are mind set in their prejudices."

Now was that an Aurorish question, or what? Obviously Dumbledore thought so too, because although he sighed, you could tell that he was hiding a smile. Why does Potter of all people have to have the Auror genes? Why not me? Why can't I just stand a bit of a chance? Compared to him, I might as well be dirt on the floor.

"Sometimes I think you're a bit too clever for your own good, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. I expected Potter to smile smugly at the compliment, but his face remained serious. Dumbledore sighed once more and continued on, "But alas, you are correct. Last year's Head students were not chosen for the same reasons you both were, and I apologise for my lack of information, but I'm not able to answer your question just yet. There are some things an old man just needs to keep to himself. At least for now."

Honestly, what a silly answer. I mean, doesn't he realise that that just gets us _more_ intrigued? I’ve never thought Dumbledore an unintelligent person–quite the opposite actually–but really! That was so ridiculous.

Well, after that, the subject was changed rather abruptly. Dumbledore obviously didn't want any more of Potter's clever questions, and I for one, obliged full-heartedly. I mean, I really couldn't let the bloke make an idiot out of me by asking all these intelligent questions while I merely sat there and looked pretty (which I wouldn't have been able to do anyway), could I?

Head Girl, Shmed Girl, I truly am just an idiot with a badge.

So after discussing prefects and house points for ten minutes, Dumbledore finally let us go. I'm not going to lie and say that I wasn't relieved when I could finally get up out of my seat and leave that office.

Potter and I left together and started to make the trek back to Gryffindor Tower.

And even though I had promised myself a thousand times over that I would never ever _ever_ talk to Potter ever again, as we walked through the corridors side by side, the silence becoming completely uncomfortable, I found myself unable to remain quiet for much longer.

I blame this fully on my shaken-up disposition and over-fatigued body.

"Well that was interesting, eh?'

The words echoed off the walls in the silent corridor, making them seem a lot louder than they had actually been spoken. At first it seemed as if he hadn't heard me, but then, suddenly, Potter stopped abruptly, causing me to stop as well.

And he just _looked_ at me.

I mean, _really_ looked at me. Like he was analyzing me or something. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, not knowing exactly what was going on. What was he doing? What did he expect to accomplish by just staring at me like that? What was going on?

But then, before I had a chance to figure out just what was going on, his analyzing glance turned into one _extremely_ dirty look.

Oh, boy.

"Oh, so _now_ you want to talk?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing. I held back a wince, figuring I probably deserved that. I did, after all, pour a pitcher of pumpkin juice over his head. And ignored his notes. Both of which he most definitely deserved, but maybe not the most mature thing to do on my part.

"You don't have to be so nasty!" I snapped back, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Don't have to be so _nasty_?" Potter repeated, the anger and revulsion evident in his voice. " _Don't have to be so nasty_? Are you that fucking diluted, Evans? Are you that completely out of it? Have you placed yourself so far above the rest of us that your entire head is in the clouds?" He let out a disgusted snort. "Just leave me the fuck alone, will you, Evans? I've had enough of you."

I was frozen in shock. I couldn't move. My mind was reeling.

What in the name of all that is magical was _that_?

I mean, I suppose he was obviously cross with me for not realising that his notes were actually notes and not just bits of parchment rolled up into balls solely for my entertainment, but seriously, what was with the sudden lash of viciousness? I know I always complain about Potter being mean to me and all, but in all actuality, he was never really _mean_ mean. He's always actually been more of an annoyance than he was an actual bully. At least to me, anyway. He'd mostly just tease me to get on my nerves– doing his little suggestive jibes like asking me out because he knew no one else would or teasing me about always going to Hogsmeade with Grace and Emma– but he would never be really... _nasty_. Like how he is to Snape.

But the way he was looking at me just then, I might as well have been Snape.

So I just stood there in shock, watching Potter storm off down the corridor, completely baffled by what had just happened.

And do you know what? When I told Grace all about it when I finally got back to Gryffindor Tower (Emma wasn't there again. She was with her _boyfriend_ ), Grace wasn't surprised at all.

"Well, of course he lashed out at you, Lily! He's completely cross with you!"

"Because I wouldn't answer his notes?" I asked, still confused. "But I didn't know they were notes! And even if I did, doesn't that seem a bit petty to be so viciously cross with me over some silly unreturned words? Or was it the pumpkin juice? But even that would be silly! He had all of it cleaned off by first class anyway! That's just stupid."

Which it definitely was. People shouldn't be as nasty as Potter was being just because a girl had a bit of an idiot moment and accidentally thought his notes were equipment for a new game, or because she had finally had enough of his badgering and had decided he needed a little cooling off. Some blokes just need to grow up.

"No, no, no," Grace scoffed, shaking her head. "It has nothing to do with that. He's cross with you for _another_ reason."

Another reason? What?

"What the hell else did I do to him?"

Grace sighed, acting as if she were talking to a small, stupid child rather than her seventeen-year-old best mate. "Listen, Lil," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "That's not for me to tell you and you know it. If you're so interested, you might want to ask him, don't you think?"

Ask him? ASK HIM? Is she kidding? And risk another lashing like the one I received before, with all the swearing, the insults and the "leave me alone"s? I think _not_.

So that was my night.

I can't believe he's actually cross with me. That's so not fair. I mean, seriously, there's definitely something wrong with this situation. _I'm_ supposed to be the one who's cross with _him_ , not the other way around! Or did he suddenly forget about a certain green-glob incident that took place last week? Why does he have to invade on _my_ cross time?

What a stupid, stupid wanker.

 


	5. September 12th: Speaking to Prefects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thank you to Megan, the original beta-reader for chapter five.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()  
“Children need encouragement. If a kid gets an answer right, tell him it was a lucky guess. That way he develops a good, lucky feeling.”

-Jack Handey-  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

______________________

**_Friday, September 12, Breakfast in the Great Hall_ **

 

I think it's safe to say that, as of this moment, I am officially, completely and utterly fed up.

I just can't take it anymore. He's driving me mad.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND!

WHY IS HE ANGRY WITH ME?

I'm not supposed to care, but for some reason I do. I know that I really should just ignore him and get on with it, but how can I possibly go on with my everyday life when every time I turn around, there he is, glaring at me or giving me the dirtiest of looks? I just can't. I'm only one girl. I can't handle it all.

Never before have I felt more like a despicable rodent who should be efficiently crushed and dropped off in the rubbish bin. Those looks...

And I don't even _deserve_ any of them! I didn't _do_ anything! What's wrong with him? Does he honestly feel it necessary to make me feel this way? And really, when you think about it, _I'm_ the one who's _supposed_ to be angry. But you don't see _me_ spouting off nasty looks like a four-year-old!

There's something called maturity, and James Potter obviously just does not have it.

This is ridiculous. It's just stupid. It's ridiculous, it's stupid, it’s silly and I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT ANYMORE! PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO STARE!

I really do detest my life.

No, not my life. I detest _James Potter_. I detest James Potter because he _ruins_ my life.

______________________

**_Still Later, Herbology_ **

 

Dear Merlin, not again!

This is really starting to get me annoyed. I mean, I _know_ I had my parchment this morning. There is absolutely no doubting it. I was doodling on it during breakfast! And doodles, they just don't walk away, you know! Even the really good ones. Take for example, that one of the flobberworm I did during Care of Magical Creatures last term. Now _that_ was a spiffy doodle. I mean, it just _radiated_ the immense boringness and stupidity that _is_ the flobberworm. So see? Even _that_ doodle–which, by the way, was just _so_ much better than the actual thing–couldn't suddenly spring to life and lose itself. It's just not possible.

Considering this, I've simply come to the most plausible conclusion: somebody's stolen it.

Yes, somebody has stolen my parchment. It's the only explanation really, because I certainly didn't lose it. Someone definitely took it. For my amazing doodling, no doubt. But honestly, I know I'm a good doodler and all, but does someone really have to go and _steal_ my drawings, therefore preventing me from having a clean piece of parchment for a note-writing lesson, such as the one Professor Sprout is going over at this very moment? I mean, I'd gladly give it to them. Really. Free of charge, even. Unless...

Unless...

Holy _Merlin_ , I can't believe it!

Someone's _stolen my parchment_!

DELIBERATELY!

And not even for my beautiful doodles! I've been sabotaged!

You know what? It was probably that dirty little 4th-year Marcus Hillpitt. He's held a pathetic grudge against me ever since last term when I had a klutzy moment and accidentally knocked over his Fanged Geranium in Greenhouse 4, which, hello, was not even really my _fault_. I mean, _everyone_ knows you don't keep things in Greenhouse 4–it's cursed–and adding _that_ to a distracted 6th-year girl trying to get a good look at Amos Diggory... come on, you're just _setting_ yourself up for failure. Really, you're just asking for it.

Besides, how was I supposed to know that it was his end-of-term project? All I was trying to do was get a good glance of Amos, _not_ kill his plant, though he seems to think otherwise. That's why he's always been so bitter towards me, even though _I'm_ the one who was nearly _killed_ by the bloody psychotic thing. If anything, _I_ should really be the one holding onto the grudge and stealing _his_ parchment, _not_ the other way around! Psh! The _nerve_ of some people!

Wait! No! Maybe it _wasn't_ Hillpitt (though I wouldn't be surprised).

I bet it was _Potter!_

That dirty little bastard! It was! It had to be! He _wants_ me to be miserable! He _wants_ me to fail school and to live on the streets with nothing but a quill and a cloak to my name! After all, he's _cross_ with me, you know, because I am SUCH A HORRIBLE PERSON.

Look at him over there, sitting next to Sirius, looking all smug and...and...

Oh.

Well, now wait a second... is that a smug smile?

No. No, that's not.

Do you know what? If I didn't know any better (and wasn't completely aware that Potter is currently basking in the glory of my stolen parchment) I would guess that our dear Mr. Potter is actually a bit depressed! Yes, _depressed_! He's not looking at all smug at this particular moment. He looks a bit on the ill side, actually. But of course that can't be true– the depression, not the illness. That may be true– for we all know that Potter is far too _busy_ to be depressed. Stealing my parchment and throwing me nasty looks– the basic routine for RUINING SOMEONE'S LIFE– takes up a lot of a person's day. He doesn't have the _time_ to be depressed. Or the motive. He's too busy being a complete wanker.

He's such a jerk. I mean, honestly, _stealing_ my parchment? How stupid. How childless. How utterly–

Oh, never mind. I found it.

______________________

**_Even Later, Charms_ **

 

I love Professor Flitwick, really I do, with all my heart and all my soul, but honestly, _what_ is he thinking? I mean, actually attempting to _teach_ during the last class of the day on a Friday? It's just not going to happen. No one is playing any sort of attention. Especially with Timmy Ricks and Penny O'Jene currently putting on a public shagging session at the back of the room. And then there's Sirius up towards the front, doing something with his wand that everyone seems to be finding incredibly amusing. These are the sort of things Flitwick is competing with. He doesn't stand a chance. Does he not see that?

"...it's a highly dangerous charm that should be used with only the most extreme of caution. The effects are... well, can anyone tell me what the effects are? Come now, anyone?"

Obviously he doesn't.

And I always thought Flitwick such an intelligent bloke, too. Pity.

You know what else is quite a pity? My sudden and complete inability to keep my eyes open. I don't know why, but I've somehow seemed to have had all my energy drained from me rather quickly today. I'm _exhausted_. Thank goodness that it's Friday. I think I'm just going to run up to my bed and stay there for the next three days. Wouldn't that be lovely? Just lounging about, not a care in the world? Too bad life's not like that. I happen to have fifty thousand loads of assignments, not to mention a Prefects meeting to run Sunday–which is definitely going to be absolute _murder_ , by the way. I mean, Potter has never even _been_ to a prefect meeting, let alone _ran_ one. Then of course there also the fact that he is being completely unreasonable towards me... Merlin, it'll be bad.

Oh, well. I'm going to sleep while I can. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll fall asleep and never wake up. Wouldn't that be nice?

______________________

**_Later, the Gryffindor Common Room_ **

 

Do you know what the _worst_ possible thing that could happen to a girl is when she's tired, frustrated, and just wants to sleep?

BEING KICKED OUT OF HER OWN DORMITORY BY HER ARCH-NEMESIS, THAT'S WHAT!

I am just far too exhausted to take all of this. Seriously. I can't deal with it. Too much is happening and I'm just too tired. I practically had to drag myself back up to Gryffindor Tower before. And then Grace and Emma had gone missing, and I had no idea where they'd run off to, and Potter was still giving me the dirtiest looks, and the list goes on and on...

I was practically crying with relief when I finally reached the Fat Lady. I was _that_ tired. And now that I think about it, I'm really not all that sure where this sudden fatigue came from. I mean, this morning I was fine, but then suddenly, WHAM, I'm out like my Uncle Davie after Aunt Mae's New Years Day parties (minus the alcohol). It's quite odd. Maybe I was poisoned or something.

So anyway, as I continued trudging through the Common Room and up the girls' staircase, you could probably only imagine the enormous amount of devastation I felt when I opened my dormitory door, prepared to flop down on my bed and never leave, only to be stopped by piles and piles of brightly coloured clothes... _everywhere_.

Including on my bed.

_Especially_ on my bed.

And you know what the _worst_ thing was? They weren't _my_ clothes.

Nope, definitely not mine.

And all I kept thinking was, _No. Oh, please, Merlin. Clean my bed._

But that just didn't happen. Instead, something else did.

"Oh, why if it isn't Evans, the lost and lonely Mudblood. So sorry about the bed. I just didn't have enough room on mine."

Lost and lonely, Saunders? Try fatigued, angered, and NOT WANTING TO TAKE YOUR CRAP RIGHT NOW!

Under normal circumstances, that would've been the point where I really let Elisabeth have it. Clothes on my bed? Was she kidding? Did she want me to burn them? I totally would if they weren't gone in approximately two seconds.

Yes, I really truly would've let her have it, but as I went to open my mouth to tell her off, I found that I just couldn't. It wasn't worth the effort it took.

"I hope you're not expecting to stay in here, Evans," Carrie Lloyd, the evil henchman, chimed in from beside Saunders. I glared fiercely at her, finding myself talking through my exhaustion.

"So what if I am?" I shot back, though hardly with the force or the dignity the statement desired. "It's not your dormitory. You can't kick me out. I'll do as I please. If I wish to stay, then I'll stay!"

Aren't I tough? Aren't I just so intimidating? Wouldn't you just cower in fear over my supreme frighteningisim?

Yeah, they didn't either.

Elisabeth snorted in a very unladylike manner as she slipped a skirt in front of her and examined the look of it in the mirror. She didn't even bother looking at me as she spoke.

"Oh, please. I have a date tonight, Evans, so unless you want to play servant and go fetch my things, I suggest you leave."

Again, I went to open my mouth, to fight it, to tell her I was staying no matter what she said and that I _most certainly_ wouldn't be playing any sort of _servant_ to her careless fashion whims, but once more I found my brain not functioning properly, and nothing came out. Obviously not expecting too much of a fight either, Elisabeth just continued looking into her mirror, a bright orange top in front of her, gesturing silently to Carrie about her distaste for the blouse.

The whole thing made me sick.

"I'll just have you know," I told her, as I slowly started backing out of the door, glancing longingly at my bed. _So close, and yet so far_. "That I'm _not_ leaving because you told me to, but because I'm tired and I want to go to bed, and am unable to do that right now. All right?"

As I slopped down the stairs, I heard Saunders laugh.

Saunders 1, Evans 0.

So now I'm stuck in the Common Room, lying on this couch (which is not as good as my bed), with this random pillow (which is not as good as my pillow), and no blanket (I want _my_ blanket), with absolutely no energy and even less dignity.

I hate Fridays.

______________________

**_Later, the Gryffindor Common Room_ **

 

When I fell asleep a couple of hours ago, I did not have:

a) a blanket  
b) a comfortable pillow  
c) a plate of food from dinner, or  
d) messy, tangled hair

And now, only a few short hours later, I seem to have suddenly acquired:

a) a blanket (a very comfortable one; big and fluffy and completely warm and snugglish. Plus, it smells _so_ good. Like a soapish smell mixed with Honeydukes' chocolate. A strange mixture, but it really does work)  
b) a comfortable pillow (definitely made of goose down. My parents have similar pillows in their bedroom. Same luscious smell as the blanket)  
c) a plate of food from dinner (Oh Merlin! Whoever did this is a saint! Three types of rice! THREE! And some meat and some carrots... saintly!)  
d) messy, tangled hair (hardly unexpected)

But who would do this? I suppose Grace or Emma could have, but they don't have down pillows or a comfortable blanket such as this, and that scent is not theirs at all. Maybe the House Elves? But House Elves don't deliver food to students not present at dinner. If they did that, they'd be very busy House Elves, indeed. Plus, whoever did this has to know me pretty well. I mean, they got me my rice, and my carrots and my meat. Who knows me that well? Only Grace and Emma, really.

Maybe it was them, then. Maybe they just took someone else's blanket and pillow. It's possible. I'll just have to ask them later. But for right now, I'm going to eat my dinner, then continue snuggling up to my snugglish blanket and snugglish pillow and am going to sleep, just like I planned.

You know, even the couch isn't as uncomfortable as it was before.

Things are finally starting to look up.

______________________

**_Saturday, September 13, Breakfast in the Great Hall_ **

 

It wasn't Grace or Emma. The blanket and things, I mean. I asked them this morning and they said they found me like that after dinner (and then proceeded to just leave me there, by the way, neither even bothering to wake their dear friend up so that she could go sleep in the comfort of her own dormitory. No, they just left her alone in the very public Common Room where fellow Gryffindors could easily comment on her tangly hair and awkward sleeping positions. _So_ not cool).

But if it wasn't them, who was it?

I wasn't even sure who to give the things back to, so I just folded them all nice and left them on the couch with a small 'Thank You' note. Whoever it was, they're really sneaky, because when I went off to take a shower, the pillow and blanket were gone when I came back. Mr./Ms. Mysterious even left a note back to me:

_You're welcome. Hope they kept you comfortable._

The writing isn't even familiar. I don't have any idea who it is. I mean, for all I know, it could be a super scary stalker... but then again, who would really waste their time stalking _me_? How utterly boring would _that_ be?

You know what? I'm going to miss that stupid blanket... and the pillow... and that scent...

Oh, bugger.

______________________

**_Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

Things to do:

1) Do assignments–

  * a) Charms
  * b) Transfiguration (ask Emma, because tutor is not speaking to you)
  * c) Ancient Ruins
  * d) Herbology
  * e) Potions



2) Clean up dormitory.  
3) Acquire _What Not To Do When Speaking To Prefects_ from Remus.  
4) Sleep  
5) Eat  
6) Discover who Mr./Ms. Mysterious actually is and thank them graciously, subtly hinting that you would like to steal their blanket, pillow and scent.  
______________________

**_Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

What Not To Do When Speaking To Prefects:

_What Not to Do When Speaking to Prefects_ was a book that was started two years before I became a Prefect by all the Gryffindor Prefects and Gryffindor Head Students. It's basically a book that documents all the screw-ups, scandals, and embarrassing moments that ever occurred during Prefect Meetings by the Head Students, but it does it in the form of a rule. For example:

_Rule #116) Head Girls must never chew gum whilst yelling across the room at chattery Ravenclaw Prefects, for the gum is most able to fly out of her mouth and land on an unsuspecting Hufflepuff Prefect's head._

This happened last term when the Head Girl, Jenny Kearns, accidentally spit her gum into Nina Leverton's hair while she was telling off Tammy Turner and Phil Rook for talking during the meeting. It was utterly hilarious, and was all us Prefects could talk about for days and days–well, until the next meeting, anyway. Then we had a new rule to laugh over when Rodolphus Lestrange tried to take the book away from us and it spit blue glop all over him, simultaneously providing us with Rule #117 and Rule #118:

_Rule #117) Non-Gryffindor Head Boys must not try to take sacred books away from Gryffindor Prefects or he shall have to face the consequences._

_Rule #118) Never overestimate your Slytherin powers by trying to clean off blue glop with_ "Evanesco." _We are not that stupid. It's not going to work._

It goes on and on like that. We're already up to Rule #129. I had completely forgotten about the book until this morning, when I was going over all the things I should do before the Prefects Meeting and then realised that I had a clear-cut list of what _not_ to do fully within my grasp. We'd given the book to Remus at the end of last term so that he could hold on to it for this year. It's a good thing that I remembered too, because I need to give that thing a good read through. I mean, I know that between Potter and me, we're probably going to get us up to Rule #299 this year, but hopefully if I give the book a quick look, I won't be repeating any of the previous screw-ups. _That_ would be worse than making up my own.

It's going to be another lovely day in Prefectville.

______________________

**_Still Later, Gryffindor Common Room_ **

 

You definitely know you should've been in Guam two weeks ago when:

**1) There is no rice at dinner:**

I'm serious. There was absolutely _no rice_ present on the whole Gryffindor table tonight at dinner. It completely spoiled the good mood I was in (Emma had just helped me with my Transfiguration homework. So what if I didn't understand? It's done, isn't it?). I was all ready to just sit down and tuck in, when, sure enough, I take my seat and automatically go to reach for... THE NON-EXISTENT RICE BOWL. It was dreadful! I couldn't eat anything the entire meal because I was still in such complete shock. I mean, how can you go from having _three_ different types of rice one night, to _no_ rice the next? It's completely unacceptable and just not _fair_. So now I'm utterly starving and I don't want to have to go all the way down to the kitchen, so it's not as if I could get anything. All I could do was sit there and sulk and I fully intended to do so.

**2) Your best friend refuses to introduce you to her boyfriend:**

"So when are we going to get to meet Mr. Boyfriend, Em?" Grace asked, pouring another helping of onion soup into her bowl. Psh. Onion soup. Hello? Rice!

I took a moment out of my busy sulking schedule to comment on this. After all, I'm also curious as to the identity of him. Who is he? What is he like? Was there rice present at _his_ table? "Yeah, are we ever going to get to meet him?"

Emma was silent for a few moments, choosing not to instantly respond to our questions. She just kept looking over at the Ravenclaw table, staring helplessly as if it would up and come and save her.

Finally realising that no, no one was coming to rescue her, Emma turned her gaze away from the Ravenclaw table and back towards Grace and me and said, "Well, not right now."

Then she went back to eating her dinner.

That was it. Not right now.

NOT RIGHT NOW? What does she mean 'not right now'?

"Not right now?" Grace sputtered, sending little bits of onion soup onto the table, one little tidbit of onion landing far too close to me for comfort. Ew, gross. "What do you mean 'not right now'? What's wrong with now?"

" _Grace_ ," Emma sighed, sounding as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He's _eating_."

"So?"

_"So,_ I don't want to disturb him!" Emma looked at me for some sort of support. "You understand, right, Lily?"

Understand? Erm, no, actually, I didn't, but I nodded anyway. I was far too busy sulking and trying to silence my rumbling stomach. I threw Grace a 'we'll get it out of her later' look, which I don't think she caught. She just glared at Emma.

"Lily's a liar," Grace said, turning her glare onto me. "She doesn't understand. She's just too busy sulking about the bloody rice. Now, come _on,_ Em!"

If the statement hadn't been so completely true, I probably would've been a bit offended. See how well my mates know me? I'm slightly comforted by this thought. It's nice to know that if I ever _really_ needed to get a point across while lying, my mates would catch it, you know?

Yeah, you wouldn't.

"I'll introduce you _later_ , Grace. Just not right now, all right?" Emma was starting to sound a bit desperate and I had to wonder what her reasons were for hiding this bloke. Why doesn't she want us to meet him? I mean, I know that I'm kind of an embarrassment to human nature, but _everyone_ already knows that, so it will hardly be a surprise. And I know Grace is rather...er... _different_ , but she's still a really brilliant girl. What's wrong, then?

Grace grumbled an agreement. I felt like doing the same, but my sulking face didn't move.

**3) James Potter is now in possession of _What Not to Do When Speaking to Prefects,_ and is supposedly doing the exact same thing I'M supposed to be doing (reading it):**

When dinner had ended, Grace was still bitter and Emma was still refusing to any sort of introduction (and of course, we were still without any rice). I made my way alone back towards Gryffindor Tower. On my way there, I spotted Remus on one of the staircases up in front of me. Surprisingly enough, he wasn't surrounded by the usual cronies.

"Hey, Remus!" I called, the sound of my voice causing him to stop mid-staircase and turn around to face me. When he saw that it was me who had called, his eyebrows shot up and his face went rather still. I think he was afraid I was going to yell at him or something. I held back the impulse to roll my eyes. It seems my temper tends to have that sort of stilling effect on most people.

Still with his guarded look, Remus answered me cautiously, "Yes, Lily?"

"Do you think you could lend me _What Not to Do When Speaking to Prefects_ for a bit? I think I'd better give it a read through. You know, so I don't add any more rules."

There. Not so scary, right?

His Lily-temper-look gone, Remus stared at me for a bit, looking as if he thought I had some sort of ulterior motive in my asking for the book or something. Which I didn't. Have an ulterior motive, I mean. I never have ulterior motives. I'm not that smart.

After he seemed to realise that I wasn't that intelligent, and that my biggest ulterior motive was procrastinating my Potions homework, he went, "Well, I would, except..."

"Except what?"

" _Except_ ," he repeated slowly, stressing out the word as if he didn't want to continue with what he was saying. He sighed deeply and I instantly knew that whatever he was about to say, I wasn’t going to like. "James has it."

My body froze.

James…

_What?_

I tried to keep my voice controlled as the anger and annoyance seeped through my veins. "What do you mean 'James has it'?"

"I mean that James has it," Remus repeated once more, scratching the back of his head with an innocent look. "He asked me for it before dinner. I think he had the same idea that you did."

I stood there dumbfound for a moment, processing what Remus had just said. James Potter was now in possession of the book I was supposed to be reading... all right... okay...

NO, NOT ALL RIGHT! NOT OKAY!

Is he _mad_? I thought Remus was _responsible_! I thought he was supposed to be the _good_ influence! What is he doing lending important books to _Potter_? I mean, the bloody wanker will probably curse the thing, or destroy it, or something equally as stupid! What has he done to poor Remus? What happened to good Remus? WHAT HAPPENED?

Waving my hands in front of my body like a raving lunatic, I cried, " _Why_ did you give it to _him_? Are you _mad_?"

But despite all my yelling, Remus didn't seem to think he was mad at all. Quite the contrary actually. He thought giving Potter the book was a fairly appropriate idea.

Poor, poor, Remus. He's been so corrupted.

"He _is_ Head Boy, Lily," Remus pointed out. "He has just as much of a right to the book as you do. Besides, he's never been a Prefect before. He doesn't know what it's like. Maybe the book will help."

" _Help_?" I moaned, dropping my hands to my sides. "He's not reading it! He's probably cursing it or something!"

Remus sighed, shaking his head. "He is not. He's changed since fourth year, Lily. He's not like that anymore."

"Oh, _please_ ," I snorted, rolling my eyes. "He hasn't changed, Remus. That's just who he is!"

Remus continued shaking his head, looking at me as if I were a small child who had no idea what she was talking about. "You're not one for change, are you, Lily?"

I rolled my eyes again. What is he on about? Not one for change? I don't care about change! It's just that this _particular_ change isn't _real_. Doesn't he understand that?

Then suddenly, inspiration struck.

"Well, Remus," I started, giving him a long, hard look, "this “ _change”_ that Potter's supposedly gone through, does it happen to exclude throwing large globs of green gloop on unsuspecting girls, or was that was just a quirk in the transformation?"

Remus winced. "About that..."

"No," I interrupted. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"But it wasn't–"

I cut him off again, trying to grope for some sort of solution to the Potter-Book situation. "Just… tell Potter to give it to me when he's done, all right? If it's still safe, that is."

"Lily–"

"Bye, Remus."

**4) Your hair is really messy and it won't unmessize itself:**

I think this one pretty much speaks for itself.

I should really just book my departure now. I think Guam is expecting me.

______________________

**_Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

I think I'm in love.

There is rice on my bed.

There is rice on my bed, and there is another note from Mr/Ms. Mysterious.

Again, I think I'm in love.

_Enjoy._

That's all it says. 'Enjoy'. What an enigma this person is!

But for right now, I don't particularly care that I don't know who is currently serving as my guardian angel. All I care about is enjoying my rice, just like Mr./Mrs. Mysterious wants me to.

______________________

**_The Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

Grace and Emma returned to the dormitory a few minutes later and found me eating my rice in my bed. They forced me to tell them about Mr./Mrs. Mysterious. I admit to them that I think I'm starting fall in love with Mr./Mrs. I mean, he/she sends me rice... and blankets... and really good scents. What's not to love?

Grace, always the killjoy, asks: "You're willing to be in love with a girl, Lil?"

I shake my head. "I'm willing to be a very, _very_ good friend."

"And if it's a bloke?"

I smile. "Highly doubtful."

Which it is. Highly doubtful that it's a bloke, I mean. Because in order for it to be a bloke, he'd actually have to _know_ me. Like really really _know_ me, because he's obviously aware of my rice addiction _and_ he knew I was having a withdrawal tonight. So he'd also have to be pretty observant. I don't know any blokes that well. Or any blokes who pay that much attention.

"But if it is a boy?" Emma persists.

I nod my head thoughtfully. "Then I'll marry him."

They laugh, but I secretly hope it's a girl, because I've already promised myself to Amos.

______________________

**_Sunday, September 14, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

_Dearest Lily,_

_Hello, dear! How have you been? Are you enjoying school so far? Are you keeping up with your schoolwork? I hope everything is going all right. I know you were a bit panicky about your Head Girl duties, but I'm sure with all your Prefect experience, you're doing perfectly fine. Was the Head Boy who you thought it was? That_ – _what was his name?_ – _Adam? Amos? Andy?_

_Everything here is well. Daddy has just received a promotion at work and we had a small party at Auntie Mae's house last night. Uncle Davy drank a little more than his share and started singing 'Amazing Grace' on Auntie Mae's table again. I'm sorry you missed it. I do know how much you enjoy an Uncle Davy Show. Petunia made him come down halfway through the first stanza, though, so you didn't miss much. She'd brought Vernon over with her, so I could understand her embarrassment. If I've told your uncle once, I've told him a MILLION times not to drink so much, but does he ever listen? Of course not._

_Speaking of Petunia and Vernon, your sister_ insists _she saw Vernon shopping for rings in Buellen's this past Friday. She's dreadfully excited. She insists this is_ the ring _. I try not to feed her excitement too much, in case it's not what she's expecting. After all, Vernon hasn't said anything to your father or me. Daddy says he'll be a bit upset if Vernon doesn't ask him first. I try to tell him that that's not how things are done nowadays, but he still continues to be old-fashioned. Do me a favour, darling? When you're planning on getting married, let your potential husband know that he has to ask Daddy first? I think it will be best for everyone._

_We love you and miss you terribly! Home's just not home without my Lily!_

_Love Always,  
Mum_

______________________

**_Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

What I would be writing to my mum if I were the sort of daughter who was completely and ridiculously honest:

_Dear Mum,_

_Hi! How are you? How is everything at home? Everything is normal here. School is normal: I'm a bloody failure at Transfiguration and an immodest whiz at Charms, and nothing else really matters. I'm still Head Girl, though for how long that will last, I'm not really sure. Oh, and James Potter_ – _this chap that I despise more than life itself_ – _is Head Boy, not AMOS, who is my future children's potential father._

_Tell Dad congratulations for me! He deserves a promotion after working for that dirty, ungrateful bastard-of-a-boss for the last seven years. Aunt Mae's celebration party sounded fun. I'm upset that you let Uncle Davy put on a show without me. You know it's not as good when I'm not there, searching for a microphone and egging him on. That Uncle Davy sure is one bloody funny drunkard. I wish I had been there, but alas, I'm too busy being hit with big, green globs of goop. Maybe next time, though._

_So Vernie is finally going to take Petty away from us, eh? Can't say that I didn't see it coming. It's all right to encourage her, though, Mum. I wouldn't expect Vernon to ask Dad. I don't think he has enough sense for that. However, I'll be sure to mention to Amos that he needs to ask Dad's permission. I mean, he’ll know to do that, anyway, because he's perfect, but I’ll humour your request. In any case, they deserve each other. Petty and Vernon, I mean. I'm sure that their children will be beautiful_ – _you know, all chinny and giraffe-necked. Do I have to go to the wedding? I could play sick or something. You could even get out of it, as well! You can say that you have to take me to the hospital or something. Ha, that would give poor Petty a heart attack._

_I miss you lots and I can't wait to see you again!_

_Love,  
Lily_

What I _really_ wrote to my mum, considering I'm not a daughter who is completely and ridiculously honest, but a normal daughter who lies through her teeth:

_Dear Mum,_

_Hi! How have you been? I’m wonderful. School's been brilliant and I'm so glad to be back, though I miss you lot like mad. I'm having a little difficulty with one of my classes, but no one's perfect, so I suppose that's normal, right? I have a tutor now to help me, anyway, so improvement can’t be too far away. Being Head Girl is a new experience, and it's so different from just being a Prefect, but I think I'm getting used to it. The Head Boy isn't Amos as I had previously thought, but James Potter, another Gryffindor._

_Tell Daddy congratulations! I'm so glad he got his promotion! I wish I had been there. Give him a hug for me, will you? It was nice of Aunt Mae to throw him a party like that. It's too bad Uncle Davy drank so much and ruined things. Though his drunken performances do entertain me, you are right in saying he should watch what he drinks. Poor Petty must have been humiliated! That's okay, though, because I'm sure Vernon loves her enough to overlook small family problems like Uncle Davy._

_I'm so excited for Petty! I do hope that she's right about Vernon. They really do make such a lovely couple. I can't wait to see if it's true!_

_I miss you all so much! Love you!_

_Lily_

Short, quick, and generally painless.

______________________

**_Later, Great Hall_ **

 

Life is so unfair.

Well, I suppose it's always been unfair, but it's times like this when a girl realises just _how_ downright awful the world actually is. Especially for people with really bad karma. The worst of it always seems to unleash itself upon us.

I have, of course, realised before that Potter wasn't the average Head Boy. I mean, I always knew that him having no Prefect experience was going to make things even more difficult for me this year, but the fact that I'm pretty much going to be running the Prefect meeting tonight alone never really sank in until just now.

That really just isn't fair, don't you think? Even for a person with brilliantly bad karma and a horrid case of really messy hair. It's completely unjust. I mean, even if Potter _did_ decide to actually read our silly little rule book instead of hexing it or jinxing it or possibly flushing it down the loo, it doesn't mean all that much. Sure, the book is brilliant and perfectly hilarious to read, but honestly, it's no miracle worker! And that's exactly what I need right now–a miracle. Because Potter isn't going to suddenly become all mature-ish just because I think the world is being cruel. Nope. Unfortunately, life doesn't work like that.

Not even for people with good karma and really nice hair.

______________________

**_Sunday Night, After the Prefect's Meeting_ **

 

** Lily Evans's Recording Of The First Ever Prefects Meeting of the 1977-1978 Term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry **

**Me:** All right, everyone! Settle down! Let's get this thing started!

**Chris Lynch (6th year Gryffindor. I used to sit with him at meetings last year):** Oy, Lily! Don't forget the little people when you're upon your mighty throne, all right?

Oh, Merlin, he's such a twit.

**James Potter (an even bigger twit):** Shut it, Lynch. Everyone sit down! The sooner we start, the sooner we can leave.

Psh. Was everyone aware that I had said the _exact same thing_ not more than three seconds before? No one listened to _me_ , and yet everyone listened to _him_? What's wrong with these people? I mean, _I'm_ the responsible one with three years worth of Prefect experience, not him! So what if he has a slightly less than revolting face and can fly on a broom? Will that honestly count in the long run of things?

Prefects are so stupid.

**June Mackey (5th year Hufflepuff. Complete slag in every sense of the word):** Anything you say, James.

Uh, can you say scrubber?

**Me:** That's enough, June. Let's move on, shall we?

**CL:** Here, here!

**JP:** If you don't can it, Lynch, you're not playing next game. Now everyone take a seat! You too, June.

Whoah, way to hold the authority there, Potter. Let's just threaten them all, shall we? Then again, Chris did shut up (thank Merlin. He's such an embarrassment).

**Me:** Now that we have everyone's attention, let's begin, all right? As you may or may not know, my name is Lily and I'm a seventh-year Gryffindor and will the Head Girl for this year.

**JP** : And I'm James, also a Gryffindor and I'll be working along side Lily as Head Boy.

There was a bunch of scattered applause. For Potter, not for me, though I really don't know why. I just don't know what is _wrong_ with people these days. I mean, he's _just_ a boy! You don't _applaud_ someone after they _introduce_ themselves. It's ridiculous.

These once normal children have obviously been corrupted by Potteritis.

**Me** : Basically what this meeting is being held for is firstly, to congratulate all of you for being chosen as a Prefect. Whether you think so or not, the title of Prefect is something to be proud of, and all of your professors, as well as Headmaster Dumbledore, chose you especially for the position out of all the rest of your peers. So, congratulations on that achievement.

More scattered applause. There! Now _that_ is something to applaud for! Not some cocky, angry, self-centered git. And I'm not just saying that because I was the one to make the little speech. It's what was _in_ the speech that was so applaudable.

**JP** : Secondly, we're here to discuss all the rules and regulations that you, as a Prefect, are required to follow.

I really almost laughed when Potter chimed in with that. I mean, hold on just a second, was that honestly just JAMES POTTER who took over for me? Discussing rules and regs? Does he even know what rules and regulations _are_? From the way he was looking at everyone, it seemed that he thought he did, but that just couldn't be possible. The real James Potter sees the rules and regulations merely as a structural device of the things he can completely disregard.

WHERE DID THE REAL JAMES POTTER GO AND WHO IS THIS IMPOSTER?

**JP** : And even though they're a pain in the arse, I've got to follow them, and so do you.

Ah, found him.

**Me** : Ahem! Also as part of your Prefect duties, all of you are required to help with nightly hall sweeps. Later on in the meeting we will have all of you fill out slips of parchment stating which days are unacceptable for you so that we can form a decent schedule as to when your hall duties will take place. Lastly, we'll take any questions that you may have regarding Prefects and their duties. All right?

And so the meeting continued. I went on and on like that, acting like I knew what I was doing. It was actually quite a riot. I mean, I was acting all professional and all actually-qualified-Head-Girl like, that I was almost starting to fool myself! I must be one bloody good actress because even the Prefects started to listen to me after awhile. It was truly a great and funny riot.

But do you know what _wasn't_ a great and funny riot? Do you know what was so totally completely incomprehensible that my head is still spinning from the complete unusualness of it all? The fact that Potter–yes, JAMES POTTER– was for once in his life, not a complete toe-rag. I swear it was the maddest thing I've ever seen in my whole seventeen years of living. He was actually doing what he was supposed to be doing! I mean, he played the part of Head Boy to complete perfection–well, maybe not _complete_ perfection, as he somehow managed to add a few of his prattish comments in here and there, but still, it was completely unfathomable!

But you know what the _real_ dastardly thing about it was? Unlike me, I don't think he was acting. I think that maybe, just maybe, James Potter may have had a natural knack for being a Head Boy, as unfairly scary and unlikely as that may sound. I mean, there I was, thinking that this whole meeting would be a complete disaster because:

a) I'm a wrongly chosen Head Girl with immensely bad karma  
b) the Head Boy is a trouble-making prat who never had any Prefect experience  
c) the trouble making prat who never had any Prefect experience is extremely angry with the wrongly chosen Head Girl with immensely bad karma, and  
d) there was a bowl of cottage cheese on the Gryffindor table during dinner, and everyone who's anyone knows that cottage cheese at dinner is a major sign of future failure.

So having Potter sprout out this new Head Boy talent of his gave me quite a shock, and I knew I wasn't hiding it well. Every time he would go and do or say something all Head-Boyish, I would just stare at him, wondering if maybe he'd had acting classes as a child, or if the world was just truly cruel and had given James Potter yet another amazing talent. After much consideration and many Head-Boyish comments from Potter, I decided that this is just another effect of the fact that God was a male. The damn bloke gives all the good and important qualities to bullies like Potter, and gives all the unfortunate ones to girls with bad karma like me. There just isn't any justice in the world.

And maybe, just maybe–and this is a long-shot here– if Potter wasn't so cross with me for some stupid reason that no one will tell me, I would've complimented him on his newly found Head Boy skills tonight. No, I am not kidding. The boy was _that_ good. But of course, considering Potter still seems to be rattled at me, I really couldn't say anything, even if I had wanted to.

So instead I remained silent, somehow managing to leave the Prefect's meeting:

a) unharmed  
b) physically healthy, and  
c) completely and utterly shocked once again because of James Potter.

The world truly does work in mysterious ways.

______________________

**_Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

Rule #130 has just been added to _What Not To Do When Speaking To Prefects_ :

_Rule#130) Head Girls must never underestimate the skills and superiority of Head Boys, no matter what their previous engagements may lead them to believe._

Oh, bugger.

______________________

**_Monday, September 15, Defense Against the Dark Arts_ **

 

  
** The Meeting of the Boyfriend: Mr. Mac:  ** **  
(The introduction of one, Mr. Fulton McDonough, to Grace Reynolds and Lily Evans, taking place this morning at breakfast)**

Emma: Grace, Lily, I'd like to introduce you to someone.

Grace: Is that so?

Me: Now who could it possibly be?

Emma (coughing offensively): I want you both to meet Fulton McDonough. Mac, this is Grace Reynolds and Lily Evans.

Grace: Nice to meet you, Fulton.

Me: Erm, Fulton?

Mac: Mac. Just Mac.

Me: All right, then. Pleasure to meet you, Mac.

Mac (looking at me): Head Girl, right?

Me(shrugging): For today.

(Grace snorts. Mac looks confused.)

Grace: Don't mind her. She's lost her identity.

Me: My what?

Mac: Her what?

Grace (laughing at her own little private joke): Her identity. It's gone. Lost. Forever. It wasn't that great to begin with, but at least it was there.

Mac: Her....er...

Me: You can just ignore her, Mac. She hasn't had her medication this morning.

Grace: Neither have you.

Emma (quite flushed): _Grace_!

Grace: Sorry, Mac. Didn't mean to frighten you. It's early.

Mac: Er... it's fine.

Grace: I, uh, like your rock. (Points to large, obscure, absolutely unnecessary piece of junk hanging from his neck)

Mac (beaming proudly): I got it from Egypt, in one of the old tombs. It's said that thousands of years ago, rocks like this were actually gold, but they were all turned to stone once the pharaoh who owned them died.

Me: So that thing was gold?

Mac: Supposedly.

Me: Well, if it was gold at one point, can't you just do a little _Prior Incantato_ and get it back? (I meant this as a joke, of course)

Mac (completely serious): No. No, you can't.

(Mac obviously does not get my sense of humor.)

Me: Erm... okay. (Grace got my joke. She's laughing.)

Grace (still laughing): Toast, Mac?

Mac: Er–

Emma: Mac doesn't eat toast.

Me: What do you mean he doesn't eat toast?

Emma: He just doesn't like it, Lil.

Grace (to Mac): You don't like _toast_?

(Mac shakes his head.)

Me: _Why_?

Mac: It clogs my arteries.

(Toast? Arteries? Is this bloke for real?)

Me: Psh. Well, doesn't that beat all?

Grace: I can't _believe_ –

Emma (to Mac): We’d better be going. We don't want to be late. (turning to us with a very disapproving look) I'll see you both in Herbology.

Grace: All right, then. Bye!

Me: It was nice meeting you, Mac! (Needless to say, he doesn't respond.)

I never said I made good first impressions.

______________________

**_Later, Herbology_ **

 

What I Know About Mr. Fulton M. McDonough   
(or more commonly known as Emma's boyfriend)

1) His name is Fulton Michael McDonough, but everyone calls him Mac. I could definitely see why. I mean, honestly, who in their right mind names their son _Fulton_? That's really just begging for humiliation. If Merlin forbid, Mac has as high of a humiliation rate as, let's say, me, he really wouldn't need to add a ridiculous name to that burden. It just wouldn't be fair to him. Or society for that matter.  
2) General description: tall, lanky, mousy brown hair, and rather large ears.  
3) He's a 7th-year Ravenclaw prefect, and even though I didn't see him at the meeting last night, Emma says he was there.  
4) He's really ridiculously smart. I mean like _genius_ smart. Like I-don't-have-to-even-study-for-my-NEWTS-I'm-so-smart smart. I'm so jealous.  
5) He and Emma met last year. LAST YEAR! And she never said ANYTHING! What kind of friend _does_ that, hm? If I suddenly gained a boyfriend, I _so_ would not hide it.  
6) He seems to have the same ridiculous fetish with really strange, really stupid foreign objects just like Emma. He even has a stupid rock around his neck, which resembles the rock Emma's got quite a bit. Personally, I think it belongs in a trash bin.  
7) He has an insanely large amount of hair. I'm serious. It doesn't matter that Emma says it was only like that because he'd woken up late. It still doesn't change the fact that he has way too much of it. He should donate some of it somewhere– you know, to like the bald and less fortunate? I hardly think he'll miss it much.  
8) He doesn't like toast. Now, I'm not one to judge or anything, but what kind of person doesn't like _toast_? I mean, it's _bread_. You need bread to _live_! What's with that?  
9) He thinks I've lost my identity.  
10) I don't think he likes me much.

______________________

**_Later, Lunch in the Great Hall_ **

 

What is _wrong_ with the people of today's society? Seriously. I just don't get it. What happened to all of us? I mean, is the youth really all that corrupted?

I truly just don't understand anyone anymore.

How could it possibly be considered _normal_ to be on permanent mood swings all the time? I mean, are you _allowed_ to be unnaturally nice and perfectly cool one day, and then turn completely rude and dreadful within _hours_? Can you do that? Is it legal? Could I take it up with the Ministry, or perhaps with Parliament? Moodiness like that, it just can't be acceptable.

But apparently it is. Or maybe it's only _James Potter_ who's special enough to be so moody.

The bloody rotten bugger.

It's just ridiculous the way he's acting. Honestly, it is. And really, it's not as if he even has a single suitable reason to be so dreadful to me. I mean, I know everyone except me (the person who really _should_ know) seems to understand why it is he's being such a wanker, but I just don't. Maybe I'm not that quick. Or maybe everyone else is just delusional. Personally, I think it's the former. But either way, the support system just isn't there. I couldn't have possibly done something so terrible without noticing. I just couldn't have.

And really, when you think about it, _he's_ the one who lied to me, pretended to be all sweet and nice and innocent, and then went and ruined it all with his stupid immature pranks. And yet somehow, I'm the one at fault? That doesn't make a single bit of sense! _I_ should be the one who’s calling _him_ dirty names and glaring fiercely wherever he goes, _not_ the other way around. So if _I'm_ not doing any of that wretched stuff, than Potter most certainly has no right to do it either. Why can't he see that? Why can't _they_ see that? Why am I the only one with any bit of sense left around here?

So, it is with this lasting little bit of sense that I have left, that I now also kindly add that–regardless of what everyone else _seems_ to think–I had _nothing to do_ with what just happened in the Arithmancy corridor before–well, I mean, I was _involved_ , but I was not the one to _instigate_ the entire thing. I'm serious. I didn't do _anything_. I don't know why whenever someone blows up, all fingers are automatically pointed to me, but they are. Do the students of Hogwarts honestly think that James Potter can do no wrong? That he couldn't possibly be the one to start everything? That maybe, just maybe, Lily Evans _wasn't_ in the fault this time?

Of course they couldn't. They've been corrupted by Potter. And society. They no longer think for themselves.

But I really hadn't done anything wrong! I'm telling the truth. I mean, unless we're suddenly calling standing in a corridor a public offense, I'm completely innocent. If _he_ hadn't been such an _idiot_ , I wouldn't have even...

Ugh. I can't stand him. I can't stand any of this.

But what can you do, really? It's James Potter's world and we're all just living in it.

The trouble all started when Professor Lundi, my Ancient Runes professor, had decided to kindly let class out early this morning, figuring he'd let us all get a head start to lunch. Now me, I was all for that. In fact, I was quite hungry at the time, so I gave the out-of-class-early plan two thumbs up. However, I figured that my stomach could wait a little while longer while I took a slight detour on my way to the Great Hall so that I could meet up with Emma in the Arithmancy corridor, which wasn't all that far from the Ancient Runes classroom. So with a light jaunt in my step, I walked the small distance to the Arithmancy classroom. There, I quietly and patiently stood waiting for the class to let out.

And the minutes ticked by...

...and ticked by...

...and my stomach began to growl...

...and still the class had yet to let out...

You could see my dilemma, right?

So naturally, after ten more minutes of waiting there patiently like the perfect angel that I am, I started to get a wee bit bored. I mean, I hadn't noticed it before, but Lundi had let us out far too early. I know he was trying to be nice and everything, but there really is a line between nice to being far-too-desperate-to-get-away-from-these-kids. But now that I'm thinking about it, getting away from us probably wasn't Lundi's only reason for giving us extra time to get to lunch. He's...well, he enjoys his food. And everyone knows it. It's actually quite a pity when you consider what this is going to start up. I mean, everyone already jokes about Lundi and his obesity problems. He really didn't have to provoke the Slytherins like that by letting us out even earlier. He'll never hear the end of it now. And those Slytherins can be so cruel sometimes...

Oh, bugger, now I feel bad. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left the class? You know, maybe I should have distracted him a bit until it was an appropriate time to leave? I like Professor Lundi, even if he does call me Mily-va-Lily, which by the way, I've asked him _not_ to do several times. He's a nice old man and a damn good Ancient Runes professor. Oh, why didn't I think of this before? I'm such a horrid, horrid person! Now he'll be tormented and teased and it's all because I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn't stop to think about the long-term effects my departure would have on Professor Lundi. See why I shouldn't be Head Girl? I'm so selfish. Head Girl's shouldn't be selfish. Head Girl's are perfect. A _real_ Head Girl would have realised sooner and distracted Lundi. I'm such a failure.

But now I'm getting sidetracked. As I was saying before, I was standing in the corridor, time ticking by incredibly slowly and the boringness consuming me, until I reached the point where I had to do _something_. I didn't know how much longer I would be standing there, and there's only so much a girl can take. So as a way to perhaps soothe my escalating boredom, I simply started pacing quietly in the front the classroom door, using the lines of the stone floors as a guideline as I began walking them like a tightrope. It was a funny little game, immature as it was. Every time I stepped off the lines, I'd add a book to my head and would have to see how long I could walk like that. Crazy, I know, but I was bored, and it was fun.

So I'm playing my little game–getting _quite_ good at it by the way, with only two books atop my head–becoming so absorbed in keeping the books from falling that I hardly noticed when I began straying closer and closer to the Arithmancy classroom's door.

And that's when it happened.

There I was, innocently concentrating on keeping the two textbooks atop my head, walking along the lines as carefully as I possibly could, when all of a sudden I hear a swinging noise and _BAM!_

Me, my books, my bag, and all the rest of my possessions are sent sprawling onto the floor (quite painfully, if I might add). And when I look up to see who the psychopath who flings doors open is, guess who I saw?

Why, _James Potter_ , of course!

I _wanted_ to move, _wanted_ to talk, to start screaming about the consequences of flinging doors open and knocking poor innocent children over. I _wanted_ to do something, _anything_ , but apparently my body had different ideas. I was completely frozen. Hard as I tried, as much as my brain was screaming to do something, I just couldn't. So I just continued to lay there, staring at him like there was nothing else I could possibly look at. He was staring at me as well, his face looking lost. His eyes would shift quickly from me, to my things sprawled upon the floor, and then back to me again. And all the while I sat there, waiting for _him_ to respond in some way because I knew that I certainly couldn't.

And then, as if he had suddenly remembered that he was a nasty little bugger who was for some reason completely cross with me, Potter's face turned into a scowl and his eyes narrowed. He looked at me as if _I_ was the one who pushed _him_ onto the floor.

"You're crowding the corridor, Evans."

Yeah. That's what he said. 'You're crowding the corridor, Evans.'

Well, I bet you could imagine what happened next. But I can't say that the stupid git didn't deserve it. I mean, what nerve? Crowding the corridor? Was he kidding? That's easy for a bloke who's _crowding the earth_ to say.

So I let my temper roll and really let him have it.

" _Crowding the corridor_?" I snapped, throwing a glare back his way. "Well, I _wouldn't_ be, _Potter_ , if _someone_ hadn't _thrown open the door_ like a wild _beast_ and knocked me down!"

"So now it's _my_ fault that you're clumsy?"

I glared harder, my temper rising with every second, but he seemed unaffected by my scathing looks. He simply smirked. "I am _not_ clumsy!" I shot back through clenched teeth. "It's not my fault I was _knocked down by a door!"_

In my angered state, I was completely unaware of the crowds of people forming around us. Potter, on the other hand, _had_ noticed these gossiping rejects, and simply started to casually walk away from the scene, acting as if nothing at all was happening and we weren't in the middle of a public shouting match in the middle of the corridor. He couldn't just leave like that. I wouldn't stand for it. Holding back a groan of frustration, abandoning my things which were still scattered on the ground, I hopped off the floor and shot after him down the corridor.

At first he ignored me, acting as if he didn't notice I had got up and followed him. But he knew. Oh, did he know.

"Is there something you _need_ , Evans?" he finally snapped, not even bothering to turn and face me when he spoke. We were farther down the corridor, away from the crowds.

At that point I was more hysterical than I was angry. Why was he acting like this? What could I have possibly done? I had to know.

" _Why_ are you being so _nasty_ to me? I didn't do _anything_ to you!"

My furious statement got more of a reaction from him than I'd expected, and I instantly jumped back when he quickly whipped around on me. "That's _right_ , Lily!" he yelled, his face so close to my face that his nose was practically touching mine. "You don't do _anything_! You don't _do_ anything, you don't _notice_ anything, you don't– _ah_! Just _never mind_!"

Then he stormed off down the corridor, leaving a very confused me and an equally as confused (though far more chatty) entourage of gossipers in his wake.

I don't think I'll ever understand that child.

______________________

**_Even Later, Dinner in the Great Hall_ **

 

What does he mean, 'I don't do anything, I don't notice anything'? What's there to do? What's there to notice?

ISN'T ANYONE GOING TO TELL ME WHAT I'M NOT DOING OR WHAT I'M NOT NOTICING?

______________________

**_Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

Everyone's talking about the big row in the Arithmancy corridor between the Head Boy and the Head Girl. As usual, most of the stories include me doing something terribly horrible, because, hey, James Potter is perfect. _He_ could _never_ instigate _anything_.

Psh. Those prats don't even know what _happened_.

______________________

**_Still Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_ **

 

Grace says that I should go talk to Potter and ask him what I'm not doing or noticing. I tried to tell her that I've decided never speak to him again, considering how every time I do, I always end up in some embarrassing and humiliating situation, but she didn't seem to care.

"He's right, you know," she tells me.

"What do you mean 'he's right'? Right about what?"

"About you not noticing certain things. That's why he's cross with you. You're not _noticing_ things. You know, _changes_."

Er, not noticing changes?

What the bloody hell is she talking about?

"He's cross because I don't _notice_ things? What kind of excuse is that? I do so notice things! I notice plenty of things! What am I not noticing?"

Grace sighs, and says, "A lot of things, Lily."

I don't think this is a proper answer. I mean, how do any of them expect me to notice what I'm not noticing if they aren't telling me what it is? I'm not an intelligent girl. You have to spell these sorts of things out for me.

"Like what? What have I not noticed?"

"I'm not going to tell you. Just go to bed. Sleep on it, all right?"

Psh. Sleep on it. Easy for _her_ to say.

I'll show them. I'll show _all_ of them. Come tomorrow, I'll be the most observant, noticing-things person that they've _ever_ seen. Yeah. That's right. That'll show them.


	6. September 16th: Observing the Prude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank yous go out to Megan, the original beta reader for this chapter.

 ()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

"I bet if you were in some old west gang, and you were dragging a guy along the ground with your horse, it'd probably make you really mad to look back and see him reading a magazine."

-Jack Handey  
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

___________________  
****  
**_Tuesday, September 16, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_**  
**Observant Lily: Day 1**  
**Total Observations: 0**

 

** Lily Evans' Four-Step Plan to Becoming a Brilliant Observer **

STEP ONE: Observe Your Surroundings

In order to become a Brilliant Observer, one must learn to always observe their surroundings. Those surroundings include all places, people, objects and UFOs (something rather common in the magical world, though perhaps not as common in the Muggle).

STEP TWO: Learn to Determine Whether or Not a Particular Observation is Worth Further Scrutiny

All Brilliant Observers are able to determine whether or not a certain subject has changed/appeared. Brilliant Observers must then decide whether that particular subject is worth further observation. In order to be considered a Brilliant Observer, you must have this decisive trait.

STEP THREE: Observe Closely!

Brilliant Observers are always capable of spotting interesting and changed subjects. Once a B.O. finds a subject worthy of his/her scrutiny, they will then go over these simple questions in their brilliant, quick-thinking heads:

What is this subject?

What has changed about this subject?  
OR  
Why has this subject appeared?

Is this change/appearance helpful? If so, how can this change be preserved?

Is this change/appearance harmful? If so, how can this be stopped, or made not to happen again?

STEP FOUR: Take Action!

Using their nifty questions from Step Three, B.O.'s then continue to take the best possible course of action with their newly gained information.

  
___________________  
**_Later, Eating a Late Breakfast in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 1  
Total Observations: 1_**

 

You know, I reckon I'm a bit of a natural at all this observing rubbish. Seriously, I really think I am. I mean, I know I supposedly missed something big and important that everyone else except me seems to know, but it obviously couldn't have been _that_ apparent because my amazing observing-talent senses didn't detect it. And they're good. My observing senses, I mean. Like this morning, just before, I followed all my silly steps and did all the right things just like I was supposed to, and came up with some fairly interesting and rewarding results.

STEP ONE: Observe My Surroundings.

I was up bright and early this morning, ready and prepared for my first day as a Brilliant Observer. I walked into the Great Hall with a mission. I knew what I had to do and by God, I was going to do it!

Stepping quickly through the side doors of the hall, stifling a yawn and trying to keep from walking into anything, I stopped just outside the threshold of the doorway and got down to business. Shifting my head from side to side, my eyes narrowing to get a clearer look, I gave the room a good, thorough once-over. It was a rather tough assignment, of course, because normally no one in their right mind would look that closely at the Hogwarts' population so early in the morning (we are, unfortunately, not exactly the prettiest of groups at such an hour), but I did it without even the smallest wince. Brilliant Observers, after all, have to get used to these sorts of gruesome images. You can't always be observing the flowers growing and the leaves falling, you know. Brilliant Observers observe it all. The good, the bad and the ugly. And that's pretty much what us Hogwarts kids are at an hour such as this–ugly. You could be the prettiest, liveliest, most mystifying person in the entire world and you're still not going to look very glamorous at 6:30 in the morning. That's just the way life works. Early mornings are the one and only time of the day when everyone is equal, because even though you may look and feel like rubbish, the person next to you is guaranteed to feel the same, if not worse, so hey, everyone can just be mates.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. So anyway, I'm looking around the Great Hall, trying not to notice all the pretty disgusting things occurring around me (first years falling asleep in their plates, a couple of fifth-years experimenting with their porridge and eggs, etc.) and after determining that no, nothing of supreme interest was around just yet, I went to take my seat at the Gryffindor table. And there I was, climbing over the bench to sit, when who would be standing right in front of me, but a very tired looking—yet still _very_ able to glare—unhappy little boy.

Marcus Hillpitt.

STEP TWO: Determining.

So as I stood/sat, one leg over the table bench, one leg behind it, I looked curiously at the rather innocent fourth-year that was standing in front of me, glaring with a ferocity that couldn't have been legal at such an early hour. And do you know what I discovered? It rather bothered me. His glaring, I mean. No one likes being glared at, and certainly not with the intensity that Marcus was currently glaring at me with. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that this otherwise innocent boy had somehow acquired a rather hateful personal vendetta against me. And suddenly I realised that there was no _reason_ to be extending this boy's hatred for me any further. I mean, whether I like it or not, I _am_ Head Girl now, and even though I'm pretty sure that Dumbledore was three sheets to the wind while choosing the Head students this year, as of right now, I have to be a role model. Role models just don't have angry fourth-years hating them. They just don't.

Thus, it was then that I decided that it was high time for me to make amends, once and for all.

"Hello, Marcus," I said, in what I hoped was a happy, you-should-really-just-stop-hating-me-because-it-will-save-us-both- _so_ -much-trouble voice.

I waited for a few seconds, watching Marcus as he stared impassively in my direction. He either didn't catch the happiness that I was trying to throw upon him, or just didn't care to accept the fact that I was trying to make amends, because he pretty much ignored me. He just grumbled a bit and sat down. This, you know, was truly an annoyance. I mean, there I was, _trying_ to be nice and he was just shrugging me off as if...

And then it hit me.

Slowly, it all began to make sense.

No _wonder_ he was being so hostile! If some girl had ruined _my_ end-of-term project–even if it was by accident–and never once, really truly _apologised_ , I would hate her too!

Yes, that's right. I suddenly came to the realisation that I had never once really, truly, honestly apologized to poor Marcus! Well, I'm sure I’d moaned and groaned a few apologies as I was lying in the Hospital Wing being treated for all those horrid bites while Hillpitt was yelling and screaming, but I highly doubt he remembers any of that. Plus, it wouldn't really count anyway, because I'm pretty sure I didn't mean any of it either.

STEP THREE: Observing Closely.

_1) What is this subject?_

This subject is Marcus Hillpitt.

_2) What has changed about this subject?_

Nothing has changed. Except maybe his clothes, but they don't count. He still hates me. Just like yesterday...and the day before that.

_3) Is this change/appearance helpful?_

Being hated is not helpful. It’s not helpful at all.

_4) If so, how can this change be preserved?_

I do not want to preserve Mr. Hillpitt's hatred.

_5) Is this change/appearance harmful?_

Harmful? Yes, I do believe it is harmful. After all, being hated hurts my reputation as Head Girl. That just won't do.

_6) If so, how can this be stopped, or made to not happen again?_

I can apologize–properly–so that Mr. Hillpitt doesn't hate me.

STEP FOUR: Taking Action.

"Listen, Marcus," I started, sitting myself down and trying to get his attention. "I know this is incredibly long overdue and may seem perhaps a bit unorthodox at the moment, but I just wanted to apologise about your plant last term. I honestly didn't mean to knock it over or anything, but I still should have been watching what I was doing. I'm sorry."

I didn't think it was necessary to give him the whole "stupid-kid-Greenhouse-Four-is-cursed-and-not-suitable-for-important-projects" speech, seeing as I was attempting to apologise and I didn't think that that would be helping my situation, but I was thinking it. I also didn't see the point in telling him that I had, at the time, been trying to scope out Amos Diggory because my teenage hormones enjoy lusting after him, but I was thinking about that as well. Keep it simple and clean. That's always best in these sorts of situations.

Marcus stood there for a moment, watching me, contemplating, possibly listing all the horrible terrible things he could blackmail my guilty complex into doing because of his stupid plant and then...he nodded.

"It's fine," he told me with a shrug. "Now can you please pass me the scrambled eggs? I'm starved."

Mission: Complete.

___________________  
**_Later, Defense  
Observant Lily: Day 1  
Total Observations: 4_**

 

You'll never guess what I did this morning at breakfast! -LE

_You're probably right. -EV_

**Let me guess... you finally busted up your courage and snogged Diggory senseless? -GR**

Um, no.

**You ninny.**

Shut it. I'm trying to tell you about my major accomplishment!

_Please, share it with us, Lily._

All right, so this morning I get up, as you know, super early, and run down to breakfast. But when I got there, you'll never guess who's standing in front of me...

_The Minister of Magic?_

**_That incredibly adorable bloke we met last summer at the Magic Wand's concert?_ **

No! Marcus Hillpitt!

_Who?_

**The kid whose plant nearly killed you?**

Au contraire, my friend. I nearly killed IT.

_Wait a second, are you talking about the Fanged Geranium from Greenhouse 4?_

Yes, but—

_Lily, that plant nearly decapitated you!! What are you talking about 'I nearly killed IT'? You were two seconds away from becoming chopped liver!_

I was not! And besides, I was the one who ran into it. But we're getting off topic. So, anyway, I looked at him, and he glared at me, and then suddenly I had an...er....an epiphany! And–

_An epiphany?_

**Because of a scrawny 4th-year?**

Yes!

_Oh, Merlin, Lily._

I'm serious!

**Then, please, do share.**

All right then. So as I was saying, I was watching him, and then I realised he didn't _need_ to be glaring at me!

_Of course he didn't need to be glaring at you! You did nothing wrong!_

I killed his project!

**You were definitely more scarred than the ruddy plant, Lily.**

You're both completely missing the point.

_Well then can we hurry the point up a bit because I think Professor Crandy is ready to pounce on the lot of us._

**He does look a bit antsy today, doesn't he?**

_I think it may be because we are throwing balls of parchment at each other when we should be copying notes._

You know what, NEVERMIND. If you don't want to hear about my epiphany, then FINE. Copy the bloody notes. You've just lost yourselves a mate.

_You're so melodramatic._

**I just got paper in your ear.**

I hate you.

  
___________________  
**_Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 1  
Total Observations: 7_**

 

When Grace and Emma finally stopped being prats and let me explain about my epiphany–as well as my Observant Lily Scheme—they both thought I was mad. Maybe I am, but at least no one can accuse me of not noticing things anymore, right?

Being crazy is a fickle thing, don't you think?

___________________  
**_Still Later, Gryffindor Common Room  
Observant Lily: Day 1  
Total Observations: 8_**

 

I really hate McGonagall sometimes. I mean, seriously, I thought she liked me? Last I checked, I was one of her special students—the ones she’d dote on even when they’re completely failing her class. What happened to that special sort of bond we shared, Professor? How can you just pretend to love me one day, then turn around and assign some bloody impossible assignment the next? Where did our love go? What happened to it? Why do you hate me now?

She’s doing this on purpose, I just know it. It’s some sort of backhanded punishment given to me for not telling her about my problems with Potter–or as I like to call him, Mr. Worst Tutor In The World. Even though the fact that I’m not speaking to him is completely not my fault, but his, McGonagall obviously seems to find the situation rather comical!

Yes, well, I _don't_. This is not funny _in the least_. It's cruel, it's mean and it's... _ugh_.

And what's with Emma anyway, saying that she won't help me? Psh! When a girl won't take a few bloody minutes out of her precious day to help her best mate with her homework, you _know_ that something's wrong–or that said mate as just acquired herself a boy toy, but either way, MATES OVER BLOKES!!

Maybe I'll go down to the Common Room and see who I can bribe into helping me. I think I have some chocolate around here somewhere…

___________________  
**_Later Still, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 1  
Total Observations: 9_**

 

When I got down to the Common Room, I was most irritated to find that there were only a limited number of seventh-years residing in the room. Among the crowds of chattering first-years and studying fifth-years, there were only two groups of seventh-years that I could see. On the far side of the room, seated by the windows in a tight-knit little group, Elisabeth Saunders and her crew of slaggy slags sat reading magazines and probably gossiping about things that weren't even remotely interesting and probably just a true. Back near the fire, one-half of the Marauders–Sirius and Peter to be exact–sat on one of the large couches, textbooks open and quills moving. I sighed, readjusting the Transfiguration textbook in my hands and making the obvious choice as I walked over towards the couch.

"Hey," I said, throwing a smile at the two boys. "Feeling charitable today?"

Sirius and Peter exchanged looks, obviously wondering what sort of mad deed I was going to ask of them with an opening prompt like that. And really, when you think about what I _could've_ asked them to do, helping me with my assignments really wasn't that big of a deal.

"That depends," Peter finally responded, after he and Sirius had somehow silently communicated and had come to some sort of conclusion in regards to my greeting.

"On what?" I asked.

"On whether or not you're willing to make some sense of this bloody Charms codswallop," Sirius answered dryly, nodding towards his open textbook and practically empty parchment. I nearly laughed at my good fortune. This was perfect.

"If you'll help me with this rubbish," I said, motioning towards the Transfiguration textbook in my hands, "I'll help you with your Charms."

Neither Sirius nor Peter missed a beat.

"Take a seat, Evans," Sirius answered automatically. I grinned. Thank _Merlin_.

After I'd taken my place next to Peter on the couch, flipping open my Transfiguration book and taking out a clean piece of parchment, there was a slight pause of silence before Peter curiously spoke up.

"Not that I'm complaining," he started, his gaze questioning. "But shouldn't you be asking James about all this?"

I nearly let out a groan at the question.

I knew this was too good to be true.

"Hey, that's right," Sirius started in as well. "Isn't Prongs your tutor now?"

I considered not answering for a second, thinking that if I didn't respond, they'd somehow forget the fact that they'd asked the question and let the subject drop, but with just one glance at the boys' curious and interested looks, I knew that there was no hope of such a thing. I let out a frustrated sigh, glancing upwards at the two boys, letting them know that I was anything but pleased at their inquisitions. What's with that anyway? Why do people have to make thing so difficult all the time? Couldn't we just do our assignments, get the work done, and then be finished with it all? Do we really have to question every damn bloody thing?

Obviously we do.

Stupid prats...

"If you mean Potter," I answered in a strained voice, vaguely recognizing the odd nicknames the four idiots used for each other, "then yes...sort of."

"Sort of?" Sirius pestered. "What do you mean 'sort of'? Only his top half is your tutor? Only an arm and a leg?"

" _Technically_ he's my tutor," I shot back with a scowl. "But he's not really. Not _now_ anyway."

"So tomorrow then?" Peter asked, playing along with his mate. "Or only on Wednesdays and Fridays? Or perhaps only from nine to five?"

I glared as the pair of them began to crack up, laughing at their own cleverness, which was really quite pathetic when you thought about it. And that's what they are. Pathetic. Them and their oh-so-bright senses of humor.

"Well maybe it _wouldn't_ have to be a technicality," I snapped at them, ignoring their laughter and letting my anger towards their questioning show, "if your _bloody mate_ would just grow up and stop glaring at me all the time as if I've just killed his _bloody pet_ or something!"

I hated the fact that I'd let my temper get the better of me. I hated even more that I had to try to keep it controlled. What was with these blokes and getting me cross? Do they strive for these sorts of things or something? Did they just wake up one morning and decide, 'Today I'll see how horrible I can make Lily Evans's day'? I'm really thinking they did.

Trying to regain my composure and attempting to return my face back to its normal non-red colour (for I'm sure it was extremely red at that point), it wasn't until I looked back up at Sirius and Peter a few seconds later that I discovered they had stopped laughing. In fact, they were quite far from laughing. They were actually looking at me almost as if I’d grown another head.

"What?" I hissed, shifting uncomfortably under their odd stares.

"Bloody hell!" Sirius grinned. "You...you _swore_ , Evans!"

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed breath, slightly relieved that it hadn't been something like, "Bloody hell! You're clothes are suddenly gone!" or something along those lines. "Of course I swore," I scoffed. "Everyone swears!"

"But _you_ never swear," Peter pointed out, a slight look of awe still on his face.

"What in Merlin's name are the two of you on about?" I snapped, having no idea what the hell they were talking about, and hating the fact that I didn't.

The two boys exchanged glances, having another one of their silent conversations that I could never be apart of. A few seconds later, Sirius turned back to me, scratching the back of his head absently as he said, "Well–don't take this the wrong way or anything, Evans–but you sort of have the reputation of a–how do I put this? A...er..."

"Conservative Prefect?" Peter offered.

My mouth dropped open.

"Actually," Sirius continued, completely ignoring my shocked look, "I was looking for something more along the lines of prudish know-it-all—"

A _WHAT_?!

" _Excuse me_?!" I cried, unable to keep my emotions silent for even a second longer. " _What_ did you just call me?"

"Well it's nothing personal, Lily," Peter instantly assured me, acting as if there was actually a way that this _couldn't_ be personal. "It's just...you're really smart, and Head Girl to boot–"

" _Smart_?" I cried. "In case you two prats hadn't noticed, I came over here for _help_ with my assignments. And as you both so _kindly_ reminded me, I have a _tutor_ because I'm _failing_! How in Merlin's name does that classify as smart?!"

"Transfiguration’s just one class," Sirius insisted with a careless wave of his hand. "And besides, you're not failing. You just need a little...help. And you're perfectly brilliant in every other class."

I stared at the two of them, completely flabbergasted and utterly speechless. I ignored the slightly off-hand compliment because I knew he’d only said it to soften the blow of his previous comment. I mean, were they both absolutely mad? Me? Smart? They had to be kidding! I mean, yes, I _am_ brilliant at Charms, that I will say immodestly, but I'm _failing_ Transfiguration, I _never_ pay any attention in Herbology, I _make up_ my Divination work, and Ancient Runes? Merely an excuse to be in the same room as Amos. Honestly! Does _that_ sound like an _intelligent_ person's schedule?

No, it most certainly does _not_!

But that wasn't what was really bothering me. The fact that they were saying I was intelligent, I mean. Because really, so what? If they think I'm smart, more power to me. Should I even really be correcting them? Is it so bad to be thought intelligent, even when you're so clearly stupid, it's almost frightening? No, it really isn't. And, okay, know-it-all is slight derogatory, but isn't it better to know it all than to not know anything at all? So that part I could deal with. In fact, I don't think it would've even bothered me if it hadn't been for what Sirius had said _before_ know-it-all...

Me? A prude? _What_?

"And what about this prude rubbish?" I demanded in a half-offended, half-distressed voice. "What's that about? Do you honestly think I'm a prude?"

Both boys instantly looked uncomfortable at my question. Peter started picking things off his robes and Sirius began scratching his head again. I could feel my heart sinking in my chest. I groaned, falling back into the couch cushions, covering my reddening face with my hands.

"Well it's not so bad, Lily," Peter said comfortingly, though really, it was. "At least people don't think you're a slag or something, right?"

I groaned again, burying my face deeper in my hands. The pathetic part about it was that I wasn't sure if being thought a slag was worse than being thought a prude. At least slags get to have a bit of fun. And you get to wear really nifty clothes as well. Not to mention that they get to have dirty rendezvous with dishy lads like Amos Diggory...

DO THESE RAMBLINGS SOUND LIKE THE THOUGHTS OF A PRUDE?

"But I don't understand," I muttered, removing my hands from my still red face. "So what if I don't swear? Lots of people don't swear and no one thinks _they're_ prudes."

"Well, think about this critically, Evans," Sirius answered, placing his hand on my shoulder, not bothering whatsoever to hide the pure amusement in his falsely serious voice. "You're a pretty girl, right? You're smart, nice when you're not yelling, you know, the works. Yet when was the last time you had a boyfriend? Some half-arsed dates to Hogsmeade that don't go anywhere are practically your specialty."

"So you're saying just because I'm not dating anyone, everyone thinks I'm a prude?"

Sirius smirked. "I'd say it's more because you're not _shagging_ anyone, but it's really all the same these days, eh?"

I grabbed my textbook and smacked him in the head with it. Peter burst out laughing

"Oy!" Sirius cried, rubbing his head and shooting a glare my way. "See? That's what I'm talking about! One, minuscule dirty comment and you throw a canary!"

"I didn't throw a canary!" I protested, realising my mistake instantly. "I just...it...I wasn't..."

Sirius threw me a knowing glance while Peter began to laugh again, this time probably at my expression as the realisation really hit me. I _was_ sort of like a prude, wasn't I? At least, that's what I must seem like to everyone else. I never swear unless it's in here or to Grace and Emma, and no one besides those two really know about my randy fantasies about Amos, and when you take away those...

Oh, Merlin. Total pruditity.

This is not good. Not good at all.

At the risk of causing my face to turn even redder and possibly having it stay like that forever, the subject was dropped after that and we got to work. I tried to concentrate on what they were saying, but I couldn't get our previous conversation out of my mind. Slowly, it all began to make sense. No _wonder_ Dumbledore picked me as Head Girl. Who wouldn't want to pick a smart, obviously-not-going-to-shag-the-Head-Boy, Head Girl? I sure would. There'd be so much less drama that way.

This is horrible. It's terrible. I think I'm going to cry.

Observation #9) People have wrongly accused me of being a prudish, know-it-all.

  
___________________  
**_Very Very Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 1  
Total Observations: 9_**

 

I've been trying to go to sleep for the past hour, but every time I go to close my eyes, the conversation plays over in my head.

How can people honestly think I'm a prude?

I'm _not_. I'm really really absolutely _not_. I mean, okay, so I've never actually _done_ anything like… _that_ , but it's not out of lack of _wanting_ to. I do want to. With the right person. And at the right time. It's not a crime not to want to shag every boy you go out on a date with, is it? Because seriously, I have dated some pretty bad ones. If I were expected to shag every single one of them, I'd kill myself. But that doesn't mean that I'm a prude. I would jump Amos Diggory's bones in 0.2 seconds if I were given the chance. No prude I know would do that.

I have to do something about this. I have to do something that will let everyone know that their Head Girl is _not_ some prude. She is a normal, randy, unprudish seventeen-year-old girl who swears just like everyone else and has a completely dirty mind just like everyone else as well.

Now I just have to come up with some way to do that.

I, Lily Evans, have to officially de-prude myself.

And I think I know just the way to do it.

Observation #10) Mission De-Pruding Commences Tomorrow

___________________  
**_Wednesday, September 17, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations: 11  
Mission De-Pruding: Ready to Commence**

 

The world seems to be in favour of Mission De-Pruding. Seriously, I think it is. I mean, it really just has to be, for there’s no other way to explain all of this. It obviously had to fight rather hard against my bad karma and all the forces of nature usually making my life hell, because I woke up this morning with some very unusual—yet _very_ nice—perquisites that will go along splendidly with the plan I had in mind

Observation #11) My hair is having a _completely_ fabulous day.

I'm serious. I woke up this morning, slightly dreading the start of Mission De-Pruding—knowing that it'd probably fail, but also knowing that I had no other choice but to go on with it–and walked into the bathroom to do my daily morning routine (brush teeth, wash face, brush hair, ect.). Well, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and did all those other morningish things, but when I took my hair out of its sleep-worn ponytail and started brushing it, it didn't suddenly frizz out and get all curly/straight/couldn't-decide-so-we-chose-to-do-both as it usually does. It actually looked rather... pretty. Really. I mean, sure, there were still some waylay strands of hair that decided to randomly curl or remain stick straight, but most of it was staying in pretty waves. _Really_ pretty waves. It's the greatest. Not to mention that it's very convenient for Mission De-Pruding because now I can wear it down and all sexy-like. And even better, I have Ancient Runes today FIRST LESSON, so Amos will so get see my hair in all its beautiful, wavy glory.

Therefore, it is with my pretty, wavy hair and Amos-anticipating smile that Mission: De-Pruding is set to begin as follows:

  
** Mission ** ** De-Pruding: **  
**Three Simple Steps to De-Pruding Yourself**

Step One) Doll Yourself Up

Along with my quite-convenient hair, I have actually taken time out of my busy schedule to apply make-up to my face. It was a little weird at first because I wasn't sure how much to put on, but I did my best. The first couple of attempts were far too gaudy, so I had to redo it like seven times, but I think it came out rather decently (or as decent as can be expected with me, anyway). I didn't use too much because I've come to discover that there’s a fine line between de-pruding yourself and turning yourself into a slag, but you can still totally tell the difference. And it’s a _good_ difference. At least, I hope it is. Step Two) Push the Limits

I ditched my normal school robes today and instead donned just my uniform. My skirt is—count them—not one, but _two_ inches shorter than it has _ever_ been in my entire life. I look like a total Elisabeth Saunders clone and I love it. Not only did I raise my skirt, but I also unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, letting show a bit of skin at the neck (I don’t have enough courage to unbutton any more. Or enough cleavage). Pushing the limits is _so_ perfectly brilliant.

Step Three) Swear Up A Storm!

That's right. Gone are the days when words like 'bloody', 'fuck' and 'shit' intimidate me! I am now a big, old…swearing machine! Well, that is, I _will_ be a big, old swearing machine when I get the chance. For right now, I'm just practicing saying them in the mirror. You know, so it will be easy once I actually get around to doing it.

Watch out world, Lily Evans is now ready for De-Pruding!

___________________  
**_Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations: 13  
Mission De-Pruding Has Now Commenced**  

 

  
Mission De-Pruding: Reaction One- Grace and Emma

"Lily, are you wearing _make-up_?"

"You're wearing your hair down?"

"Are you even _wearing_ a skirt?"

One step out of the loo and I'm instantly assaulted. Mission De-Pruding had officially begun.

I flipped my nice, pretty, wavy hair over my shoulder and walked over towards my bed, where Grace and Emma had frozen themselves. "Oh, sod off, you two," I said. "It's just a fucking experiment."

Silence.

" _What_ did you just say?" Emma choked out.

I looked back at her casually, mentally sweating like crazy, but keeping a cool, collected external disposition.

"I said it's just an experiment," I answered with a shrug. "Well, of sorts anyway."

"No," Emma snapped instantly, taking a few steps closer to me, looking me over slowly. " _Before_ experiment, what did you say?"

I gulped, preparing myself to say it again, hoping that I could without stammering or stuttering like an idiot. However, just as I went to open my mouth, Grace's insane laughter interrupted me, instantly breaking through the tension in the room and preventing me from continuing on.

"S-she... she..." Grace stammered through her laughter, holding her stomach with unrestrained glee. "She said _fuck_!"

I cracked a grin and nodded. That's right. I said fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Whoa. Maybe I’m not quite ready for that yet.

Grace slapped a hand onto my shoulder. "Welcome to the world of profanity, Lil!"

I laughed along with Grace, nodding my head at her and turning back towards Emma, but she didn’t seem to find any of this funny. She was still watching me all suspiciously–you know, almost as if I were somebody else. Which I don't blame her for doing, of course. I mean, I _looked_ like someone else, I was _acting_ like someone else, I was _talking_ like someone else...if I wasn't me and I wasn't perfectly aware of Mission De-Pruding, I'd totally think I wasn't me. I'd assume polyjuice and instantly tackle Fake-Lily to the ground. Why is no one assuming? Why haven't I been jumped yet? I could be a dark wizard preparing to kill each and every person at Hogwarts off one by one! Why are they just looking at me? If I truly _were_ a dark wizard, they and their unsuspicious, unmoving bums would be halfway to the underworld by now!

See, this is why neither of them could be Aurors. They're not thinking. Well, not really not thinking, I suppose, because I'm pretty sure Emma's _thinking_ about jumping me, but she's not _moving_ , and that's what counts. That's why I'm going to make a decent Auror. I'm suspicious by nature. I assume, and then I attack. Even if the person’s innocent, it's all right. At least then you can just shrug it off and tell them you were just doing your job. That'd be totally fab. Especially when you see a person like Elisabeth Saunders walking down the street. You could totally just pounce right on her, start pulling her hair and yelling rude, obscene things at her, and once you were through, jump right back up, brush off your shoulders and apologise saying, "Sorry, ma'am, just doing my job."

Aurors are _so_ brilliant.

"You had better fess up about all this, Evans, or you're not leaving this dormitory!" Emma snapped again, shaking her finger at me.

I told them both that everything would be revealed in time. Emma glared at me. Grace just laughed.

Observation #12) Neither Grace nor Emma would make very good Aurors.

Observation #13) Also, both Grace and Emma can become easily frazzled or sent into fits of laughter by shortened skirts, pretty hair and bit of profanity.

___________________  
**_Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations: 13  
Mission De-Pruding Continues**  

 

  
Mission De-Pruding: Reaction Two: The Marauders

Walking down to breakfast, Grace and Emma were still trying to coax information about Mission De-Pruding out of me. I, of course resisted quite nicely, telling the both of them to 'fuck off' and 'not to bloody worry so much'. It was _quite_ a riot. At least it was for me, who was laughing throughout the entire thing. Grace crackled a lot too, but I do believe that Emma is perfectly furious with me. I don't really know why, though. It's just some make-up and a little more leg. It's not as if I'm walking the streets or anything like that.

When I walked into the Great Hall, I was sort of expecting for all noise to come to a halt and for everyone to instantly stop whatever they were doing so that they could all stare at their brand new, unprudish Head Girl, but of course, they didn't. This wasn't, after all, an Audrey Hepburn movie, but a day in the life of Lily Evans, and that would _so_ never happen to me. I did, however, manage to gain the attention of a certain group of seventh-year blokes who were standing a few feet away from the doors my mates and I and just entered.

And while everyone else may not have noticed my new and improved appearance, the Marauders certainly had.

"Oy!" Sirius called, laughing as he said it, beckoning me over with his hand. Grace, Emma and I all walked over to where the four of them were standing.

"Good morning, gentlemen," I said, flashing them a smile and flipping my good-hair-day-hair over my shoulder, an action I was quite growing to like. Both Sirius and Peter were snickering, fully aware of why this short skirted, make-up wearing, button opened, Elisabeth Saunders look-alike was standing it front of them. The other two, however, had slightly different reactions. Remus cocked his eyebrow, looking me over with an uncertain glance, while Potter took a few moments out of his precious I'm-going-to-act-cross-and-glare lifestyle and stared at me with a face that looked half-astonished and half-ill. I smiled at that. This plan was _so_ perfectly brilliant.

"Well, well, well," Sirius said, giving my skirt and me a quick once-over. "I must say that you look rather unprudish today, Evans. Any special occasion?"

I cracked a grin, looking him straight in the eye. "Oh, fuck off, Black," I told him, my voice not wavering once as I swore. "I have a breakfast to attend to if you don't mind. See you in class."

Then I simply walked away, leaving two stunned gentlemen and another two who were in complete hysterics, laughing as loudly as a couple of nutters in St. Mungo's, behind me.

"It's a bet," Grace said as we walked away. "It's totally a bet."

I giggled a bit and flipped my hair again. My mates are so naive sometimes.

  
___________________  
**_Later, Charms_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations:  
14 MISSON DE-PRUDING IS THE MOST BRILLIANT PLAN EVER**

 

This day is by far the _best_ , most _brilliant_ day in my ENTIRE SHORT, BAD KARMA-FILLED, ADOLESCENT LIFE!

I mean, just with the whole good-hair/short-skirt/everyone-now-knowing-I'm-not-a-prude thing, I was already having a rather decent, non-bad-karma-filled day, but now _this_? It's inconceivable. It's just that utterly brilliant.

Oh, dear. I do believe that all this excitement has caused a clot in one of my respiratory tubes. Yes, I do believe that I've currently stopped breathing. Oh, dear, indeed. I can't breathe and I can't talk and I can't do anything except smile BECAUSE I AM THE HAPPIEST PERSON ALIVE!

Yes, _the_ happiest!

Have I mentioned before that I absolutely and completely _love_ Professor Lundi? Did I stress that point enough? Because I would literally kiss the ground he walks on if I wouldn't be stared at and teased about it (and plus, with my newly made short skirt, people would probably see my knickers, so not a good idea). I would donate my kidney for him. Honestly, I would. I could plan out a 6-step diet plan for him if he wants. I would pretty much do anything for that lovely, adorable man because HE HAS JUST DONE THE GREATEST THING EVER!

Not that he _knows_ he's done anything of the sort. In fact, no one except me really knows what he’s done, but that's quite all right. I'll eventually get around to writing what he's done just as soon as I can start breathing properly and can get Grace to stop throwing things at me. She wants to know what's going on as well. Emma has abandoned her very best mates of many, many loyal years so that she may sit with Mr. Boyfriend-Who-Thinks-I've-Lost-My-Identity a few rows up. She has not yet turned around once to acknowledge her very best mates for many, many loyal years, so she has yet to see my smiling-and-radiating-happiness self, and has therefore not asked about it.

All right. Breathing back to relatively normal. Now if I could just chuck this quill at just the right angle... there. Grace taken care of.

Now onto Lundi…

So this morning, as I walked my unprudish self into the Ancient Runes classroom, I was all ready and confident to take my place two seats behind my potential husband–formally known as Amos Diggory, currently known as Sex God–and was more than prepared to go about during the entire class, flipping my good looking hair, smiling my make-up clad smile and overall being a total slag in the flirting department. It was new, but I knew I could do it. I had, after all, shared a dormitory with Elisabeth Saunders (the Queen of Flirting and Slagism) for seven years. Some of her skills were bound to rub off on me.

But to my complete surprise, I came to find that as I went to go take my usual seat two places behind my potential lover, that someone _else_ was already occupying this said seat. It was in fact, Penny O'Jean, who had purposely placed herself in _my_ seat so that she could sit next to her latest shag-toy, Timmy Ricks–or as I like to call him, the Human Hyena, on account of the fact that everything in world seems to be comical to him.

"You don't mind, do you, Lily?" Penny had stopped her snogging to ask me in a very hopeful voice as I walked into the classroom. At first I was going to fight it. I was going to tell her to bugger off and snog with her boyfriend at some other time, but then my selfish side kicked in and I realised that the situation worked out much better for me anyway. You see, Penny O'Jean happens to usually sit in the seat conveniently located right next to my potential husband. Yes, right next to him! I wouldn't have to flirt over two other students' heads anymore! I'd be sitting _right next to him_! How lucky is _that_?

So naturally I just smiled a bit and gave Penny a careless wave, telling her in an extremely nonchalant voice, "Of course not! I suppose I'll just take your seat then?"

Penny smiled and nodded, and then proceeded to continue snogging the Hyena's face off. In other circumstances, that probably would've completely grossed me out, causing me to take off house points for nauseating displays of public affection, but I was much too happy at my good fortune to do such a thing. So instead of doing that utterly prudish thing, I casually walked over to my new seat next to Amos and confidently placed my bum in the chair.

"Switching seats for a bit, eh?" Amos asked me, giving me one of those completely drool-worthy smiles of his.

I fought hard to keep my composure and threw him a small smile of my own. "They asked, I consented," I answered with a shrug. He smiled a bit more and then gave me a curious look. I very well could have said at that particular moment, "Yes, Amos, dear, my skirt is short and my shirt has one less button, please feel free to unleash your seventeen-year-old, male, pervy hormones and take a long look," but I didn't. Even if I had it wouldn't have mattered, though. Amos is far too much of a perfect gentleman to do such perverted things. This is why I love him.

"You look different," he told me.

“Different?” I asked, faking complete innocence. I shrugged again. "Maybe I grew or something.”

Psh. Grew or something. I'm such a tease.

He nodded with a smile, and then the class began.

Throughout the entire lesson, I subtly flirted with him. I'd flick my hair and flash him smiles and I even wrote my notes with my left hand so that we could 'casually' bump our arms together. It was completely ridiculous, yet at the same time, completely perfect. And do you know what else? That quill I gave him a few days ago, he still has it! And was _using_ it! Yes, _using_! How brilliant is _that_? How brilliant was _everything_?

But you know what? Sitting next to Amos wasn't even the most brilliant part about the whole day! _That_ part came next, just as class was ending.

"All right!" Professor Lundi had said, stepping away from the filled blackboard behind him and sitting himself down at his desk. "That's enough of that for today. I'd now like to start getting ready for that project I spoke about last class."

Uh, project? Last class? Er, didn't remember that.

"It's a simple project which we will work on over the course of the next three weeks," Lundi told us. "All that is required of you and your partner is to pick one of the passages in the back of your textbook, translate it, and then present it to the class. Your marks will be judged on accuracy, presentation and overall ability. Are there any questions?"

Hands flew up. Lundi called on the Hyena.

"Do we get to pick our partners?"

Lundi pondered this for a moment, taking a quick look around the classroom. He smiled and shook his head. "Let's make this simple." He glanced around the room again, his eyes lingering on me, and then onto Penny. "I see we've had a few seat changes, but nevertheless, we'll stick with your desk partners. Any problems there?"

Any problems? ANY PROBLEMS? I get to work with _Amos Diggory_ for _three whole weeks_ and he wants to know if there's a _problem_?!

I swear that I couldn't breathe. I was about to die of pure ecstasy. It was the single most wonderful moment of my life. Three weeks with Amos! Three! Can you believe it? Am I not _the_ luckiest human being on the entire planet? I mean, it was destiny! Now we'd get to spent lots of time together, and I just knew that Amos would _have_ to finally discover that he's loved me as long as he's known me. Then he'll propose right on the spot and we'll live happily ever after with two children and a dog and a house in the country.

Ah, perfection.

Observation #14) LILY EVANS IS THE LUCKEST GIRL TO EVER WALK THIS PLANET!

Course of Action Taken: CELEBRATE!!

___________________  
**_Later, Defense_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations: 15  
Mission De-Pruding Still Officially the Greatest**

 

Oh, bugger. Emma is completely angry with me and I'm not really sure why. Maybe it's because of the whole Mission De-Pruding thing, or maybe it's because Grace and I were giggling about Project Amos after Charms, and since she was off sitting with Mr. Mac, she didn't get to hear about it. Or perhaps it's because I told Mr. Mac that his shoes looked a bit peculiar today–which they so definitely did, and it wasn’t as if I was trying to mean or anything. I was just trying to start some conversation. But whatever it is, I know she's cross with me now. Grace says it doesn't matter and that whatever it is, Emma will get over it, but I'm not so sure.

But you know what's really weird? Normally when Grace or Emma gets cross with me, I go mad with anxiety, but right now, I'm still perfectly happy. This whole project thing with Amos has had an incredibly rewarding effect on my disposition. It's actually rather funny.

Oh, goodness, I'm so pathetic.

Observation #15) Lily Evans is in serious jeopardy of losing a best mate. Not good.

___________________  
**_Later, Hospital Wing_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations: 17  
Mission De-Pruding Continues**

All right, all right. I'm perfectly aware that what I just did was a completely immature and childish thing to do. I'm also completely aware that because I had to go and act like a child, I have suffered the consequences. Blah, blah, blah. Why does everyone have to preach? It really wasn't that big of a deal. I mean, it was an _accident_. It’s not as if I did it on _purpose_. Why does everyone have to go on and on as if I had?

Psh. Some people these days….

It happened this afternoon when Grace and I were simply cleaning our disaster-of-a-dormitory, talking about Project Amos, giggling occasionally, and generally making an even bigger mess of our already catastrophic dormitory. As had become the usual as of late, we had no idea where Emma was off to. We figured with Mac, as that had also become the usual as of late, but neither of us knew for certain.

"It's like something right out of one of these books," Grace told me, speaking of course of Project Amos, as she was cleaning out her romance book collection.

"Is it really?" I asked, truly not knowing because I refuse to read the trash.

Grace nodded, throwing one at me. "Like in that one," she said. "The heroine is completely inconspicuous to the hero, and then they're forced together when the hero gets hit by an Immobility Curse. Then the heroine is forced to spend all this time with him, nursing him back to health and then he falls in love with her."

I picked up the thrown book and glance at it, flipping it over in my hands. "Amos hasn't been hit by an Immobility Curse, though.”

Grace rolled her eyes and chucked another one at me. "You're missing the point, prat.”

I glanced down at the trashy cover featuring a blond girl in a slaggish nurse's outfit and brown-haired boy lying in a hospital bed. That was so not me and Amos.

"That's not me and Amos," I repeated aloud, throwing the book back at Grace. Suddenly—and I don't know where in the world it came from—a huge rush of giddiness crashed through my body and I started giggling like mad. I'm serious. Just all out laughing like a madwoman for no reason at all. "You are right about one thing though," I told Grace, climbing up on top of my clothes-covered bed and standing upon it. "We _are_ going to be spending time together, and he _is_ going to fall completely head-over-heels in love with me!"

Grace laughed and shook her head, watching me stand atop my bed. "Whatever you say, Lil. Now get down from there! You're going to trip on all those clothes and kill yourself."

I laughed and of course ignored her. Instead of listening to her and getting down like a normal, civilized person, I started jumping like a hyperactive child.

"Lily!" Grace groaned in between laughs. "Stop that! Do you want to break the bed?"

"Who cares?" I laughed, still jumping, the large piles of clothes rubbing against my feet. "I get to work with Amos! He's going to fall in _love_ with me! He's going to—"

And just as I was about to proclaim the truths of Amos and my future together, my foot got caught in one of the many shirts littering my bed. I tried to keep my balance, but me being as completely uncoordinated as I am, couldn't manage such a thing, and with a yelp, I slipped and went tumbling off my bed.

"You idiot!" Grace laughed, completely cracking up. I was laughing too, but as I went to get up and regain my dignity, my ankle started throbbing painfully.

"Oh, shoo—shit," I altered, looking down at my already swelling ankle. Grace was still cracking up beside me. "I think it's twisted or–Grace! Will you stop laughing and help me?"

Grace bent down to look at my ankle, still giggling. As soon as she touched it, I instantly moved away, the throbbing increasing.

"You stupid git," Grace sighed, placing my arm around her shoulders so that she could lift me up off the floor. "I think it's broken or something. We should get you to Madame Pomfrey."

" _Broken_?" I cried, looking down at my red ankle. It had begun swelling again and had started to resemble a large, red balloon. And even though my foot was now the size of a watermelon, I couldn't help it, I started laughing again. I know it wasn't funny—in fact, my ankle was burning, and if I hadn't been so giddy, I probably would've been crying hysterically–I'm a big baby when it comes to injuries—but seeing as I was so flighty, I just continued to laugh and soon Grace joined in. We were crackling up like a pair of Timmy Ricks as we hobbled down the girls' staircase, trying to get to the Hospital Wing without injuring me any further. By the time we reached the Common Room, our noise had attracted nearly everyone and they all watched as I leaned on Grace, laughing and hobbling, and I think I was probably crying at that point too, as we made our way towards the portrait hole. When we were just about to exit–me hobbling, laughing and crying, Grace just laughing–we were suddenly stopped by a group of people who had just entered.

"What are you two doing? Lily, why are you walking like that?"

Emma was staring at the both of us with a very scolding look. Beside her, Potter and Remus watched us as well. Grace was still cracking up and I was halfway between laughing and crying, so it took us both a bit before we were calm enough to respond.

"We're heading to the Hospital Wing," Grace answered a few seconds later, her voice still heavy with giggles.

"Hospital Wing?" Remus asked. He glanced at me. "What'd you do?"

I motioned to my balloon-ankle. "'Reckon it's broken," I told him through my laughs and sobs.

"Broken?" Potter questioned, looking at me with his first non-evil look all week. Well, other than that stunned look in the Great Hall this morning, but who could blame him then? "How?" he prodded.

The simple question set Grace off and she started laughing again. Emma was beginning to look more than a little cross, so I had to control my sobs/giggles and answer.

"Fell off my bed," I wheezed out, the pain in my ankle rising with each passing minute.

"Fell off your bed?" Emma asked suspiciously. "You _broke_ your ankle that way? Your bed's–what, two feet off the floor?"

I was about to make up some excuse, but Grace found that moment an appropriate one to slightly regain her speech.

"Not while... not while she's jumping on it!"

I felt my face heat up and I glanced down at my swollen ankle. My giddiness from before gone, I prayed that the floor would just open up and swallow me whole. Why, oh why am I so immature?

"You were jumping on your bed?" Emma asked with a slight tone of disgust. This was how I knew she was angry with me. Had she not been, she would’ve never used such a tone. "How old are you, Lily? Seven?"

My face flushed again. "It didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time," I muttered, still looking down at the floor. I knew Emma was about to say more, but my ankle started bursting with pain all of a sudden, so I milked it for all it was worth and started gasping dramatically, trying to shove Grace out the portrait hole. Everyone seemed to get the point, and Potter and Emma moved out of the way so Grace and I could hobble through.

"Do you need any help?" Remus asked as Grace and I slowly passed him. Grace nodded through her still present giggles. I was still too mortified to say anything. Remus placed my other arm over his shoulder and we all continued hobbling out the portrait hole.

"Oh, wait!" I said, suddenly remembering something. I turned my head around to see Potter and Emma still standing behind us. Emma looked away, but Potter was still watching us, surprisingly not glaring. "Tonight at eight, right?" I asked him, though it may have seemed a bit incoherent with the remains of my sobs and giggles still there. His head snapped back as if he'd just realised that I had been speaking to him.

"What?" he asked, his voice full of confusion.

"Tonight," I repeated. "Tutoring. Tonight at eight in the library."

"Are you even going to be able to make it _up_ to the library?" Emma interrupted from beside him. I considered glaring at her for a bit, but decided against it. It wouldn't do to make her angrier. Instead, I just shrugged.

"I could, or I could die trying," I answered. This was yet another article of proof that Emma was cross. She knew as well as I did that Madame Pomfrey would have this thing fixed in a jiffy. She was deliberately trying to make me feel stupid. Psh! The nerve! I still continued to ignore her for that second though, and instead looked towards Potter again, waiting for his answer.

"So, tonight?" I asked for the third time.

Potter nodded.

"Tonight," he said.

I nodded back and then Grace, Remus, and I all hobbled up to the Hospital Wing, which is where I am now, "resting" as Madame Pomfrey had told me to do in between her preachings about my irresponsibility and lack of judgement, which I barely listened to.

One thing's for sure, though. I will _never_ jump on my bed again.

Observation #16) Childish things like jumping on your bed are dangerous and hazardous to one's health.

Observation #17) There are three very nice House Elves who work in the Hospital Wing, but although they say they are there to help you and make you comfortable, they refuse to go sneak rice from the kitchen for patients who should be "resting". Bugger them.

  
___________________  
**_Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory_  
Observant Lily: Day 2  
Total Observations: 18  
On forth with Mission De-Pruding**

 

At promptly 8 o'clock, I slightly hobbled (Madame Pomfrey said it might be a bit awkward to walk on for a few hours) into the library, not at all intimidated by the thought of being tutored by Potter for an hour or so. You see, on my way to the library, I just _happened_ to run into Amos, and _not only_ did he say hello, but he _also_ noticed my slightly hobbled step and asked what had happened (see? He cares!). I simply told him that I had broken it in an accident, not wanting to get into the completely embarrassing details. He flashed me that lovely smile of his and told me to feel better, before walking off with the promise of an Ancient Runes get-together soon. So after that incredibly uplifting conversation, I was now back into my giddy state of this afternoon. Therefore, as I silently searched for Potter, I wasn't the least bit apprehensible about this little rendezvous. Seriously. I mean, maybe he had gotten over the whole 'not noticing whatever I'm not noticing' thing. He wasn't glaring or making any faces at me this afternoon. It was possible. It really was.

With that in mind, I continued searching.

I finally spotted him at the table we had used the last time towards the back of the library. He was lounging back in his chair, reading some book. I hobble-walked over to him and plopped my bum into the chair across from him.

"Hello," I said with a smile. He glanced at me over the top of his book.

"You're late," he told me coldly, closing his book slowly. Instantly all thoughts of him forgetting the whole 'not noticing' thing vanished. He was still cross. I took a curious glance at the clock on the wall. 8:14. Hm. Must have talked to Amos longer than I had expected.

"Sorry," I answered with a shrug. "I had to hobble-walk from the Common Room."

"Hobble-walk?" he asked with a strange look. "What in the hell is a hobble-walk?"

"It's walking and hobbling at the same time," I told him simply. He rolled his eyes, but I ignored that and pointed down to my ankle. "Madame Pomfrey says it will probably be a bit odd to walk on for a while."

"Interesting," he responded dryly, acting as if he couldn’t care in the least, even though he was the one who had asked about it in the first place. I had to fight back a glare as he continued to stare at me with that vague, dry expression. He wasn’t glaring, but he wasn’t making this any easier, either. Even in my incredibly happy disposition, his crossness began to get to me. I threw him a look that showed I was displeased.

"What is wrong with you?” I asked, shaking my head at his still blank expression. “You don't have to be so rude to me, you know. It's not at all polite, the way you're acting."

"As if you care how I act," Potter snapped, not even bothering to look at me. I let out an annoyed sigh and he looked up back, glaring once more.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore his comments and attempting to keep my good mood intact. Think Amos, I said to myself. Think Amos and the Ancient Runes project. Hm. There. Paradise. "You know what?" I said, throwing him a smile that was slightly strained but sincere nevertheless. "Even though you're being an arsehole, I'm in far too much of a good mood to care."

He let out a snort, and continued flatly, "Oh, a good mood. Must be my lucky day, then?"

I sighed again, my good mood beginning to be threatened once more by his nasty comments. "You know," I said, giving him a stern look, "regardless of what you may think, I don't _enjoy_ when people are angry with me–even you–and I don't enjoy when you glare at me and make faces and say nothing but completely rude and unnecessary comments, either!"

Potter looked at me curiously, obviously surprised at my quick change of attitude.

"And I know I supposedly missed something big and important," I continued, trying to keep my voice low and my temper under control. "I know you're cross with me because I apparently didn't notice something, or do something, or something like that, but there is nothing I can do to change that, all right? And I didn’t mean it. Whatever it is I’m not noticing, I didn’t mean to miss it."

We sat there for a moment, me trying to regain my calmness of just a few seconds before, him watching me carefully, as if waiting for me to blow up again. I could have, of course, with my temper being what it is, but I was determined to keep this confrontation a peaceful one. Or as peaceful as you get when Potter and I are involved, anyway.

"You know," he said after a few moments, reclining back in his seat. "For someone who says she doesn't like when people are cross with her, you sure have a whole bunch of people that are."

I fought back the urge to glare hard at his smirking face. As much as I wish I didn't, I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Emma?" I bit out with frustration.

He nodded.

I could feel my temper rising higher and higher as once again I fought for calmness. I knew he was trying to bait me. For whatever reason, he was deliberately trying to get me upset or angry. I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, but as I stared at his smirking face, I could feel the rage boiling inside. I mean, really, was this even necessary? Did he have to purposely try to upset me? Whatever I had done to get him so cross, I hadn’t done it knowingly. Hadn’t he ever heard of two wrongs don’t equal a right?

This tutoring session was not going as I had expected it to.

"Do you people have meetings or something?" I asked without thinking, after I'd made sure my temper and glares were under control.

Potter face remained bland. "Meetings?" he asked.

"Meetings," I repeated, nodding my head, the words still coming out unintentionally. "You know, the We're-Cross-With-Lily-So-We're-Going-To-All-Go-And-Talk-About-Why-We're-Angry-With-Her Society? I mean, there has to be one. _Everyone_ seems to know why _you’re_ cross with me, and I think even Grace knows why Emma's angry with me, so there has to be some sort of explanation as to why everyone else knows and I don't, right? So why not a society?"

I knew I sounded mad, but I was so far over my head with suppressed anger and frustration that I didn't even care that I was talking like a St. Mungo's escapee. I couldn’t believe that Emma actually told Potter–JAMES POTTER–why she was cross with me. I mean, why would she tell _him_ and not _me_? Aren't I the one who has to fix whatever it is that I'm apparently doing wrong? What does he have to with _anything_? And Potter had a point, _why_ was everyone suddenly so angry with me? What was so completely wrong with me that I sprung out annoyance wherever I went?

WHY CAN'T I JUST BE NORMAL LIKE EVERYONE ELSE?

I was so lost in my frustrations, so involved in my mental self-bashing, that I jumped when Potter spoke again a few seconds later, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"No meetings," he told me quietly, staring at me with the strangest look for but a moment, and then glancing away again, as if he couldn’t stand to look at me any further. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, not sure what to do then. He didn’t seem angry anymore, and I wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Then again, he refused to make eye contact with me, so I suppose that’s never good. After a few moments of this tense sort of silence, Potter let out a sigh of his own, reaching for the Transfiguration book in front of me and flipping through it. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded, and we finally began the session.

We sat there for an hour or so, not talking unless absolutely necessary and only of Transfiguration. We didn't even look at each other all that much. I tried to digest as much information as I could, but my thoughts were still on our conversation before and I know his were as well. I couldn't believe what a complete fool I'd made of myself. Getting angry and excusing people of belonging to societies that are nonexistent is not exactly the smoothest thing in the book. Not surprisingly, not much progress was made within the hour.

When I got back up to the Common Room, I went straight up to our dormitory. Emma wasn't there and Grace was asleep, a book lying on her stomach. I will have to question them both tomorrow.

Life is so complicated when you have societies hating you.


	7. September 18th: Being Avaricious

**Author's Notes:** And we're back, with chapter number seven. The infamous letter-bet chapter. ;) Thanks go out to everyone who read and reviewed the previous chapters and to Megan, my beta reader for this chapter. This chapter is one of my favorites, and as I was reading through it, I remembered why. Finally, a chapter I am slightly happy with! I hope everyone enjoys it, as well! Let me know what you think! -Bee

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“It’s easy to sit there and say you’d like to have more money. And I guess that’s what I like about it. It’s easy. Just sitting there, rocking back and forth, wanting that money.”�

-Jack Handey-  
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___________________

**Thursday, September 18th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 3**   
**Total Observations: 19**   
**Mission De-Pruding Proved a Success**

            It's a clear white flag that there's something seriously wrong with a girl when she's up at the crack of dawn.

            Yes, that's correct. I, Lily Evans–the girl who barely wakes up before ten on Christmas–was awake at the crack of dawn this morning. I even saw the sunrise–the _sunrise_! I have never in my _entire life_ seen the sunrise! That happens, like, early. Like really _really_ early. I don't do early. I never have and I _thought_ I never would, but apparently now I do. This change in my internal clock probably has something to do with the fact that I've suddenly acquired a very traumatic life. And it's a worldwide known fact that people with traumatic lives always seem to have severe cases of chronic insomnia. Or something like that, anyway.

            And you know what? I rather understand now why people get up at this insane hour. Perhaps they're _not_ mad. Maybe they just want to see the sunrise. Because it's really pretty. In fact, despite the disaster that has become my life, I actually forgot about my haters' society and my Transfiguration troubles for just a moment. I was actually at peace for the twenty minutes I sat and watched the sun come up over the forest. Then of course, I turned around and there was Emma, asleep in her bed, which once again reminded me of the hell that has become my life.

            Which was bloody unfair if you ask me. I think I deserve at least thirty minutes of peace.  
___________________

**Still Early, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 3**   
**Total Observations: 20**   
**Mission De-Pruding is Toned Down**

            After much consideration on my part, and some useful input from our loo's mirror, I have finally decided to tone Mission De-Pruding down a notch. It's not as if I didn't absolutely love it and appreciate its results or anything, it's just . . . I don't know. Maybe it was just too much too fast? I mean, over the course of one Mission De-Pruding Day, I've:

            A) Managed to get my best mate cross with me (though whether this was because of the De-Pruding, or because of something else, I'm not positive)  
            B) Swore more than I ever have in my entire life combined, and  
            C) Made a complete fool of myself in front of James Potter, _again_.

            Therefore, while MD-P did succeed in De-Prudingizing me in the eyes of my fellow students and also got me the attention of my long-term obsession, Amos, it seems to have caused a bit of trouble as well.

            I'm not completely abandoning it, of course. I simply lowered my skirt down an inch and put my robes on. Plus, my hair is back to its normal, messy, indecisive self, so I just braided it. But I still left on the bit of make-up and I totally left the button in my shirt undone. So all is not completely lost, I suppose. I just won't be swearing so much. Or looking so much like a slag. However, not like a prude, either.

            I hope that this slight change in my slagability will cause Emma to forget about whatever it is that she's angered with me about. Maybe she'll just be so happy that I'm not such an Elisabeth Saunders clone that she'll completely disregard whatever it is I did and go back to normal. Hopefully.

            Yeah, right.

            Like _that_ will ever happen.

            Long live bad karma!

___________________

**Later, Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 3**   
**Total Observations: 22**   
**Mission De-Pruding Toned Down Continues**

            Observation #21) Even though I am currently far less slaggish than yesterday, and even though I am being totally and completely normal and nice, Emma is still angry with me.

            Yes, it's true. Emma still despises me. At least, that's how she's acting, anyway. She hasn't spoken a word to me all morning. All she did was glare at me in a very Marcus-Hillpitt-Before-I-Apologized sort of way. She had no problem chatting it up with Grace, however, and even less of a problem talking to (and snogging, as I so nauseatingly had to witness) Mac, who by the way, glared at me as well. But this was hardly surprising considering I'm almost positive that Mr. Fulton has absolutely despised me from the moment he met me–which really isn't even fair at all when you think about it. I mean, he doesn't even have a legitimate reason to. I wasn't even slaggish when we first met–so he didn't really bother me.

            But you know what _was_ bothering me? Emma's attitude. It was bothering me a lot. I mean, before these past few weeks, I've never seen this side of Emmaline Vance before. She's always been that sweet little pacifist. Honestly, I just don't know what has gotten into her. Have I really done something _that_ dreadful? Or is it something else? Or perhaps, _someone_ else? I wouldn't doubt it if it was Mac who got her all like this. I don't trust the boy, and frankly, there is something definitely off about him. My I'm-going-to-be-a-brilliant-Auror instincts have begun to kick in where Mr. Fulton is concerned. Perhaps I will jump him the next time I see him in the corridor. Hm. Something to think about.

            And now, sitting here in Charms two seats away from her, I can still feel her animosity radiating towards me. This is not a good sign. I mean, when any person is radiating anything it's kind of sick and disturbing, but when they're radiating _animosity_...well, you can only imagine.

            Observation #22) My Transfiguration textbook has somehow vanished.

            To make my morning _even worse_ (didn’t think it could get any worse, eh? I mean, when someone's best mate is cross with them, you would just assume that this said someone's bad karma would give them a break, but you are obviously unaware of the unfairness said someone's bad karma exerts on said someone's life), I have discovered that I am no longer in possession of my Transfiguration textbook. This in itself is bad, but even more so when I realised that the last time I had my textbook–and the only possible time it could have got lost–was when I was being "tutored" by James Potter. Moreover, when I went back to the library to search it down, not only was my textbook not there, but Madame Pince insisted that she had tided up the library last night and that no Transfiguration textbooks had been left there.

            Which only leaves one possibility.

            James Potter is now in possession of my Transfiguration textbook.

            Oh, yes. _Quite_ a good morning I've been having.

            And it's not really as if I can just go and demand it back from the boy because generally, when you accuse a person of being apart of a society whose main purpose is to discuss you, your shortcomings, and why and how everyone can be cross with you, you really can't just go and talk to them the next morning. It just isn't done. This is because they are now positive that you are an irritable, self-centered twit who thinks the whole world and everyone in it revolves around them. This is an embarrassing conclusion for even your worst enemy to think of you. This is why I simply cannot just go and ask him for it. I would die of embarrassment. And as bad as my life currently is, I do not want to die. At least not yet.

            So now I'm sitting in Charms, feeling the animosity radiation from Emma, and occasionally looking towards James Potter, who is sitting a few rows in front of me, wondering if he will possibly just turn around and carelessly toss me my textbook, sparing me the mountains of embarrassment I will have to face if I was forced to confront him about it. This is a nice dream, of course, but something I know is just _not_ going to be happening. Considering this, I’m just trying to think of any possible way to gain a Transfiguration textbook before the bell rings and I have to go off to class, where today is a reviewing day, and I don't have a textbook to try to cheat out of when McGonagall asks me a question.

            I have Transfiguration in five minutes.

            I have no idea how to get my textbook back.

            Perhaps I should just reconsider the whole 'dying' thing.

            Hm.

            Perhaps.

___________________

**Still Later, Lunch in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 3**   
**Total Observations: 22**   
**Blah blah blah to Mission De-Pruding**

            I don't know why I haven't just accepted it yet. Honestly. I mean, I've only had seventeen years of continuously horrible karma, why can't I just accept it and go live in a box somewhere? Or maybe a closet? Or even better, a casket buried ten feet under the ground? It would make life so much easier and simpler for everyone if I would.

            No, it's not what you're thinking. I didn't completely bug out in Transfiguration, therefore resulting in McGonagall kicking me out of her class, making it so that I can never be an Auror, which means I wouldn't have a job, which means I wouldn't have a house, a husband, children or much of a life, which means I might as well buy a hundred cats and a smelly old house because I would be needing them in the near future. 

Nope. None of that.

            Even being a Cat Lady is better than this.

            It was still five minutes before Transfiguration and there I still was, textbookless. I was not in the best of positions to say the least.

            "Grace," I whispered, just as the ending bell for Charms rang. "I don't have my Transfiguration textbook."

            Gathering her stuff together, it took a few moments for Grace to realise that this was a problem. She gave me a confused look. "Well then go get it," she told me, motioning towards the staircases as we walked out of the classroom. She obviously assumed that I had left it in the dormitory. I shook my head, ignoring the disapproving glances (glares) I was getting from Emma, who was walking behind us with Mac, and who obviously understood that this wasn't something to be solved with a simple trip up to Gryffindor Tower.

            "I can't," I told her helplessly, trying to keep my voice down so that Emma couldn't hear. "It's not in the dormitory. I can't go get it."

            Grace still didn't seem to understand this. She's such a clot sometimes.

            "What do you mean?" she asked. "Did you lose it?"

            I hesitated  for a second before answering. Lose it? No, not quite. I shook my head and sighed, answering in a very soft voice, "No, I didn't lose it. I...I'm pretty sure Potter has it."

            Grace's eyebrows shot up at my confession, and taking a quick glance behind me, I was surprised to see Emma sporting a similar look. "James?" Grace asked. "Why would he have it?"

            "I left it in the library yesterday and I think he took it."

            Grace just kept on looking at me as if she failed to see the problem in this. Which of course she wouldn't. She, after all, was not aware of my stupidity of the night before.

            "All right," she answered slowly, obviously still waiting for the dilemma to arise. When I didn't elaborate, she gave me an unsure look. "Why don't you just go ask him for it?"

            I frantically shook my head at this. "I can't do that!" I cried. "We...well, that is...I... I just can't, all right? It's just not that simple."

            To my annoyance, Grace suddenly looked as if the situation had gotten extremely amusing.

            "And why is that?" she asked, a smile on her face.

            I sighed again, sensing that she evidently was not going to give up on this easily.  But just how does one explain to her mate that she accused James Potter–as well as her, and various other people–of belonging to a Lily-centered society? What words could convey the complete selfishness and stupidity of that? I just don't think there are any.

            "I just can't," I told her stubbornly, hoping desperately that she would leave it at that. I didn't know what I was going to do if she continued to question me further.

            To my vast relief, however, Grace reluctantly seemed to accept this answer–or accept the fact that I wasn't going to tell her anything else, anyway. Her annoyingly coy smile still remained though, and the way she grinned was unnerving me almost as much as her dropping of the subject. "All right, then," she said. "Do you want _me_ to ask him for it?"

            She looked very happy to do so for some reason, and I was about to let her, until I realised that this seemingly plausible solution wouldn't do either. I mean, yes, it may have _seemed_ like the perfect solution, but when you think about it, what's really more pathetic, asking the bloke for my textbook back, or having _my mate_ ask for it back? He'd totally know that I'd chickened out. He'd think, "How stupid can this girl be, that she can't even ask me for her own bloody textbook back?" And yes, while I may be stupid, I rather enjoy my dignity and would like to keep it intact for as long as possible. Having Grace confront Potter in my place wasn't going to accomplish that goal.

            "So let me get this straight," Grace said as we reach the Transfiguration classroom (Emma had at some point disappeared). " _You're_ not going to ask for it, and _I_ can't ask for it, and Emma and I don't sit anywhere near you so it's not like we can chuck you ours...what exactly are you planning on doing, Lil? Using your telekinesis to float your textbook out of his rucksack?"

            Telekinesis? Float it out of his rucksack? Well, I may not have telekinesis, but I _do_ have a wand...

            Grace sent me a pointed look. "You are not floating your textbook out of his bag, Lily!"

            Fine. Well there goes that idea.

            "Fine," I told her aloud, taking a fleeting glance around the slowly filling classroom. "I'll just have to...I don't know, wing it or something."

            Oh, yes. Wing it or something. _Quite_ the brilliant plan on my part. I expect my Nobel Prize to be arriving any day now.

            Grace shrugged at this decision. "All right, Lil. But are you sure you couldn't just ask James for the book back? He's not going to bite." She paused, her smile growing even wider. "I think."

            I threw her a look that clearing stated my annoyance with her before turning away and with a thumping heart and heavy feet, walked slowly towards my seat. To say that I was nervous would be a rather grave understatement. Remember the whole dying thing? Yeah, totally reconsidering it.

            The classroom was nearly filled by the time I finally slugged my way into my seat. As usual, Black and Potter were not in their places behind me, so even if I had decided to toss my dignity out the window and beg for my textbook back, I couldn't, because Potter wasn't there.

            How bloody convenient.

            I looked miserably around the classroom, watching as all the other seventh-years filed into their seats. _They_ would be fine. _They_ wouldn't have to worry about having to think of the answer to McGonagall's dastardly questions off the top of their heads because _they_ had their textbooks to cheat out of. Most of them didn't even need it! I was the only one failing–the only one who was truly in need. How is it that no one considered this? For that second, I hated every single one of them. I hated every single one of those stupid kids who were placing their textbooks on their desks, preparing for their class of reviewing.

            I was preparing for my funeral.

            "Quiet, everyone! I expect you to all be getting to your seats–"

            Flowers, a casket, nice solemn music... you know, the whole nine yards.

            "Settle down– _ladies_! I believe I said to take your seats!"

            I was going to have a very nice funeral.

            "Hullo there, Evans."

            At the sound of the greeting, I whipped around in my chair, my heart dropping slightly at the sight of the Marauder taking his seat behind mine. This, however, was not the Marauder I needed. Where the bloody hell was Potter?

            "Where's Potter?"

             Sirius's eyebrows fell together at my question, and then, as if suddenly noticing that Potter wasn't dutifully chained to his side as he usually was, Sirius started looking around the classroom.

            "Dunno," he answered, his voice hardly concerned.

            I sighed. Figured. Stupid bad karma.

            "Well, he didn't happen to give you anything to give to me, did he?" I asked, my voice perhaps a bit on the desperate side, but I didn't really care. I _was_ desperate.

            Sirius rolled his eyes. "I don't deliver _snogs_ , Evans."

            I groaned, turning back towards the front of the classroom, having no idea what Sirius had just been talking about, but knowing enough to understand that he didn't have my textbook. Damn it.

            "If everyone could kindly get to their seats, Mr. Lopus," McGonagall began again, eyeing Greg Lopus, who was currently snogging long-term girlfriend, Jilly Prewett, "we could begin our class."

            More shuffling. More textbooks. I paled, sitting stiffly in my chair. Never before had a class made me consider suicide more than this stupid course.

            "All right," McGonagall began again, looking around the classroom to see that everyone was in his or her proper places. If she noticed Potter’s absence, she didn't say anything. "As you may remember, I mentioned yesterday that today would be our reviewing day."

            She scanned her eyes through the classroom once more, her eyes resting shortly upon me, before moving on. A silent warning. A dare. Succeed or fail. The stakes were high. Do this, or be a Cat Lady.

            And I didn't have my bloody textbook to cheat out of.

            "It's quite a simple procedure," she continued, her voice distinct in the quiet room. "One by one I will call upon each of you, ask you the incantation of a simple task, and then ask you to perform that task. Understood?"

            Murmurs of consent filled the room. I didn't say anything. I don't think I could if I had wanted to. I was petrified.

            McGonagall glanced down at her class roster, her quill scanning up and down the page. I prayed that she wouldn't call on me first. It was all I needed to make the day declared a complete and utter failure.

            "Mr. McDonough, you first."

            I sighed silently in relief.

            Mac stood up, sneaking a look at his textbook as he rose. Not feeling so dreadfully brilliant anymore, now are you, Mr. Fulton?

            "Please tell me the incantation that can turn this toad into a lamp and then do so."

            Mac hesitated for only the slightest of seconds before a small smile spread across her face. He raised his wand and pointed it towards the toad McGonagall had conjured onto his desk. _"Abeo lucerna!"_

            And just like that, gone was the toad and there was the lamp.

            It made me feel sick inside.

            McGonagall nodded, satisfied, and then moved onto her next victim.

            For the next ten minutes or so, I watched as McGonagall went through her list, testing each person with a different task, none of which the incantations I knew. Not once did anyone falter. Well, at least, not enough to matter, anyway. My stomach churned every time someone completed their task, not only because I knew I would never be able to do what they had just done, but because there was always the possibility that I would be the next to go. And _that_ was what was really terrifying.

            "Evans," McGonagall said, after Jilly Prewett had just successfully turned her blue lizard into a clock. "Your turn."

            The second she said my name, I felt sick to my stomach. I knew I'd never know the incantation, and even if by some miracle I did, I'd never be able to transfigure anything. This was the end of the road for me. I could finally stop with the tutoring sessions. I wouldn't need them anymore. I wouldn't be in the class.

            "Evans," McGonagall repeated, "please transfigure–"

            The classroom door swung open with a loud screech, and everyone turned to see who had entered. I let out a long breath, and looked helplessly to the back of the classroom. A familiar batch of messy black hair popped in from the corridor.

            "Sorry," Potter said, closing the squeaky door behind him. A slight sweep of hope swept through me. Would McGonagall spend forever reprimanding Potter for coming late, as so many other professors did? Could he possibly save me? Could James Potter be the answer to my prayers?

            "Sit down, Potter. You're next."

            My heart dropped and I nearly cried. Why, oh why of all the days for her to not bother scolding him, did she have to pick _today_? Now? _Why_?

            Potter nodded, walking quickly to his seat next to Sirius behind me. Seeing me standing there, he flashed me a grin as he sat down. I was too scared and mortified to glare at his smile. I'm so glad he was finding the ending of my life amusing. I'd be sure to return the favour when I was strangling him later.

            "Evans," McGonagall said for the third time, causing my head to snap back to her, "tell me how you would transfigure this bird into a tea kettle, please."

            I took a deep breath and nearly started crying again. I was never going to be able–

            And then, out of nowhere, I remembered this:

_"Household objects are easy. All you have to do is say 'suppellex' and then whatever you want to get. You know, like a pot would be 'suppellex pot" or a tea kettle would be 'suppellex kettle'_ – _"_

Potter's voice flew through my head. When had he taught me that? Last night? I couldn't remember. I hadn't really been paying attention last night. On the other hand, maybe I had been, subconsciously. Or perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination. Then again, perhaps it wasn't. What did I have to lose? It's not as if I actually knew the answer anyway. This was as good as anything I could make up.

            " _'Suppellex kettle'_?" I answered, my voice filled with a whole lot more confidence than I was feeling inside. I waited for McGonagall's sigh and for her to say those dreaded words...

            "Please precede, Evans."

            My head flew up. I wasn't expecting _those_ words.

            My mind was in a tizzle. That had been correct? That whole thing hadn't just been a figment of my imagination? Potter had really actually _taught_ me something? And would Merlin believe it, that one thing turned out to be my reviewing question? Where was my bad karma? Where was its influence on this?

            "Miss Evans?"

            McGonagall's voice lifted me out of my thoughts once more.

            "Sorry," I said, raising my wand. I took a deep breath.

_"To truly transfigure something, you have to get rid of all your doubts. If you're thinking about all the things that could go wrong, it reduces your abilities and you mess up_ –y _our wand flicks the wrong way or the words come out wrong. You have to believe you can do it before you actually can."_

Right. Believe I can.

_"Suppellex kettle!"_

And viola. A kettle.

            McGonagall nodded, and I looked up at her, stunned. I had done it! I had really really done it! Against all the odds and my horrible, ridiculously bad karma, I had actually done it!!! I wasn't going to fail out of Transfiguration (at least not today)! I wasn't going to have to be a Cat Lady (which is good, because I don't really like cats)! I could be an Auror and I could have a life! I could–

            "You can sit down now, Evans. Potter, your turn."

            Potter.

            And that's when it hit me.

            All of that, everything I had just done, was because of James Potter.

            The same James Potter who I had thought would ruin my chances at ever passing this class. The same James Potter who schemed with his mates to act all nice to me and then hit me with a large slob of goop. The same James Potter who was currently cross with me for some unknown reason. The same James Potter who had stolen my textbook and had not given it back.

            And it was because of this same James Potter that I am not going to have to be a Cat Lady. At least, not yet.

            And for that, I owed him my life.

            And that's when I discovered where my bad karma had been all this time; silently laughing at me as I gloated.

            Because whether I care to acknowledge it or not, I owe my success of today to James Potter. 

            And _that_ just can’t be good.

___________________

**Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 3**   
**Total Observations: 23**   
**Why Do I Even Bother With This Still?**

            Observation #23) After much emotional turmoil over its disappearance, I am currently once again in possession of my Transfiguration textbook.

            After my afternoon classes had finally ended and Grace had abandoned me for Quidditch practice (who knew where Emma was), I forced myself to return to the library once more to start my long procrastinated Potions Essay ("Explain and discuss the long and short-term effects of the Grentlis Potion"), which just happens to be due tomorrow.

            Placing myself at the same table where Potter and I had sat the night before, I spread out all of my textbooks and notes before fully engrossing myself in what had to be one of the most pointless and ridiculous essays I've ever written. I mean, honestly, the Grentlis Potion? Psh. I might as well be writing about the long and short-term effects of the doggy-paddle!

            Still, an assignment is an assignment, I suppose. Doggy-paddle ridiculousness or not.

            And so I sat there for what seemed to be forever, writing absolute nonsense without a single interruption until suddenly–

            BAM!

            I jumped, my head snapping up, my quill point breaking on my parchment.

            "You left it here yesterday."

            I sighed, not surprised at all to see it was James Potter who had just unceremoniously just dropped my...oh goodness, my textbook!

            I held back the childish impulse to giggle with glee at the normally plain and dull looking textbook. Never had I been so happy to see something Transfiguration-oriented. I slowly reached for the textbook and took it from the table, instantly clutching it possessively to my chest. Potter laughed, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down. I glanced over at him skeptically. It was then that I realised that his previous comment had been neither taunting nor cold and he was not glaring at me. I narrowed my eyes on him. Something wasn't right.

            "You did well in Transfiguration today," he told me in that same simple tone. I didn't respond, partially because I wasn't sure if my dignity was ready for a second conversation with him just yet, and partially because I was still skeptical of his non-angered guise.

            A few moments passed in silence. He didn't seem to be affected by my glares or my refusal to speak. I wasn't exactly sure what he expected of me. I hadn't been planning to talk to him just yet. I still wasn't over my embarrassment of last night.

            "It's good we went over that last night, eh?" he tried again, obviously still trying to engage me in conversation for some reason. "In all honesty, I didn't think you were even paying attention–"

            "Neither did I," I interrupted, muttering without thinking. I fought the urge to clamp a hand over my mouth. So much for my dignity. Potter grinned charmingly and let out a small chuckle. My suspicions rose again.

            "Well at least now I know it wasn't just me," he said, still smiling.

            I narrowed my eyes even more. What exactly was he doing? 

            "I thought you were cross with me?" I asked, my voice holding a slightly bitter tone.

            Potter's grin never faltered. "Well," he told me, lounging back in his chair, still not glaring and/or acting as if he was cross, which was really starting to bug me. "It turns out that I was kicked out of the society. My fellow members heard I let you in on the secret. It didn't go over well."

            I felt myself turn red and cursed my stupid mouth for running on as it had last night. Society...what had I been thinking? "That's not funny," I muttered, wishing he would just leave me alone and forget about every stupid thing I'd said last night.

            "I know," Potter said, a tone of remorse in his voice. "It's actually quite a pity. They served brilliant cookies at those meetings."

            He smiled at me again. I knew he was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn't sure why. Hadn't it been just last night that he'd been glaring profusely at me? What was with the sudden normalcy? What is wrong with this boy? I'm beginning to think he's a bit of a schizophrenic.

            "What are you playing at, Potter?" I asked with a sigh.

            "Playing at?" he asked innocently. "I'm just trying to get you to stop looking at me like you want me dead. You know, maybe a bit of a smile and a little, 'Thank you for my textbook, James. I'm sorry I got you kicked out of the society. Just how brilliant were those cookies?'. Something small like that."

            I blushed again, hating my tendency to do so. "I'd truly appreciate it if you just stopped talking about that, Potter. I was...not in my right state of mind, all right? And if you're going to keep mocking me–"

            "I wasn't mocking you!" he said quickly. "Honestly, I was just trying to clear the air, Lily. I swear."

            "Clear the air?" I asked disbelievingly. "What's with you? Last night you were angry, today you're not–do you fancy a quick visit to Madame Pomfrey, because I'm beginning to think you might need one!"

            He knew I had him there, and so did I. Still, he didn't seem to be giving up so easily.

            "Look," he tried again, trying not to act fazed by my last comment. "You said yourself that you don't like when people are cross with you, right?"

            "So?"

            "So now I'm not cross with you."

            He looked at me as if this statement solved the problem, which it clearly didn't. Boys are very stupid that way, thinking that the world revolves around them. Honestly, he spoke as if I had been talking specifically about _him_ when I said that!–well, er, maybe I was a bit, but only because he was trying to ruin my good mood! I didn't _really_ care about him being cross with me. He was being entirely self-centered to think I had been. And even though I'm clearly not one to be talking–seeing as I previously accused this boy of belonging to a Lily-obsessed society–I have to say that this comment was a very stupid and ineffective one, and that Mr. Potter should learn not to be so boyishly selfish. If I one day discover a "10 Steps to Discovering What the World _Really_ Revolves Around" class, I will be sure to sign him up along with me. It's the least I can do for humanity.

            I threw him a look.

            "So just because I told you I didn't want you to be cross with me, you're not?" I asked, adjusting my hands onto my hips. "And besides that, why were you even cross with me in the _first_ place? It couldn't have been as important as everyone else seemed to think it was if you've _suddenly forgot about it just like that!"_

            He sighed, messing up his hair with his hand, an action that has always driven me mad. "It doesn't even matter anymore," he told me. "Can't we just forget about that?"

            I rolled my eyes. "Oh, and I suppose you just think it's just as easy as that, don't you?"

            "Well, isn't it?"

            Crossing my arms over my chest, I let out a huff of breath. I suppose he had a point though. Was it just as easy as that? Hadn't I said that I hated for people to be cross with me? Isn't it so much easier to deal with this non-glaring James Potter, then the glaring James Potter? In all honesty, I wasn't so sure.  I was beginning to see that nothing was 'just that easy' where James Potter was concerned.

            "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Potter," I sighed, shaking my head.

            "James."

            "What?"

            He grinned. "Didn't we already go over this?" he asked teasingly. "My name is James, not Potter. Well, I mean, it is Potter, but not in the way you seem to be determined to use it."

            At the sound of this familiar statement, the warning bells began to go off in my head. Instantly my defenses were up, remembering a certain large green blob incident that had occurred recently after this same conversation.

            "Oh, no," I said, beginning to reach for my things, intent on leaving even though I had yet to finish my essay. "I'm not falling for this gag again."

            Potter cocked his eyebrow, looking at me as if he didn't know what I was talking about. Then slowly his eyebrow dropped as if he'd just caught on. His face was serious. "It's not a–"

            "Find someone else to play your pranks on, _Potter_ ," I spat, not willing to even bother with his petty explanations, still gathering up my things, "because this girl is officially off the market!"

            "Just–"

            "Forget it!"

            "But it's–"

            "No!"

            "Lily–"

            "I told you to–"

            "Will you just _listen_ to me for a second?" he snapped suddenly, causing me to take a step back and finally shut my mouth. He looked vastly relieved to see I wasn't going to be fighting back.

            "Thank you," he said, lifting a hand to mess with his hair again. Before I could think of what I was doing, my own hand instantly caught his, stopping the action mid-air.

            "Don't do that," I told him quickly, ignoring his almost shocked expression. "It drives me mad."

            Normally, this not-thought-through statement would've received a suggestive, conceited, Potterish comment like, "I drive you mad, eh?' or "Just _how_ mad?", but I was quite startled to find that neither comment nor anything like it flew out of Potter's mouth. Instead, he gave me a strange, non-conceited look, and nodded his head.

            "Er, sorry." His arm dropped slowly back down to his side. I pulled back my hand from his, crossing it back firmly over my chest, trying not to act fazed by his passing up of a line, and wondering at what point in our conversation we had ended up standing. I heard him sigh as he sat back down in his chair and I sat back in my own.

            "It doesn't matter anymore," I said, just before Potter could begin to speak. "I'm over it, all right? I don't need your explanations."

            "But if you'd just–"

            "Drop it," I said quickly, my tone a bit harsher than intended. I attempted to soften it a bit as I added, "Please."

            He looked like he was about to start arguing again, but at the last second, his shoulders drooped and he shook his head.

            "Fine," he said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "You're right. It doesn't matter anymore."

            I tried to hold back my surprise at his sudden surrender, but found myself eyeing him curiously anyway. He lifted his head slightly, looking at me through the top of his glasses as Dumbledore does, a small smile on his face. I know I still should have been skeptical–especially after everything he's done the past few weeks–but as I was sitting there, watching him smile at me like that, he didn't seem like the boyishly selfish, troublemaker James Potter I had just been arguing with. He seemed rather...I don't know. Normal? Helpless? Just not the James Potter I was used to, I suppose. Well, whatever it was, it caught me slightly off guard.

            "What are you working on?"

            His question startled me. I hadn't noticed that I'd been nodding off to Neverland.

            "Oh! Er–Potions," I answered quietly, looking down at my half-completed essay, wondering why he was asking and even more importantly, why he was still sitting with me.

            "The one due tomorrow?"

            I nodded.

            He smiled at me again, reminding me more of the James Potter I was used to.

            "You haven't finished it yet?" he asked, his voice not accusing, but surprised.

            I shrugged, causing him to shake his head in a mockingly disapproving manner.

            "Well have you?" I asked, shooting him the same look.

            "Of course not," he answered, once again leaning back on his chair, allowing casualty back to the conversation. "But I'm not you."

            I narrowed my eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

            He continued to smile, shrugging his shoulders slightly before answering simply, "You know. You're always the responsible one. Always on top of things. I never thought you were a procrastinator like the rest of us."

            I threw him a look. Me? Responsible? He had to be kidding!

            "Oh, please," I said, shaking my head, "I'm not responsible in the least! I only do my work so early because I'd forget about it otherwise."

            "Then why'd you put off this one? You obviously didn't forget about it."

            "The only reason I put off this essay for so long," I started, giving him a pointed look, "is because it's one of the most dreadful topics ever known to man. I mean, honestly, the Grentlis Potion? I can say more about the long and short-term effects of a bad hair day than I can about the Grentlis Potion. I'm contemplating whether or not to just write Professor Abbott a 3-foot long _letter_ about why we _shouldn't_ be writing the bloody useless thing."

            "But you're doing it anyway," Potter laughed, rolling his eyes at me. "Let's be serious, here, Lily. You'd never actually _write_ a letter like that, nevertheless hand it in."

            I stood up straighter, crossing my arms over my chest. "What makes you say that?"

            Potter laughed again, shaking his head as if he was explaining something to a silly little girl. "Come on, Evans," he said. "You do realise that if you actually _did_ do such a thing, Abbott would fail you in a second, right? You wouldn't have the courage to do it."

            My mouth dropped open and I glared at him defensively. "I would too!"

            He just continued laughing. "Really?" he asked, his tone suggesting that he was sure I was lying.

            "I'm a Gryffindor, aren't I?" I shot back smugly.

            "Gryffindor enough to get a failing mark?" he asked, his voice teasing.

            "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am!"

            I couldn't believe the lies that were coming out of my mouth. Who was I kidding? Gryffindor enough to not hand in an assignment, and then on top of that, insult the teacher's choice in topic? That was all fine and well for Potter and his mates, but for me? Yeah, right. Like _that_ would be happening anytime soon.

            And Potter knew this too.

            He stuck his hand across the table. "Ten galleons says you won't do it."

            I glanced down at his hand, and then looked back up at his teasing face. I knew that he was expecting me to laugh and decline the bet, and I also knew that that was exactly what I would end up doing. How utterly, predictably and ordinarily Lily.

            With a determined jaunt of my chin,  I placed my hand in his.

            "You have yourself a deal, Mr. Potter. I would suggest that you start saving your money."

            "And _I_ suggest," he said, pumping my hand, "that _you_ start saving _your_ money."

            And with that binding deal, Potter grabbed his things off the library floor and waltzed his way out the doors, laughing to himself all the while.

            And there ended yet another one of my ridiculously odd encounters with James Potter.  
___________________

**Still Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 3**   
**Total Observations: 23**   
**Not Bothering**

            How do I get myself into these things? Honestly, I'm beginning to believe that perhaps it's not just my bad karma ruining my life–perhaps it's my _downright bloody stupidity,_ as well.

            Who in their right mind makes a bet with James Potter? Who _does_ that? Mad people and Sirius, yes, naturally, but _rational, supposed-to-be-responsible Head Girls_?! I just don't know what's _wrong_ with me sometimes. I mean, just yesterday I was cursing the boy's name, and now I'm making friendly _wagers_ with him? Wagers that, by the way, I'm sure to _lose_? Perhaps he's not the only schizophrenic one around here. 

            I'm mad. I'm stark raving mad. That's the only plausible solution. Any second now, I'll be whisked off to St. Mungo's for testing. Then I won't have to worry about trivial things like Transfiguration and Emma and a life. You don't need any of those things when you're a nutcase at St. Mungo's. You just need your teeth, so that you can bite people. And fire, so that you can burn down houses like Bertha does in _Jane Eyre_.

            Over the course of one day, I've progressed from being a Cat Lady to being Bertha Mason.

            Congratulations, Lily Evans, you've officially gone mad. Welcome to the World of the Loony.

            However, even though you many not need Emmas, Transfiguration, or lives in the World of the Looney, you do need money. 

            Therefore, if you'll excuse me, my mad-self has a letter to write!  
___________________

**Friday, September 19th, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 4**   
**Total Observations: 24**

_Dear Professor Abbott,_

_I am currently perfectly aware that the assignment you assigned us last week was to write a 3-foot long essay on the short and long-term effects of the Grentlis Potion, and I am currently perfectly aware that this is indeed not that. Regardless of that though, this will be what I'm handing in._

_I didn't forget to do it and I don't have any false excuses to give you. In fact, if you'd look in my trunk right now, you would indeed find a half-completed essay on the long and short-term effects of the Grentlis Potion. It is not uncompleted for no good reason, however. It is in fact not completed, because I couldn't stand to write it any longer. Excuse me for being rather pert, Professor, but as I'm sure you will discover after reading a few of my fellow students' essays, there isn't very much to say about the long and/or short-term effects of the Grentlis Potion. This is because I can count both the long_ and _short-term effects on one hand (short-term: headaches, stomach pains and intense nausea; Long-term: often weakened immune system and a permanent vaccine to the very few illnesses Grentlis remedies. See? One hand). This is a fact, and seeing that, I don't understand how you could possibly expect me to write a 3-foot long essay with such minimal information. Anyone who actually attempts to do such a thing is probably handing in a 3-foot long essay of repeated information, and that's not much of an essay in my opinion._

_I realise that you are the professor, and I the student, and that I should accept any and all curriculum you choose to teach me without argument, but another thing I feel I should call to your attention is the plain uselessness of the Grentlis Potion. As I'm sure you're well aware of, this is my last year at Hogwarts, and after this year, I'll be out in the real world, dealing with the harsh reality that is life. I hate to break this to you, Professor, but I doubt a single person in our class is ever going to be using the Grentlis Potion in their entire lives. Except maybe those of us that are to become Healers, but even then, the chances of using it are slim. I don't think they even learn how to make the Grentlis Potion in Healer school. So in saying this, don't you think we should be learning potions that would be_ useful _? Things that we actually might be able to_ use _a couple of times before we die? I understand that the Grentlis Potion is a particularly hard potion to brew, and perhaps you are just trying to judge our Potions skills, but there are potions out there that are both useful_ and _difficult. Perhaps students like me would find it easier to write 3-foot long essays on these useful potions._

_Therefore, instead of handing in the true assignment, I'm handing in this_ – _a sort of written explanation as to why I didn't complete my essay and why that should be acceptable to you. Whether or not you'll choose to actually take this letter seriously is a choice all your own, and I can't stop you from_ – _nor will fight with you for_ – _giving me a failing mark, but I truly couldn't tolerate writing such ridiculous nonsense any longer. I hope a Potions Master like yourself could understand my dilemma._

_Thank you for your time and I'm sorry for any inconveniences this may cause you._

_Fondly yours,_   
_Lily Evans_

            Observation #24) The St. Mungo's scouts are obviously slacking, because there is one seriously mad Lily Evans on the loose.  
___________________

**Later, Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 4**   
**Total Observations: 24**   
**One Class until Potions**

If there was ever any unwavering doubt in my mind about my suggested insanity, it's now fully put to shame in the worst possible way.

            I'm mad. I'm as mad as they come.

            _Why_ exactly am I doing this again? For ten galleons? Is that where this crazy force that is propelling me to do this is coming from? My need for wealth? Am I really that avaricious? Somehow, I highly doubt that. Unless I'm avaricious and I just don't realise it. Do avaricious people realise that they're avaricious? I'm not quite sure they do. Marilyn Monroe sung about her love for diamonds and wealth, but that was in a movie, so perhaps that doesn't count. Do I even know anyone who's avaricious? Do other people realise when they're talking to an avaricious person? Does my extreme interest in avaricious people make me avaricious, or is it perhaps only a means of nervous rambling because I'm about to willingly fail Potions? 

            A little bit of both I think.  
___________________

**Bit Later, Still in Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 4**   
**Total Observations: 24**   
**One Class until Potions**

Perhaps I'm just trying to prove something. But what? And to whom? Professor Abbott? Potter? Why do I have to prove myself to two people who don't like me?

            But Potter wasn't acting as if he didn't like me yesterday. He was doing the whole nice thing again, and it's actually got me a bit worried. Is it another prank of his? If it is, I'm slightly disappointed on his lack of creativity. I thought it better than him to do the same thing twice. He should at least have the decency to think up something new. It's really the least he can do.

            Maybe this whole thing is just another prank. Maybe he thought it would be funny to see me fail, and even if I didn't complete the bet, he'd have something to hold over my head. But that couldn't have been his plan all along. It was just by chance that he discovered I was writing the essay yesterday, so that couldn't have been it. Perhaps he had something else in mind, and then this was one of those on-the-spot-pranks? Could that have been it?

            Maybe I'm looking into this too much. Maybe he's just finally grown up. Maybe he's just trying to "clear the air" as he said.

            No. I fell for that once, I can't fall for it again. James Potter will unfortunately always be James Potter.

            But if James Potter will always be James Potter, and this is just another one of his pranks, why am I still willingly taking part in it?  
___________________

**Still Later, Still in Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 4**   
**Total Observations: 24**   
**One Class until Potions**

I think the clock has broken.  
___________________

**...Later, ...Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 4**   
**Total Observations: 24**   
**One Class until Potions**

It moved, so perhaps it's not broken. Maybe it's just not working correctly. Should I inform Flitwick?  
___________________

**So slowly...**   
**Why even bother to keep writing this?**

Do you reckon the clock is working properly? -LE

            **It looks fine. Why? -GR**

I think perhaps it's broken.

            **It's not broken. Why does it matter? Got a date or something?**

            Yes, Grace, I cleverly scheduled a date during Charms class. Are you sure it's not broken?

            **YES. What's the matter with you? You're all antsy-looking.**

That's because I'm a madwoman. Generally, madwomen are antsy-looking.

**A madwoman? You're hardly mad, Lily.**

That's where you're wrong, mate-o-mine. I fear that I'm quite off my rocker.

            **Well that's pleasant.**

At least I'm not a Cat Lady.

            **A Cat Lady? What the bloody hell is a Cat Lady?**

You know, the cranky old woman in the small smelly old house with thousands upon thousands of cats? Every town has one. Mine has two, actually. Mrs. Doberman and her protégée, Mrs. Figg.

            **Cat Ladies have protégées?**

Of course! What do you think happens when a Cat Lady dies? You can't just claim yourself a Cat Lady and make up your own rules. You have to be...inducted!

            **Inducted into what?**

Well, the Cat Lady Society, of course!

            **Never mind, I take back my comment. You are a madwoman.**

            Thank you.

**You're welcome.**

Grace?

**Yes?**

Are you _positive_ it's working?

**Bugger off, Lily.**  
___________________

**Same ol', same ol'**   
**I hate clocks.**

Perhaps I should tell Grace about my scandalous assignment. She would be very proud, I'm sure. She'd of course believe it was her horrible influence because she's not aware of how avaricious I am, so she would never think that it's a bet.

            Though she _did_ think my de-pruding was a bet. Maybe she knew I was avaricious all along. That was terribly rude of her not to inform me. I mean, people who are avaricious should know that they are, that way they could prance around singing "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend," and even if people stare and point, it'll be okay, because someone else will say to these pointers and starers, "Don't worry about her. She's avaricious and mad." Then the pointers and starers will all nod in understanding, and then continue to spread the word about why some girl is prancing around singing "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend."

            Wait a second...if _Grace_ knew I was avaricious...then _Emmaline_...  
___________________

**Just Guess Where**   
**Just Guess When**

           I promise I'll stop being avaricious if you'll just talk to me again. -LE

            _What are you talking about, Lily? -EV_

That's why you're angry with me, right? Because unbeknownst to me, I've been avaricious for quite some time?

            _I don't know what you're talking about, Lily. Now please leave me alone. I'm TRYING to take decent notes, as you, as Head Girl, SHOULD be doing._

You mean that's not why you're cross with me?

            Em?

            Emmaline?

            Oh, _honestly_ , Emma!  
___________________

**Oh, no...**

            Bloody hell.

            The bell just rang.

            I think I am going to be sick.

___________________


	8. September 19th: Dealing With The Plague

**Later, Lunch in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 4**

**Total Observations: 24**

You know, it really takes a lot for a girl to truly be able to call herself _suave_.

You see, _suave_ is actually a rather complicated word, and a far more complicated characteristic. When talking about really, _truly_ being _suave_ , there is in fact only a very selective amount of people that actually have the ability to do so. The art of suavism itself—with its extreme wittiness, brilliant sleekness, and complete and total urbane feeling—is unfortunately not something every Tom, Dick, and/or Harry can accomplish. Usage of suaveness could have disastrous side effects, as well. When used incorrectly or by any incapable persons, suaveness could very well lead to the end of the world as we know it.

Seeing this, I have found it a real and profound accomplishment that today, just now, I, Lily Christine Evans, have by far earned the honor of calling myself _suave_.

Yes, that's right. Silly, avaricious, bad-karma-filled Lily Evans, was _oh so VERY_ suave, that I do believe I deserve some sort of applause, or possibly an award. I was _that_ brilliant. Not many could do what I did and still come out unscathed, but I did.

I am just _radiating_ suaveness, I'm _that_ suave.

As I was walking into Potions class, The Assignment carried loosely in my left hand, I think that it was pretty safe to say that I was far too close to having a panic attack than is really considered healthy. Truly, I'm not jesting you. I do believe that I was about one whisper away from dropping down to the floor in a dead faint. I mean, I don't _do_ things like this. I hand in _all_ my assignments, am completely respectful to _all_ of my professors (no matter how much resentment is held between us), and third and foremost, I do _not_ listen to James Potter when he tells me _not_ to do these things. That's just not _me_. That's not what I'm about. And now all of a sudden, here I was, acting...well, not like me. What could possibly be compelling me to do such a thing—other than my complete stupidity and avaricious lifestyle, I mean? But even those rather damning qualities didn’t seem like enough. Nothing seemed like enough. But I was still going to do it. I had no choice _but_ to do it anymore. And that's what frightened me.

Well, anyway, I didn't faint or die or collapse or anything, even though I was internally hyperventilating and externally biting my lip so hard it practically bled. I made it into the classroom alive, much to my disappointment.

"What's wrong with you?" Grace asked, taking her seat next to me as we filed into the classroom, a slightly worried tone in her voice. "You look awfully pale, Lil."

I swept my hand over my face, hoping that this would somehow ease my nerves, or maybe just not make them so apparent. That was the last thing I needed right now—to be sent to the Hospital Wing because I looked sick.

"Nothing. I'm fine," I insisted, purposely pushing my books around our desk so that they covered The Assignment. Grace threw me a look.

"Don't be a git, Lily. You've been acting mad all morning. Now are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

I winced slightly at the ultimatum. I could tell her, couldn't I? It wouldn't be that big of a deal. Like I said before, Grace would be totally ecstatic about the whole thing. She'd think I'd turned into some sort of renegade or something. She's my mate. She wouldn't judge me on the fact that I'm acting nothing like myself, and doing something so incredibly stupid, it was almost comical. That’s what mates are for, to support you when you’re being incredibly stupid. 

But before I could make up any decent excuse or finally lose my nerve and tell her all about the stupid bet, Grace's attention was caught by something lingering behind me. Slightly relieved for the momentary distraction, I turned in my chair to see what she was staring at. I wasn't nearly as surprised as I should have been to find Potter standing there. It seems like he's always where you don’t want him to be.

"All right, Evans?" he asked me with a boyish grin, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. I fought back the urge to glare at him. He was enjoying my misery far more than was absolutely necessary.

"All right, Potter," I muttered, forcing myself to smile back. "And you?"

"I'm quite well," he told me, eyebrows raised. I could tell just from the way he was still grinning at me that he didn't believe my smiling facade for even a second. Still, the only other opinion for me was to begin bawling right then and there, so you'll see why I chose to keep up my farce.

"Well, that's nice," I answered quietly, my eyes drifting down. I didn’t want to look at him anymore. Potter laughed.

"Actually," he added, catching my eyes even though my head was bent, "I think I may have found ten galleons this morning, so _I'd_ say I'm doing more than a bit all right, wouldn’t you?" He gave me a pointed look, daring me to contradict him. I wanted to glare, but knew I shouldn't. I was about to counter back with some more attempted-witty-comments, but before I could say anything, Grace broke into the conversation.

" _May_ have found _ten galleons_?" she sputtered, looking back and forth between Potter and me disbelievingly. "You don't just _find_ ten galleons, James! What are the lot of you—”

"Reynolds!" 

Professor Abbott's voice cracked through the room, interrupting and instantly stopping Grace. The three of us snapped our eyes over to where Abbott was glowering at us from her place at the front of the room. Grace closed her mouth, her speech halted. "Mr. Potter," Abbott snapped, still giving us her most horrid face, "I suggest you take your seat! _Now_."

"Sorry about that, Professor," Potter answered, still grinning. He waltzed easily back to his seat on the other side of the room, not fazed in the least about the fact that a professor had just barked at him in front of the entire class, while I was nearly cowering in my shoes and she hadn't even publicly acknowledged me yet. I hated how he could be so carefree, how all this didn't matter a spot to him. I turned back around in my chair, sensing that Potter was still watching me even after he'd sat down in his own seat. When I snuck a glance back at him, he was leaning casually back in his chair, looking at me. He flashed me his most triumphant grin.

Stupid cocky bastard.

The class went on as normal after that. As usual, Abbott was going to collect our assignments at the end of the class, which naturally left me with a whole forty minutes or so to fret over it. I contemplated not handing in anything at all, but figured that was probably just as bad as handing in my letter. Then I contemplated asking Grace to copy hers, but then ruled that out because Professor Abbott would know better. Then I contemplated the pros and cons of ten galleons, and how winning them would affect me, my life, and my overall status as an avaricious person. After that got boring, I just started doodling. And when _that_ got boring, I copied the notes. Overall, it was a very productive class, and before I knew it, the bell had rung for lunch.

"Assignments! On my desk! Now!" Abbott snapped loudly, making sure her demand reached even the fastest class-bolters. There were groans and protests, but everyone began moving towards Abbott’s desk with their assignments nevertheless. 

It was time. I couldn’t believe it. I shouldn’t have been so shocked about it all—I’d been counting down the minutes since the bloody second I’d entered the classroom, for Merlin’s sake!—but I was. I glanced down at The Assignment, regarding my curvy writing with a silent feeling of dread. I told myself that it would all be okay; that twenty years from now, no one was going to care that Lily Evans hadn’t handed in her Potions assignment. Somehow, these thoughts failed to comfort me.

I took a deep breath, knowing that if I continued to dawdle, I wouldn’t be handing in anything at all. I repeated my mantra that everything would be okay as I took one last quick glance down at The Assignment...then got an idea. I quickly used my wand to copy the letter onto another slab of empty parchment. With one last sigh, I grabbed the original copy and purposely strode to the front of the classroom. As coolly and as quickly as I could manage, I placed the original copy atop the growing pile of assignments, watching with a slightly sickening feeling as it disappeared under my classmates' papers. That was it. It was done. And shocker of all shockers, as soon as I saw that parchment completely disappear, the sickening feeling that had been boiling in my stomach was gone. Just like that, it had disappeared. Instead I felt...calm.

Yeah, _calm_. 

I know, I know, how could I be calm? But the truth was, it was over. I had handed it in and now there was nothing I could do to change it. I may fail, I may not. Abbott may decide to read my letter out loud to the entire class as some form of punishment and force me to watch as my classmates snickered behind their hands, but what could I do? Nothing. I could do nothing. And I accepted that. And in some strange, out-worldly sort of way, I suppose I was also rather...proud of myself. I mean, I had done it. I had actually done it. Motives or no motives, I had still done it. I was now officially a troublemaker. Along with the slight sense of panic that came with such a declaration (and more than a slight sense of utter hilarity), I also felt satisfied. Accomplished, even. I was no longer Lily Evans, Goody-Goody. I was Lily Evans, Scandalous Letter Writer.

And believe it or not, Lily Evans, Scandalous Letter Writer had a plan. 

A _good_ plan. 

A _suave_ plan.

After handing in The Assignment and quickly gathering my books off my desk, I grabbed the piece of parchment that contained the copy of my letter I’d just made before. I scanned the room quickly, relieved to find that the person I was looking for was still in the classroom. Setting my shoulders back and holding my chin high, I took one last deep breath, and then began my strut across the classroom. I walked confidently to the other side of the room, stopping just before the desk where Potter, Black, Remus and Peter were still gathering up their books together to leave.

"Hi there, Evans," Peter said, noticing first that I was standing there. He shot a fleeting glance over at Potter, which made me imagine that Potter had told his mates about the bet. He, unlike me, seemed to have little problem doing so.

"Hello, Peter," I greeted back with a smile. The soft exchange caught the attention of the other three Marauders, and the second they noticed my presence, they all exchanged looks, seeming to have some sort of silent conversation in a matter of seconds. Potter was the first to move closer to me, and the confident look he sported was enough to make me want to burst out laughing. 

But I didn't. Not yet. 

"Well, _this_ is a pleasant surprise," he said with a cocky grin, crossing his arms over his chest. "Here for a bit of a chat, Lily? Or perhaps you have something you'd like to _give_ me?"

The giggles were dying to come out, but I swallowed them down forcefully, not about to ruin my fun. He was so bloody pompous about the whole thing it was almost sad. He obviously assumed that I'd chickened out and handed in the correct assignment. Psh. He obviously doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does. 

Keeping my cool and collected, _suave_ demeanor, I simply smiled at Potter in response, reaching for the copy of my letter out of the pile of books I was carrying.

"Actually," I said, holding the letter out to him, "I did want to give you this."

The parchment was obviously not what he’d been expecting; the look on his face told me as much. He eyed the parchment in my outstretched hand curiously, shooting me an unsure glance. He took it slowly from my hand, and I watched with a smile as he silently began to read. I waited for the inevitable response as Potter slowly began to realise just exactly what it was.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, coming to stand alongside Potter. I watched for Potter's reaction as he scanned the piece of parchment. Sirius moved closer to him, trying to get a better look at the letter from over Potter's shoulder, but Potter moved it away from his sight.

"It's nothing," I informed Sirius. "I promised Potter I'd let him look at my assignment."

The disbelieving look Sirius threw at me led me to believe that perhaps Potter hadn't told his mates about the whole bet after all. I wasn't concerned about that, however. I didn't care whether the rest of them knew. I kept my eyes locked on Potter. His face was completely blank as his eyes scanned the page. There was no way for me to know what was going on inside his head. His face was void of all emotion.

And then, after what seemed like forever, he finally looked up at me. A small smile was playing at his lips.

"You wouldn't," he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

I laughed.

"Of course I would," I told him with a very _suave_ smile. "And I assume you'll soon have something for me in return?"

Potter shook his head slowly. "You're lying," he still insisted.

I couldn't help but smile smugly as I gently shrugged my shoulders. It was over. I had won. He could deny it all he wanted now, but sooner or later, he was going to have to throw in the tower. The idea filled me with such humourous glee that I knew I had to get out of there soon or I would ruin my entire suave facade with an endless fit of giggles.

"Believe what you want," I finished simply, still watching Potter's face. There was still no sign of him believing me, but I didn't care. I knew that behind that doubtful front of his, he was internally shocked at my behavior. And for that, I grinned again.

And then, like he had done so many times to me before, I turned on my heel and waltzed casually out the classroom door, quietly laughing to myself all the while.

___________________

**Later, Herbology**

**Observant Lily: Day 4**

**Total Observations: 24**

You know, I think that being _suave_ has really helped my disposition. I mean, just this morning I was a complete wreck—worrying insensately about that stupid letter and that ridiculous bet—but now that it's over, and I've gained my place in the World of the Suavists...well, let's just say life's looking a bit brighter.

Like during lunch for example, when Emma sat glaring at me with Mac at the Ravenclaw table, I didn't get upset or try to wave at her in a very friendly manner as I usually do. Instead, I simply ignored her and didn't let it bother me. It's a very refreshing feeling, all this not worrying. I think I like it.

And now I think—

Oh.

What's this?

A note?

Hm. Potential.

**Rubbish. You didn't hand it in. -JP**

Well, well, well, what do we have here? Another batch of notes from James Potter, I see. Did the poor prat not learn from the last time? I mean, if he _wants_ to be belted in the head by flying pieces of parchment, all right, fine, who am I to say no? All the better for me, I suppose. However...should I be answering this time? His notes, I mean? I'm not exactly cross with him anymore, am I? And I'm not sure if suave people do things like that, anyway. Throw parchment at people’s heads, I mean. It just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d find James Bond doing.

Hm.

Interesting.

_If you don't have the ten galleons, I'll understand. Honestly. You could be my personal slave instead. -LE_

When you're suave like me, statements like "You could be my personal slave" aren't taken specifically as a sexually innuendo. Instead, they're taken as funny, witty comments. This is why I enjoy being suave. Had Unsuave-Lily said anything like that, it could have very well been taken as a slaggish, teasingly flirtish comment, which, you know, ew.

It's good to be suave.

**As intriguing as that sounds, I hardly think it's fair considering you lost. If _you_ don't have the money, perhaps _you_ can be _my_ personal slave…?**

See? Being an avid member in the World of the Suavists, Mr. Potter can say such things in a non-flirtish way.

_As your first task, you can start copying down these notes on Riciferd plants for me._

**Copy notes? You mean you don't already know _everything_ there is to know? Evans, you're slipping!**

_On the contrary, Mr. Potter. I never slip. Oh, and do write neatly, please._

**You know, you’re starting to act as if you’d actually _won_ the bet…**

_Are we back on this already? I win, you lose. I know you don't hear that often, and I apologise for deflating your confident male ego, but you'll just have to find some sort of way to deal with that._

**Maybe I'll just go ask Abbott about your assignment then, eh?**

_Maybe you should._

**Fine. I think will.**

**In fact, I _know_ I will.**

**This would be the point where you start panicking and confess that you really didn't hand in that rubbish letter.**

**Go on, any time now.**

**I'm waiting.**

**Preferably sometime this century, if you please.**

_I really don't see how you can keep writing these petty notes to me while also copying down all those notes on the blackboard._

**I don't have to copy them. I have my personal slave doing that.**

_Do you really? Well make sure your personal slave is writing neatly. I have to be able to read the notes, you know._

**My personal slave always writes neatly. She never slips.**

_Well, good for you then. You're personal slave sounds perfect._

**She is.**

___________________

**Later, Library**

**Observant Lily: Day 4**

**Total Observations: 26**

"What was _that_?"

Grace's disgruntled voice chimes from beside me, and I can't help but sigh. Honestly, I'm _trying_ to do my work here. Not all of us are super-smart and can just snap our fingers and have these things done, you know. And since Head Girls really have to keep up with things like grades and lives, and I'm already behind with that, I really can't afford to have any more setbacks.

And it doesn't even matter that I wasn't actually really doing my essay, but rather staring at that rather fetching kid a few bookshelves down, because that's not the point. The point, of course, is that I _could_ have been doing my essay, and if I _had_ been, Grace shouldn't be bothering me with her 'what was _that_?’s, because I don't _know_ what ‘that’ was. I don't even know what ‘ _that_ ’ is!

"What was what?" I ask her, pretending to continue writing my Charms essay, even though I'm writing this instead.

" _That_!" she cries, her arms flailing about. I stare at her blankly. Oh, dear, she's finally cracked. I knew it would happen one day, but...what dreadful timing, eh? Now I went from having two best mates, to one, to none...I'm going to have to hold auditions or something. For new best mates, I mean. Unless I can get Emma to start talking to me again, and maybe try to uncrazify Grace. It'll take a lot, I suppose, but I'm a smart girl, I can do it. Well, not _smart,_ per say, but I am suave, which has to count as something, right? I wonder—

" _Lily_!"

Oh, bother. Had she been talking?

"Have you been listening to anything I just said?"

Madame Pince shushes us. Grace ignores her. I shake my head.

“ _That_ ,” Grace tells me slowly a third time, “is the complete and utter insanity that’s been going on all morning! First, with that ten galleons bit in Potions, then with all of that mad note passing in Herbology—yes, don’t think I didn’t see that, Lily Christine Evans! Now are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to strangle it out of you?”

It takes me a moment or two to figure out just what the bloody hell she’s talking about. Then it dawns on me. 

Potter. 

“That” is Potter and I.

“Well, I’d hardly call note passing _insanity_ , Grace,” I answer nonchalantly, still considering whether or not to tell her about the bet. “I mean, you and I do it all the time.”

Grace glares at me. “Yes, but the last time _we_ passed notes, I didn’t completely ignore the note passing part of the plan and start counting points for each time I could launch a bit of parchment at your head, now did I?”

Fair point. That was a fun game—quite clever on my part as well. Though I suppose throwing parchment at him was a bit immature. Again, fun, but immature. Hm. Maybe next time—well, if there _is_ a next time, that is. I mean, I doubt Potter is eager to spend his time passing notes with me. He only did it the first time because I was cross with him, and he only did it _this_ time because he wanted his ten galleons (which he won’t get, because he lost). He doesn’t really have a reason to do it again. Not that I would _want_ him to or anything. We don’t like each other, and people who don’t like each other don’t like passing notes to one another. 

Even if these said notes are somewhat funny because we’re both so suave and clever and all.

“ _Well_?”

Oh, bugger. Zoned out again.

“Erm…nothing’s going on, Grace,” I say with an innocent shrug. Grace throws me a look. “Really,” I insist. “I let him read my Potions essay, and he had a question about it. That was all.”

It wasn’t _really_ a lie when you thought about it. Technically I _did_ give him what I handed in as my Potions essay, and he _did_ technically have a question/comment type of thing regarding it, so I wasn’t _really_ lying to her. Not that it really would have mattered if I had had to lie. It seems that although I am such a bad-karma-filled girl, I have always had the ability to be a surprisingly good liar. Not that that’s a good thing or anything. Lying is bad and people shouldn’t do it. Especially people who are Head Girls. It’s like illegal or something, I think.

“You were passing notes for an awful long time for him to just have one question, Lily!” Grace snapped. I threw her a nasty look of my own. I don’t know why she’s getting so upset over this. Honestly, weren’t she and Emma the ones who were always telling me what a nice and friendly bloke Potter is?

“Why are you being like this?” I ask her, voicing my concerns aloud. “You and Emma are always saying that Potter’s the perfect mate, and now all of a sudden, I pass a couple of notes with the bloody bloke and he’s suddenly become the Grim Reaper?”

“So you’re mates now?” Grace asks quickly, twisting my words around, the edge suddenly gone from her voice. Instead, she sounds peculiarly eager. “You and James?”

I roll my eyes. “No, we are not _mates_ ,” I snap, throwing her a face. “We can’t stand each other! You know that!”

Grace narrows her eyes suspiciously at me.

“But you just _said_ that you gave him your essay!” She throws me that, ‘something’s not right here’ look. “You don’t exactly go out giving your assignments to people you hate, now do you?”

This is true, but most people don’t have ten galleon bets with people they hate either.

“It’s not like that,” I tell her, even though, oddly enough, that’s technically exactly what it’s like. “It’s…uh…a Head Student thing. You really wouldn’t get it.”

“What wouldn’t I get?” Grace asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I pause and don’t answer her. I’m honestly not sure why I’m not just telling Grace about the silly bet. It’s not that big of a deal, and it’s not as if she’s Emma and would reprimand me for it. In fact, Grace would probably applaud my slacker efforts and welcome me to her world. I just…it’s only…she has a point, I suppose. I mean, how can I be saying that Potter and I are enemies one moment, and then go on making bets and passing notes with him the next? Maybe I’m just confused. Maybe it’s because of the whole Evil-Potter/Friendly-James transformation he keeps pulling on me. I guess it's just that I really don’t know what to make of him just yet. The last time I acknowledged some sort of Friendly-James relationship between the two of us, I ended up with a whole blob of green goop upon my head. Who would want to be put in that position again? 

“I’m…telling you everything,” I answer half-heartedly a few moments later, not even bothering to hide my lie anymore. Grace picks up the obvious hint.

“Well,” she tells me, rising from her seat next to me, “I’m off to Quidditch practice. But if you suddenly remember something you forgot to tell me,” She pauses and gives me a pointed look, "you know where to find me, right?”

I nod, but my still-restless doubts about acknowledging even a civil relationship with James Potter stops me from doing what I know Grace really wanted—for me to tell her about the bet right then and there. When I don’t say anything else, I hear Grace sigh and watch her walk away a few moments later.

It’s obvious that I have a lot to think about.

Psh. Just my luck.

___________________

**Even Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 4**

**Total Observations: 27**

Something is wrong with me. Something seriously and irreversibly wrong. I’m sick. I'm ill. I just know it.

Why else would I not even _care_ , not even _bat an eyelash_ , when Amos came over to me just before? And while, yes, I suppose it’s better to act naturally around him like I was just now than it is to giggle and flirt as I usually do, but giggling and flirting is what a girl is _supposed_ to do around a bloke she fancies! I mean, I barely looked at the boy! I did _nothing_!

_Ugh_. This is all Grace’s fault! And Potter’s! The two of them are RUINING MY LIFE! 

TOGETHER!

Don’t they realise that my life is already enough of a dysfunctional mess? They really don’t have to come along with their foe-niceness and annoyingly accurate accusations to make it worse. It's quite bad enough already, thank you very much. 

I DON’T NEED THIS!

Why can’t I just be like every other girl? Why can't I just be free to hate those I've always hated, be mates with the girls I've always been mates with, and flirt with the bloke I'm going to marry? Why can’t I? Is it really _so_ much to ask for, this teeny-tiny bit of normalcy in my extremely abnormal life?

No, I just don’t think it is.

I don't know what to do. I don't want to talk to anyone anymore. Every time I do, I always do something or say something stupid. I can't be trusted any longer. I have officially decided to stay and hide out in my bed all weekend. Isolation is the only way I can hope to recover from the distress I have faced at the hands of the students at Hogwarts.

I will not leave this room the entire weekend. I won't, I won't, I won't!

Unless I have to use the loo. Or eat. But only for that. Nothing else.

Yeah, nothing else.

___________________

**Saturday, September 20th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 28**

Up very early again this morning. This change of internal clock is even madder than before however, because today is SATURDAY—or as I like to call it, Sleep-Day—but I wasn’t sleeping. Everyone else was—even Emma, who usually goes missing early Sleep-Day mornings—but I wasn't. I wonder if this will become my routine. This whole getting up early thing, I mean. It’s not so bad once you get used to it, I suppose—different for sure, but not bad. I didn’t wake up early enough to see the sunrise today, but even without the sunrise, it was rather nice. Everyone was still sleeping, so I was even able to leave the dormitory and run down to breakfast without ruining the whole “hide-out in the bed” plan. No one would even know I’d left.

And you know what? I’ve never seen the Great Hall look as empty as it does early in the mornings. There are only a few students sitting at each table, and though it looks rather odd, it’s somewhat comforting as well. I mean, I didn’t have to fight my way to get to the milk, and I didn’t have to worry about looking nice because Amos might see me…it was just me, Mary-Sue-Sixth-Year, Ravenclaw-Roy, and small bunches of other insignificant persons, all looking equally mussed as I did at this hour in the morning. Oh, and Professor Dumbledore, but that’s hardly a surprise because Dumbledore is always everywhere (Observation #28: Dumbledore never looks mussed. Ever. Not even at this ungodly hour when it’s quite all right to look mussed because no one is judging you. I wish someone would let him know. It must be tiring, having to be unmussed all the time. However, he’s Dumbledore and all, so I suppose it doesn’t matter).

So now I’m just going to sit here, relaxing, throwing a pleasant smile to Mary-Sue-Sixth-Year, who’s sitting across from me, every now and again, and overall eating a pleasant, non-drama-filled breakfast.

A lovely morning so far.

___________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 31**

Observation #29) Apparently Mary-Sue, Roy, Dumbledore and I aren't quite the _only_ ones not sleeping in on Sleep-Day.

No one expects things to go wrong when they're eating waffles. Seriously, I'm not kidding. They just don't. Waffles aren't the sort of food that send off warning signals to indicate something can potentially become amiss. Instead, they make you think that things will continue to remain peaceful and satisfying, just like the waffles themselves. Maybe that's why I like them so much. Waffles, I mean. Because they seem so safe and secure and everything, who could resist? Or maybe it's because I have a thing for strawberry waffles—not with syrup though, with butter, on account of syrup is sticky and someway or another, whenever I use syrup, it ends up in my hair. Every time without fail. But that's not the point. The point is, of course, that I was lulled into a false sense of security because of the waffles and all. I mean, there I was, sitting innocently at the table, eating my waffles, shooting the occasional smile to Mary Sue Sixth Year, and overall enjoying my Sleep Day Morning. I couldn't possibly expect trouble when I was eating _waffles (_ which, by the way, were bloody brilliant. Observation #30) Food is definitely made better early in the morning. These waffles are easily the best I’ve ever tasted. And to think I’ve been eating the rubbish they've been feeding me later on? Psh!). There would be no trouble. Absolutely none.

I never saw it coming.

Until it sat next to me.

"Morning, Lily."

Observation #31) Like Professor Dumbledore, James Potter never looks mussed.

I think it was safe to say that I had stopped breathing. James Potter was sitting next to me. Right then. There. Early in the morning. Defying the serenity promised by the waffles. He was...he... _there_! Right there _next to me_! The very person I was currently on a mission to completely ignore was sitting right there next to me! I felt so betrayed. My karma had reached such an unsurpassable point that it could now corrupt even the innocence of a nice batch of safe and secure waffles. Life couldn't possibly be this unfair for all people.

"I...what are you doing here?" was what I managed to sputter out, once I'd gotten over the initial shock of having James Potter sitting next to me as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Potter didn't even bother looking up when he answered.

"I'm eating."

"Yes, I can see that," I muttered flatly, glancing down at the astronomical amount of breakfast Potter was currently piling onto his already overflowing plate. Waffles, I noticed, was not one of his choices. In fact, it was practically the only thing he _hadn't_ chosen. "You're a right disgusting garbage disposal, did you know that?"

He stopped shoveling food onto his plate. "Garbage what?"

I rolled my eyes, not bothering to answer. If he didn't want to pay any attention in Muggle Studies, then that was fine. I wasn't going to become his private tutor...er, even though he's mine. But that's not the point. The point _is_ that he's a stupid bloody prat, and if he's too busy doing stupid Potter-ish things like making bets with mad Head Girls who really just shouldn't be living, or passing notes with a former enemy because he thinks it's funny to confuse her, to pay attention to what a garbage disposal is, than I'm not going to educate him. As far as I'm concerned, he deserves his ignorance. Maybe he should just stop being such a bloody prat and he would find out what a garbage disposal was.

"Never mind," I sighed, when Potter continued to stare at me curiously. "What I _meant_ was what are you doing down here _now_. It's early. Really early. Are you aware of that?"

"Perfectly aware," Potter answered with a grin, finally recognizing that no more food could possibly fit on that single plate in front of him and moving onto a second. This one he chose to fill entirely with eggs and toast. "I always get up this early." 

"But it's Saturday," I tried again. "No classes. You could sleep until noon if you wanted."

"I know," Potter said with a shrug. He shot me another foolish grin. "But the food's always better early in the morning."

I held back a scowl and settled on a frown instead. That was _my_ observation. _Mine_. And who did he think he was anyway, getting up early like me? This was supposed to be _my_ time—the only time of the day when I didn't have to _care_ about anything or anyone. Potter just couldn't _invade_ on that time. It wasn't at all fair. And so what if technically he discovered the perks of rising early before me and has been doing so for a long time now? Where's his sense of chivalry? Doesn't he have enough decency to just lay off and give me these peaceful few minutes?

Of course he doesn't.

I sighed moodily, forcing myself not to outright glare at idiot sitting next to me. "Oh, and I suppose that's all it really takes for a bloke, hm?" I grumbled. "Some good food?"

"We're easy to please," Potter laughed, shrugging his shoulders again. "But there's other reasons as well."

"And what's that?"

"Well, the people, of course," Potter answered with an impish grin. But he wasn't looking at me this time. He was looking at Mary-Sue-Sixth-Year. "Ain't that right, _Marley_?"

His emphasis on her name confused me, and Mary-Sue’s (Marley's?) giggling and nodding response only baffled me further. She was quite pretty. I wondered briefly if perhaps he was shagging her.

"Oh, so you know my name now then, do you?" Mary-Sue/Marley quipped, grinning at him as well. I fought to keep my eyebrows in place. Well, I severely _hope_ he's not shagging her then. As if finally just noticing I was sitting there out of the loop, Mary-Sue/Marley turned over to me and explained, "Potter's big on the surnames for Quidditch. I told him I was sure he didn't even know what my first name was."

Can I say I was slightly relieved to hear that?

"So you're on the Quidditch team?" I asked.

Marley nodded. "Chaser," she told me.

"Oh, bugger," Potter swore, catching our attention. He glanced quickly up and down the table. "They forgot the ruddy ketchup again."

"Ketchup?" I asked, watching him curiously as he continued his search of the table. "It's breakfast. What in Merlin's name do you need ketchup for?"

Potter didn't even bother glancing up at my question. When he failed to find the condiment at the Gryffindor table, he stood up in his seat and began scanning the other tables in the hall as well. It took him a few seconds to actually get around to answering my question. "Well, for the eggs, of course."

_Eggs_?

With _ketchup_?

_Ew_.

“ _What?”_ I blanched, a look of total disgust playing on my face. “That’s bloody disgusting, Potter!”

Acting as if I'd just denounced the Queen herself, Potter instantly stopped his search of the Slytherin table, his eyes flying to mine. He actually had the audacity to looked _shocked_ at my disgust.

“ _Disgusting_?” he cried. “Why, eggs and ketchup is only _the_ greatest thing since sliced bread!”

I rolled my eyes. Oh, please. And I’m the Queen of the Nile.

“Uh-huh,” I muttered.

Potter glared at me. I cracked a grin.

“You know what?” Marley-formerly-known-as-Mary-Sue cut in, causing Potter to stop glaring, and me to stop provoking him. “I think that little blonde bloke may have taken it again, James.”

At the mention of this said 'little blonde bloke', James's glare instantly switched onto a boy seated not to far from us over at the Hufflepuff table. “I’ll murder the bloody bugger,” he grumbled, already rising out of his seat. I strained my neck to see who it was. I was met with a familiar batch of shiny blonde hair.

“Timmy, Tommy, whatever the bloody hell his name is…” James continued grumbling, lifting his feet over the bench.

“That’s _Thomas_!” I cried, causing Potter to pause. “Thomas _Dunn_. You can’t possibly murder _Thomas Dunn_!”

Potter stared at me blankly.

“And why the bloody hell not?” he asked, glaring at the incriminated third-year once more.

I sat there gaping like a fish, not knowing how to answer. I couldn’t tell him the _rea_ l reason, of course—that he couldn't possibly murder Thomas Dunn on account of the fact that Grace, Emma and I (not to mention most of the X-chromosomed population of Hogwarts, and perhaps even a few Y-chromosomed creatures as well), all lusted illegally after the gorgeous minor, because, you know, this was Potter. However, I could hardly allow him to go off and mentally and/or physically _harm_ darling Thomas (which, even though it was just ketchup, Potter looked like he wanted to do).

“Because!” I sputtered, searching for a decent reason. “Because…because you’re Head Boy, that's why! Head Boys don’t _murder_ small boys! It’s against the rules—and the _law_ for that matter!”

Potter gritted his teeth. “Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything.” And to my complete astonishment, he took a few steps towards the Hufflepuff table. 

Honestly! It was _ketchup!_

“Oh, sit down, you bloody oaf!” I snapped, latching onto James's arm and pulling him back towards the table. Potter glared at me, but grudgingly did as he was told. I scowled fiercely at him. “ _I’ll_ go get your ruddy ketchup, all right?"

Potter fell back into his seat with a thud, shooting me a dirty look, but nodding curtly nevertheless. I glared back at him. I mean, what right did he have to be giving _me_ the nasty looks? _I_ was the one who had to completely inconvenience myself, going to fetch some bleeding ketchup from the Hufflepuff table because my Head partner seemed to be considering committing felony. _I_ should be the one getting cross, not him.

But a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do, I suppose. I mean, I could hardly let the bloke go over there and harm poor Thomas—one of the very last things left in this world for us girls to smile over. So even though it was rather annoying, and even though my waffles were beginning to get cold after all of this mindless chatter, I shot James one last look before rising up from my seat and marching over to the Hufflepuff table, stopping when I'd reached the spot where Thomas Dunn and his fellow third-years were seated.

“Er, Thomas? Excuse me,” I said politely, tapping the boy lightly on the shoulder. The group’s laughter stopped as Thomas Dunn turned around in his seat to face me. “Can you please hand me back that ketchup there so that I can return it to the Gryffindor table?”

Thomas stared at me, seemingly baffled by my request, but a second later he seemed to get over it as he reached over and retrieved the ketchup bottle. He placed it in my outstretched hand.

“Here.” The look of curiosity still played at his face. “You’re Lily Evans, right?” he asked. “Head Girl?”

I nodded my head, finally finding some use for the ruddy title. Thomas nodded as well

“You’re even prettier up close,” he informed me simply, still nodding his head. I couldn’t help but smile at his comment, and perhaps turn a bit red in the cheeks as well, though I tried desperately not to. What a charming little boy—well, obviously delusional, but still charming. I’m very glad I didn’t allow Potter to kill him.

“Well, er, thank you, I suppose,” I muttered softly, still smiling. I turned to walk away, but at the last second, stopped and turned back to Thomas, taking a seat on the bench next to him.

“Listen,” I said, eyeing him carefully, feeling I owed it to the kid to at least warn him, on account of the fact that he's so delusionally charming and all. “Here’s a little advice from me to you, all right? See that bloke over there?” I motioned towards Potter.

“Sure,” Thomas answered. “Everyone knows James Potter.”

I nodded my head. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I have to tell you something very important.” I lifted the bottle of ketchup. “See this ketchup? If you happen to find that it’s absent from the Hufflepuff table, and present at the Gryffindor table, _please_ , in the name of all that is magical, do _not_ take it before Señor Psychopath over there has had a chance to use it, all right? He’s a bit mad about ketchup.”

Surprisingly, Thomas nodded understandingly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “He’s told me off a few times for it before. Says it’s _his_ ketchup.”

I smiled. “Yes, well, you’ll have to excuse him.” I leaned in closer to Thomas and his friends, as if to tell them a secret. “He’s got a bit of an ego problem,” I whispered. “Thinks he owns the world and all.”

The group snickered.

“We’re working on it, though,” I assured them with a snicker of my own. The group continued to laugh as I rose from the bench and began to walk away.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen!” I called over my shoulder. The group continued laughing, shouting good-bye’s as I made my way back to the Gryffindor table.

When I sat back down at my waffles, I handed the ketchup to a still glaring James and shared a small smile with a giggling Mary-Marley.

“What were those buffoons laughing at?” Potter growled, the sour look still etched on his face.

I rolled my eyes. "They were _laughing_ at that ridiculous puss on your face."

Potter's scowl didn’t cease. “Oh, ha ha,” he mocked. “You’re just _so_ funny, Evans.” I smiled cheekily at him, but rather than retaliating with more of his glares, Potter decided to—quite rudely and without any permission whatsoever, I might add—pick up a load of his ketchup-topped eggs and plop them unceremoniously onto my plate.

"Oy!" I cried, glancing down at my now ketchup and egg filled waffles. "Keep to your own bleeding plates!"

"Eat," Potter ordered. I glared furiously at him.

"No, I will most certainly not _eat_!" I cried, trying helplessly to detach the ketchup infested eggs from my waffles with my fork. It was disgusting and so not working. Ew. "Look what you've done!" I snapped, motioning towards my plate. "All the waffles are mixed with the ketchup, and the strawberries are mixed with...ugh! Disgusting!"

" _Eat_!" was the only response I got.

I was appalled. I glowered at Potter. I didn't want to _'eat'!_ I really _really_ didn't want to eat it. It was utterly disgusting. It made me want to vomit. But it seemed that regardless of the current state my stomach was in, I had very little choice in the matter of whether or not I was eating the bloody eggs, because James just kept motioning towards my plate in a rather hostile manner, shooting me a distinct 'Do-It-Or-I'll-Shove-It-In-Your-Mouth" look, that I knew was hardly just a threat. So what was I supposed to do? Let him shove a huge glob in my mouth? I had no choice. It was so unfair.

"It looks poisonous," I grumbled, hesitantly pushing a red and yellow blob onto my fork. Marley laughed, but I couldn't see how this was in any way comical. As the fork began moving closer and closer to my mouth, the situation became less and less humorous.

"Oh, just do it," James said impatiently, rolling his eyes. I didn't answer him, or even glare. All that escaped was a little moan of protest.

"It's really not that bad, Lily," Marley insisted, taking a bite of her own _clean_ eggs. I held back the impulse to glare at her. But I didn't, because that would've been a very childish thing to do. Almost as childless as holding a fork containing a dreadful looking substance close to your mouth, but not refusing to put it in. Head Girl's aren't childish. Especially 'even prettier up close' Head Girls. Keeping that thought in mind, I lifted the fork to my mouth, and shoved the messy blob inside.

" _Finally_!"

The stuff was messy and fluidly in my mouth, and it mushed around in there for a bit, filling my taste buds. Potter and Marley were looking expectantly at me, waiting for my reaction. I remained silent. After a few moments of mushing and tasting, I discovered that eggs and ketchup _wasn't_ poisonous and _wasn't_ the worst thing I've ever tasted. Granted, it's no ice cream sundae or bowl of rice, but it's hardly dog food either. Not something I'll be eating ever again, but not as disgusting as previously expected.

"You like it," James accused a few moments later, smiling cheekily.

I swallowed hard, rolling my eyes. "It's all right, I suppose."

And it really wasn't so bad, I wasn't lying. The sight of it next to my waffles no longer made me want to vomit, anyway. But regardless of that, I found that when I looked back down at my plate and saw the ketchup and the eggs mixed in with my waffles and strawberries, I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Really, truly uncomfortable. I'm not exactly sure why, but I did. I mean, I'd been casually conversing with Potter for quite a bit, and other than a few teasing glares, he hadn't been dreadful yet. So why feel uncomfortable now? I wasn't sure, but I did know that my appetite had disappeared along with my comfort. Sighing slightly, I pushed my plate towards James.

"Here," I said. "I'm not really hungry anymore."

James gave me a strange look. “I didn’t mean to…it’s just a bit of ketchup, Lily. You don’t have to leave.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I’m just not hungry anymore.”

What I really meant was that I wasn’t comfortable anymore, but I could hardly tell him that.

Potter nodded, still looking a bit uncertain. I don't think he believed me.

“Will you be joining us tomorrow?” Marley asked.

The question caught me off guard. Would I be joining them tomorrow? I didn't think I would be. I mean, Marley seemed nice enough, but I was supposed to be avoiding Potter. Even with my suavism still intact, a girl could only be exposed to someone she's trying to avoid so many times before she's not really avoiding him anymore. I don't think I'm _allowed_ to eat with them tomorrow. It's the rules of, er, nature, I think.

"Um, perhaps."

I could feel my face start to burn.

"Oh, good," Marley said, smiling up at me with a face so innocent, my heart began thumping. I wasn't sure why I was having such a hard time lying. I've never cracked under the pressure before.

"Er, right. I, um, have to go, though. See you...tomorrow."

Then I dashed as quickly as I could out of the Great Hall like the madwoman that I am.

___________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 32**

Ten.

Ten times in my last entry, I referred to him as 'James'.

This is bad. It’s really, _really_ bad.

What am I doing? What is _he_ doing? Oh, Merlin, I’m so confused! Where the bleeding hell did this all come from? Hasn’t he tortured me enough? I mean, one second, he’s the devil’s spawn who’s always hated me and always will, and the next, he’s this perfectly normal person, talking to me and making bets with me and acting like we’re...we're... I don’t know, _mates_ or something!

But we’re _not_. Mates, I mean. We’re not even close.

I don’t think.

And okay, yes, generally you pass notes with your mates, make bets with your mates, and eat breakfast with your mates, but that’s not the point. And so what if I’ve written about _him_ just as much as I’ve written about Grace and Emma—my _real_ mates—these past few days? Most of it is complaining anyway! And yes, I complain about Emma, who’s my mate, but that’s different. She’s not…well, she _is_ , but…HE’s _not_ …

Oh, bugger.

___________________

**Later Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 33**

I will NOT be mates with James Potter.

I will NOT be mates with James Potter.

I will NOT be mates with JAMES POTTER.

I WILL NOT BE MATES WITH JAMES POTTER!

___________________

**Later Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 33**

I’ll just stick to the plan—Plan: Hideout. I will continue to hide out in my dormitory, completely isolated from the outside world, which INCLUDES JAMES POTTER. I will not fall for his stupid 'nice' tricks again. I can't. I won’t. In fact, I won’t even give myself the _chance_ to, because he has now been proclaimed the equivalent of The Plague, and I must avoid The Plague like…well, like the plague. Or else I will die.

Literally.

___________________

**Still Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 33**

Homework Report: _10:35 A.M._

_Charms Essay_

**Status:** Halfway done

_Transfiguration Questions_

**Status:** Psh. As if.

_Divination Predictions_

**Status:** Just one more tale of fatal predicaments and I'm through

_DADA Essay_

**Status:** To be completed

A busy life I lead.

___________________

**Still Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 35**

**Observation #35)** [10:43] _Emmeline arises. She shuffles around the room, paying no heed to me (though, in all fairness, three sides of my bed were covered by my bed hangings), and swiftly leaves the dormitory a few minutes later. Brilliant Observer observes that this may be to dash off for a dirty rendezvous with Mr. Fulton Mac._

**Observation #36)** [11:22] _Grace mumbles Quidditch references in her sleep. You know, like “Hit it!” or “Faster!” or “Use your broom!”. Incidentally, all these mad mumbles can very well be taken as extreme sexual innuendo, which Brilliant Observers tend to find rather hilarious._

**Observation #37)** [12:03] _Alcohol is not something to toy with. This observation is proven when both Elisabeth and Carrie took permanent residence over in the loo, moaning and groaning rather ferociously, as they gagged up the pervious night’s Firewhiskey supply._

___________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 38**

Homework Report: _3:52 P.M._

_Charms Essay_

**Status:** Completed.

_Transfiguration Questions_

**Status:** They make no more sense now then they did a few hours ago.

_Divination Predictions_

**Status:** I’ve died at least three times this week. I have to learn to be more creative.

_DADA Essay_

**Status:** Almost finished.

___________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 39**

Oh, bugger, I’m starved. I can’t go down to the Great Hall, though. Perhaps I have some sort of sweets in here…

___________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 39**

I've contemplated whether or not to go down to dinner or continue on with Plan: Hideout. I'm bleeding starving, but I don't think I'm quite prepared to face the outside world just yet. I seem to still be rather vulnerable to trickery. I have to toughen myself up with seclusion. It's the only way.

So in the end, I decided to stick it out, even though I’ve been living off of nothing but Sugar Quills and Chocolate Frogs all day and am positively craving some actual food. I just don’t think I can risk it. For one, I’ll catch The Plague, and then die, and for another, I think I did something to tick Emma off even further, because I do believe she launched a shoe at me just before, though I can't be entirely certain, because my bed hangings were closed and I couldn't really see. I did, however, catch a glimpse of her dashing from the room. Therefore, you see, I can’t leave. Even though I’m starving.

I'm not sure which is more pathetic: me or my plan.

___________________

**Late, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 5**

**Total Observations: 40**

I am now going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now with what I'm sure must be the emptiest stomach in all of England.

I hate James Potter.

___________________

**Sunday, September 21, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 6**

**Total Observations: 42**

I’ve once again woken up early this morning. Unlike yesterday though, I can't go sneak down to the Great Hall this time, even though my stomach is growling so fiercely, I think I might chemically combust if I don’t eat something soon. But I can’t. I’ll just have to sit here in this godforsaken bed, dreaming about food until someone wakes up and I can con them into bringing me some food.

This is going to be a long morning, I can tell.

___________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 6**

**Total Observations: 42**

After lying in my bed for what seemed to be forever, listening to the ritual rumbling of my stomach, trying anything and everything I could to take my mind off of it, Grace finally woke up and I was able to persuade her to go sneak me some food from the Great Hall.

"Why don't you just get your own lazy arse up and get it?" Grace grumbled, tiredly pulling on her trainers. I bit my lip nervously. Should I tell her? She was already cross with me for not telling her about what was going on with Plague the other day...

"I'm not feeling well."

The lie fell out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"What's wrong?" Grace asked

"I think I ate something bitter," I explained quickly. "Poisoned eggs."

Grace cocked her eyebrow. "Since when do you eat eggs? Abandoning your waffle-ways, then?"

I sighed miserably.

Um, no. The Plague forced me to.

"It was a one-time thing," I told her flatly. From my bed, my stomach let out another large grumble. I shot Grace a desperate look. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"You are getting loonier everyday, Evans," she said, throwing me a look before grabbing her sweater and leaving the dormitory.

Trust me, Gracie dear, no one knows that more than I.

___________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 6**

**Total Observations: 43**

_Observation #43) Even after sleeping and/or eating, Transfiguration homework does_ not _get easier. If anything, it gets harder._

I hate homework. I hate McGonagall. I hate the whole concept of Transfiguration and everything it entails.

Stupid bleeding questions...

___________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 6**

**Total Observations: 44**

_Observation #44) Even after completing all the rest of your homework, Transfiguration homework does_ not _get easier. If anything, it gets harder._

___________________

**Later Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 6**

**Total Observations: 44**

It is now nearly eight o'clock and my Transfiguration assignment is still not complete.

I am now officially starting to panic.

If I don't get this done, McGonagall will murder me— _I_ will murder me. I don't understand why I'm having so much difficulty with all this. It's honestly not that hard. I mean, I can decipher thousand-year-old runes with the love of my life sitting two seats ahead of me, but I can't seem to answer a few measly Transfiguration questions with the aid of an all-telling textbook?

It seems as if I can't

Grace is in detention, so _she_ can't help me.

Emmeline's not talking to me, so _she_ can't help me.

My tutor is the epitome of the Plague, so _he_ can't help me.

Just what the bloody hell is a girl supposed to do?

**Author's Notes:** I had to cut this chapter short because for some reason or another, it's getting cut-off prematurely. I'll try to fix it tomorrow, but if I still can't, I suppose I'll just have to post the rest in the next chapter. I'm sorry for all the craziness for those of you who saw this chapter when it was cut off. ;)


	9. September 22nd: Mates, Dates and Wrong Impressions

**Author’s Notes:** Thanks for this chapter go out to Megan, the original beta, and Dina, who fancies herself something she isn’t but still caught some spelling mistakes. And of course, to all of you for being so patient with me. You all should be canonized for not murdering me yet. I’m completely unreliable. So, chapter nine. Intense stuff here. A whole lot of drama. Good times. ^_^ I hope you enjoy  —Bee

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**P.S.:** The bit of chapter eight that was cut off at the end of the last posted chapter is in here as well. For anyone interested, chapter nine actually officially begins on Monday, September 22nd. ;)

 

 

**(-*-)**  
“Instead of studying for finals, what about just going to the Bahamas and catching some rays? Maybe you’ll flunk, but you might have flunked anyway; that’s my point.”�   
—Jack Handey  
 **(-*-)**

 

___________________

**Late, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 6**   
**Total Observations: 44**

****

            I decided that a change of scenery was the only thing that was going to set my Transfiguration-motor running. After all, I'd been exiled in my room all weekend. This extreme brain-block I seemed to be having had to be the result of staring at the same wall for forty-eight consecutive hours. I do believe that such a thing would drive any person a bit mad.

 

            So throwing aside all risk, all danger, and Plan: Hideout, I concluded that a nice, quick trip to the Common Room would be just the ticket to triggering my intelligence back. I promptly gathering together my incomplete assignment and textbook and began my trek downstairs for the first time in what seemed like centuries.

 

            To be honest, as I continued climbing down the stairs, watching the Common Room slowly come into view, I expected something to be different. I don't know what, but it was just this feeling that somehow during my two day absence, someone or something had changed. But nothing had. Changed, I mean. The scarlet couches were still in place, the wooden tables in their spots, the curious first-years hiding in the corner, the confident sixth-years lounging before the fire...It looked exactly the same. Everyone was exactly the same. It seemed almost odd.

            I picked a spot at an unoccupied couch near the fire, but not so close that I'd have to indulge in meaningless conversation with the sixth-years gathered there. The spot also allowed a perfect view of the room for a more thorough investigation. Something had to be different. I could feel it.

            I started first with the couches, looking around to see who resided on them. The sixth-years took over a majority, of course, lounging around and talking amicably. I spotted Marley among their number, and smiled and waved as she caught my eye. A few third-years sat on the other couch, playing a card game, though not Exploding Snap, which is the only Wizarding card game I know of. Next, I moved onto the floor, where a few girls who I suppose were first or second-years were studying out of a rather large textbook. They seemed completely consumed with the work, and I only hoped that I would be the same soon. My eyes moved over to the tables next. At the first one sat Chris Lynch and a younger blonde girl, playing a quiet game of chess. At the second was Sirius, Remus and Peter. Their heads were close together and they were huddling over something on the table. I watched them curiously for a few minutes, wondering what madness they were up to now, until I suddenly realised that one of them was missing. Plague wasn’t huddled with them. I bit my lip curiously, wondering why he was MIA. Where could he be?

            That’s when I saw him. 

            He was seated at the next table over. Studying.

            Yeah, _studying._

            I checked the urge to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. The alarms inside my head were going off at a increasingly loud rate–something was up. It had to be. I had never _ever,_ in the seven years that I've known him, seen James Potter study. Never. He just doesn't do it. I don’t know why, he just doesn't. And yet there he was, quietly turning the pages of a book, steadily reading and occasionally jotting something down on a piece of parchment next to his elbow. And he was doing all this nevertheless, while his mates were blatantly planning a bucket load of mischief a few measly feet away from him. It seemed so out of character, I was a bit thrown off. I thought that perhaps he wasn’t studying. Maybe he was actually looking through dirty magazines and writing down interesting facts about his favourite models or something. I craned my neck a bit higher, trying to catch a closer glance at what he was doing without being so completely conspicuous about it. I couldn’t see anything.

            Low and behold, I found that something _had_ changed. It just wasn’t what I’d expected.

            After watching Potter carefully for a few more moments, I turned back to my own studies, determined to ignore those blaring alarms in my head that were screaming for me to find out just what was going on with the enigma that is James Plague Potter. I knew I couldn't deal with all of that now. I had a Transfiguration assignment to complete.

            I opened my textbook and looked to the first question of my assignment:

_Explain the results of a left-flick hand motion when transforming animals. Explain a circular hand motion._

            Ugh.

            A left-flick hand motion? That…well, it…er…does something?

            And so does a circular?

            What an answer, Genius Evans. While you’re at it, find a cure for cancer as well, all right?

            Reading over the next few questions for what seemed like the billionth time that night, I came up with an equally pathetic answer for each. I looked through the textbook, but couldn’t seem to find enough information to help me, or perhaps I just couldn't piece together what I was reading. I glanced through my hastily written notes from the past few classes. 

            Nothing. Nada.

            I tried not to groan out loud as I went through half the questions and still failed to come up with any answers. It wasn't my location; it was me. The thought depressed me immensely. I sighed to myself, looking away from my textbook with a scowl. Instantly, almost as if being pulled by some magnetic force, I found my eyes straying back over towards the Head Boy. Just to check on him, you see. You know, to see if he was still studying and all. 

            He was. 

            Or reading dirty magazines. I still wasn't entirely certain if he wasn't doing that. However, if he was doing that, I imagine he wouldn’t have had such a quizzical look on his face. Unless of course he was studying the female anatomy, but, you know, ew.

            He looked so involved, so consumed by the work, just like the girls I'd seen on the floor had been before. I wondered if he was naturally so diligent in all things, or just in whatever he was currently doing. And then I began wondering if perhaps he could afford to be so consumed because he had nothing more to complete. And if he had nothing more to complete, that would have to mean that he'd finished his Transfiguration assignment, would it not? And if he had, as I believed, indeed finished his assignment, I began to wonder just what Mr. Plague would do if I innocently sauntered up to him and asked him for help with mine. My first thought was that he would laugh me off and tell me how pathetic I was. My second–and surprisingly more dominate–thought, however, was that he would pull out that chair next to him, tell me to sit down, and would then help me with it just as diligently as he was working right now. And the more I thought about it, the more my second idea started making sense to me. I mean, he was, after all, my tutor. It was his job to help me with things like this. So it wouldn’t be stupid or silly of me to just go up to him and ask him for help, now would it? No, I don’t think it would.

            And before I knew it–or gave my brain another chance to second-guess my mad plan–I found myself quietly rising from my seat, books in hand, slowly making my way to James’s table.

            I stood silently behind him, watching as his quill moved quickly along one of the various pieces of parchment spread around the table. He didn’t notice me.

            “Hello,”� I spoke up suddenly, in a voice slightly louder than I'd intended. Potter jumped at the sound of my voice, whipping his head around to face me. His surprise was apparent, and I bit my lip nervously.

            “Lily!”� he said, his eyebrows furrowing. “I…erm…yeah, hi.”�

            He watched me carefully, obviously wondering just what I was doing, standing at his table, engaging him in conversation. I was beginning to wonder the same thing myself.

            “I have a question for you,”� I told him quietly, my stomach rolling uneasily. Standing there, my idea didn’t seem so grand anymore.

            “Yes?”� he prodded.

            I continued nibbling nervously on my lip. I didn't want to go on. What would he say if I just turned on my heel and strode away? Oh, Merlin, I couldn't do that. I reminded myself of my incomplete assignment, of the fact that James was my tutor, and of his diligence. I forced myself to go on.

            “I…well, I was just thinking–because you’re my tutor and everything, and it’s your job and such–that…well, that when these stupid Transfiguration questions don’t make any sense to me at all, it’s sort of my obligation to go to you, isn't it? Because you're my tutor, and that's your job. And if I didn't come to you, you wouldn’t really be my tutor because you wouldn't be helping me–not that you absolutely need to or anything! I just thought that you probably should and all because...well, because you're my tutor and…oh, bugger...”� I trailed away, blushing furiously at my ridiculous rambling. I was fairly certain that had the ceiling opened up and from a cloud kept high in the air, a lightning bolt chose that precise moment to strike me, I wouldn't have been that upset about it.

            Potter’s eyes shined with obvious amusement, and a small smile played at his lips. I waited for him to mock me; to openly laugh in my face about my ridiculousness and my stupidity. But he didn't. He didn't at all. Instead he shot me that same small smile and gently asked, “Is that your way of asking me for help, Lily?”�

            I didn't know what to say. Was this a trap? Would I regret answering yes in a few minutes? There was no way for me to know.

            “If it was, what would you say?”� I countered, evading answering.

            James continued watching me carefully, his eyes scanning over my face in a way that made me want to dash from the room as quickly as possible. I could feel my face heat up again in discomfort. Why was he _looking_ at me like that?

            “I would say,”� he began, his voice blasé, “that you should take a seat.”� He nodded his head towards the chair next to him. My heart quit thumping so hard in my chest. I quietly let out a breath I hadn’t been aware I’d been holding in. He’d said yes. The bleeding assignment would be done. I was so relieved, I could have sang. Not caring that I was now completely humbling myself in front of him, I sat down in the designated place, placing my books gently in front of me. Potter marked the page he'd been on in his rather large book (not a dirty magazine), and shifted his papers around.

            “If you’re in the middle of something, you don’t have to help me, of course,”� I rambled on, glancing over at his many pages of notes, which gave off the appearance of being rather important. “I could wait until Grace gets back, or I could–“

            “Don’t worry about it,”� he insisted, waving off my protests.

            “What were you doing–if you don’t mind me asking, that is?”�

            “It’s this Arithmancy workspread,”� James answered casually, shrugging his shoulders. He brought over his notes to show me. “Professor Vector needs to get it done for some French scholar, and she asked me to help her with it.”�

            I glanced down at the numbers and complicated formulas, then at the large book he’d been using. Both looked completely foreign, and utterly intimidating. “It looks rather difficult,”� I commented, tracing his messy scrawl with my finger.

            “Some of it is,”� James confirmed, his voice still nonchalant. “Professor Vector says even she had trouble with some of it, so I’m not worried if a few of them make me work. I like the challenge.”�

            His mention of Professor Vector’s troubles intrigued me. “Wait a second,”� I said, eyeing him skeptically. “You mean you’re doing something on a professor’s level?”�

            James shrugged again. “I guess I just have a knack for it. It’s nothing special.”�

_I guess I just have a knack for it. It’s nothing special._

            My head spun at his words. The James Potter I knew would never shrug off a compliment. The James Potter I knew was a cocky bastard who thought himself God. The James Potter I knew would’ve bragged and boasted about his great skills and talents. Who was this imposter? Where was the cocky bastard I knew? Locked in a closet? Hidden in the dungeons? At the bottom of the Great Lake?

            It was mad. Brilliantly and ridiculously mad. Not only was he now acting nice again, but he was also no longer a bullying show-off. Madness. Pure and unadulterated madness.

            “No," I found my self saying, shaking my head furiously as I looked over the complicated formulas again. "That’s…that's amazing, Potter. Really. Arithmancy is hard, and for you to be doing it on _Professor Vector's_ level…you must have more than a knack for it.”�

            James simply just shrugged again.

            “Well, enough of this boring stuff,”� he said, clearing his throat. “Now, what was it that you needed help on?”�

            I shoved the blank question sheet at him. He looked at it quizzically.

            “All of them?”� he asked me.

            “All of them,”� I answered with a wince.

            He nodded his head, giving me a small smile. “You're one odd bird, Evans.”�

            Evans. He hadn’t called me Lily. It had always bothered me before, but now somehow the surname now felt wrong. Perhaps it was because of the ten times 'James' mistake. Maybe it was because I'd gotten use to him calling me Lily. I didn't know. I didn't particularly want to know.

            “I’m sorry,”� I muttered, blushing again. I cursed my ridiculous redheaded genes.

            “For what?”�

            “For being stupid,”� I answered flatly, motioning towards the empty question sheet. James laughed.

            “You’re not stupid,”� he told me. “Some people just don’t get things.”�

            “But I _always_ get things,”� I insisted. “Transfiguration is the only stupid thing that gives me trouble, and I have no idea why.”�

            “Everyone has their weaknesses,”� he told me kindly. I rolled my eyes.

            “Not you,”� I muttered without thinking. “You’re good at everything.”�

            Alas, my lovely traitor-of-a-mouth had struck again. I felt like the biggest idiot in the entire world. Think I complimented the bloke enough?

            “Trust me,”� he answered quietly, in the strangest voice. “I’ve got my weaknesses as well.”�

            The odd sound in his voice made me look up at him, even in my discomfort. When I did I was startled to find a small hint of red playing at his cheeks. Could it be true? Had me and my ridiculous compliments made _the_ James Potter blush? Was that even possible?

            “Erm, right,”� Potter said, clearing his throat again, the red still in his cheeks. “Let’s get started on this thing, shall we?”�

            And for the next hour or so, that’s what we did.

            He was diligent, all right, that was for sure. It was actually quite funny, you know, because instead of just giving me the answers like everyone else did, Potter actually tried to explain things to me in a true tutor fashion–not that I understood anything, of course, and I told him so, but he said he didn’t care. He just kept on explaining until I finally lied and told him I understood it. It was nice of him, I suppose, even if it was a complete lost cause.

            We were done by about nine, and the Common Room had started to clear of the younger students as they trudged up to bed. However, none of that went noticed by me, as I was having too much fun talking with James to notice. He was being so nice, sort of like before the whole ‘green blob’ incident, and he just had a way of saying things that made you listen to him. It was rather odd, sitting there, talking to him as if we were some sort of…mates or something.

            But we’re still not. Mates, I mean. Even if I like talking to him. I like talking to the owl-post clerk in Hogsmeade too, but we’re not mates. And who knows how long this whole thing is going to last for anyway? I firmly believe that James Potter can only be nice to me for so long.

            “Oh, bugger!”� Potter swore, glancing at the clock as it chimed ten. It took me by surprise at how late it was. “I better get upstairs. I still have a Muggle Studies essay to scrap up.”�

            I nodded, surprised to find that I was suddenly extremely tired.

            “Thank you for helping me,”� I said, standing up and starting to gather my things together.

            “It’s my job,”� James insisted with a smirk, mimicking what I'd rambled on about before. “As your tutor and all.”�

            “Yeah, yeah,”� I laughed, rolling my eyes.

            We reached the place where the boys’ dormitory split from the girls’ and stopped. I suddenly felt extremely awkward standing there. James ran his hand uneasily through his hair, and I bit my lip. Nasty habits, both of them.

            “Yes, well, thank you again,”� I mumbled, turning to face the staircase. “Goodnight, James.”�

            _James_.

            I had called him James.

            Out loud.

            My gaze riveted back to his the second the name flew out of my mouth. I swear I had never seen James Potter look so shocked in all my life. I was sure death would be far too merciful right about then. What was wrong with me? What was I doing?

            “’Night, Lily,”� he answered quietly a few moments later.

            And before either or us could do or say anything else completely stupid, I dashed up the stairs and into my dormitory.

            I am so _so_ stupid.

___________________

**Extremely Late, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 6 (possibly 7?)**   
**Total Observations: 44**

****

            After lying in this godforsaken bed for hours upon hours and tearing the entire night and all its conversations and actions into tiny bits and pieces, analyzing them thoroughly and completely, I have come to a rather comforting conclusion:

            It was okay that I called him James. 

            Really, it was. Because you know what? For right now, today, he's nice. He’s nice and he’s fun to talk to. People who are nice and fun to talk to deserve to be called by their first names, even if I’ve never done so before, even if it seems mad.

            Moreover, if this whole niceness thing is just yet another prank on his part, I’ve decided that that’s all right too, because then at least I’ll know for the last and final time that he will never grow up. I’ll know that all other future attempts to be 'nice' after this are all in vain. I’ll know for sure.

            And in the mean time, while I have him being nice and while I'm calling him James, he can do my Transfiguration assignments for me.

            We won’t be mates, but we won’t be enemies either.

            I no longer see any downside to this situation. I don't think there really is one.

            Hurrah!

****

___________________

**Monday, September 22nd, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 45**

****

Just how exactly does one go about making nice with former enemies?

 

I mean, I reckon that before I go rushing down to breakfast–where he'll surely be–I should at _least_ figure out how I'm supposed to be acting towards him now that I've decided not to hate him anymore, right? Him being James, I mean. James formerly known as Potter. James who I'm allowed to be nice to now. And also call James.

 

So what do I do?

 

___________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 46**

****

I suppose I'll just say "hello" or something. You know, friendly, but not _too_ friendly. Like not _mately_ -friendly. Because James Potter is _not_ my mate. We're just... friendly. Yes. That's it.

 

So I'll be _friendly_.

 

___________________

**Later, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 47**

****

When I got down to the Great Hall, Marley was sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, eating her breakfast and reading _The Prophet_.

 

"Oh, hello, Lily!" she greeted me with a smile, looking up from her paper. "I didn't think you were coming. We missed you yesterday."

 

I smiled back at her, feeling a bit guilty for leading her on as I had the other morning–you know, by telling her that there was a chance I'd be coming to breakfast, when there obviously wasn't. It was really rather rude of me.

 

"I wasn't feeling very well," I lied, taking my seat across from her. Marley nodded understandingly and then turned back to reading her paper.

 

With those pleasantries over, I quietly settled into my seat and began to fill my plate. Loading on my usual waffles, the absence of a certain someone didn't go unnoticed by me. Pouring myself a glass of pumpkin juice, I secretly began scanning the Great Hall, searching for any sign of a familiar, messy-haired Head Boy. James didn't seem to be there yet, which struck me as a bit odd. As I began to eat my waffles, I silently kept an eye out for him, waiting for him to appear so I could officially try out my new 'friendly' routine. What a waste of time the whole friendly plan would be if he decided not to show. I would've been worrying relentlessly for no reason whatsoever. How unfair is that?

 

Taking another quick glance at Marley, something struck my attention out of the corner of my eye. For the first time, I suddenly noticed the rather conspicuously full plate residing beside her. 

 

A plate containing eggs. 

 

Eggs, with _ketchup._

 

Ah-ha.

 

"Where's James?" I asked, nodding my head towards the plate, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible. Marley looked up at me, then down at the plate beside hers.

 

"Oh, he dashed off a few minutes ago.”� She took a bite of her toast, still looking at me as she noisily turned her newspaper to the next page. "Said he had a Muggle Studies essay to finish and forgot his textbook." She gave me a small smile and rolled her eyes. "Boys," she muttered.

 

I smiled back and nodded. Yes, boys. But unbeknownst to Marley, this _particular_ boy probably wouldn't have done that particularly boyish thing–leaving his assignment for the last minute, I mean–if _I_ hadn't kept this particular boy up until half-past ten last night helping me with my Transfiguration assignment because I'm stupid (and I reckon now a bit selfish as well). She wasn't aware that it wasn't really _his_ fault he was doing such a boy thing, but _mine_.

 

"Oh," I answered weakly, pushing my waffles around on my own plate. I bit my lip uncertainty. "So he'll be back, then?"

 

Marley shrugged her shoulders, her face once again disappearing behind the _Prophet_. "I suppose."

 

"Oh," I mumbled again. "Good. Very good."

 

I knew I must have sounded like a complete fool.

 

"Why? Would you miss me, Lily?"

 

My head whipped around at the amused voice that chimed from behind me. With a boyish grin plastered on his face and a large textbook being held securely under his arm, James regarded me with obvious laughter playing in his eyes.

 

"I–er...what?" I sputtered, blushing furiously for having been caught looking for him. That sort of thing is does not fit in with the Friendly Plan. In fact, that sort of thing most definitely fits in the OVERLY friendly category, or perhaps even bordering in on the _stalkerish_ category. Which I'm neither. Overly friendly or a stalker, I mean.

 

James threw me a knowing grin as he slid into the seat next to mine. He reached over and pulled his full plate to his new location and dropped his textbook down onto the table with a loud _thunk_ _._

 

"Admit it, Evans," he teased, still grinning like a mischievous seven-year-old. "Your breakfast just wouldn't be complete without me. You'd miss me _terribly_ if I wasn't here."

 

His haughty arrogance that I was so used to and usually so repulsed by didn't seem so bad as he sat there with that innocent grin of his, watching me closely, his amusement apparent. I fought to keep the smile off my face, then remembered my decision last night and gently let it escape. Friendly people are allowed to smile when other people tease them. I was _allowed_ to be amused when he did things like that now. The concept seemed almost odd, but at the same time, slightly comforting.

 

"Oh, yes,”� I countered sarcastically, rolling my eyes and jabbing my fork into my waffles. “I'm sure I would be just _desolate_ without you." 

 

James grinned cheekily, before adding in a smug tone, "I knew it." Then he unceremoniously shoved a bunch of red-filled eggs into his mouth. I pretended to gag into my plate and he laughed again.

 

See? This being friendly stuff is _such_ a piece of cake.

 

We continued chatting and eating a little while longer (me being totally friendly of course, and not at all mean and _un_ friendly as I had been, say, a few days ago, or overly-friendly and stalkerish as I had been, say, a few minutes ago) when James suddenly remembered his forgotten Muggle Studies essay, and reached down to pull a clean piece of parchment out of his bag.

 

"What's it on?" I asked, pulling his open textbook over to me as he searched through his bag for a spare quill. The top of the page read: _The Automobile._

 

"Er, cars, I think." His voice was slightly muffled as he continued rummaging through his bag for a quill. "Where in the bloody hell–”�

 

"Here," I said, grabbing a quill out of my own bag and handing it to him. He bent up from his crouched position, glanced at the proffered quill and then reached out his hand and took it from me.

 

"Thanks," he said with a smile. I smiled back and nodded, truly proud of myself for being so very friendly. As James began readying his writing implements, I flipped curiously through the pages of his textbook. Being Muggleborn, it's always so strange to read up on everyday objects like a microwave and a light bulb from a perspective that makes them seem like they're some sort of new and baffling technology. But that's what they are, I guess. To magical folk, I mean. But it's still weird.

 

"Hey, Lily?"

 

"Hm?" I answered, still flipping through the pages.

 

"Can I have my textbook back now?”�

 

“Oh!" My face burned red for the second time that morning as I slide the textbook back over to him. "Sorry.”�

 

He shrugged off my apology with a smile, and then proceeded to write his essay.

 

Operation Friendly: Complete. 

___________________

**Even Later, Double Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 47**

****

For some strange reason or another, June Mackey–resident 5th-year Gryffindor prefect, and total and complete slag–has suddenly decided she needs to talk to me. I don't know what about, and I don't know why, but I know she does. And the trouble is, she _knows_ I know she does. I mean, how could I _not_ know? I think the whole bloody _school_ knows at this point, because as it turns out, she now seems to be following me around, and she’s not exactly the quietest of followers. Like all of a sudden, she's waltzing down the Charms corridor, trying to get my attention.

 

"Hey, Evans!" 

 

I cringed...and pretended not to hear her.

 

"Evans!"

 

Ducked into nearest doorway, which happened to be Professor Flitwick's office. I then proceeded to ask Flitwick about our weekend assignment, so that it would appear that I was momentarily unattainable to any certain slaggish 5th-years who might want to talk to me. Over Flitwick’s shoulder, I saw June stick her head into the office. Then, thankfully, she left. My brilliant plan had worked.

 

I, however, had to then listen to Flitwick jabber on about the weekend assignment, which I could have completed with my eyes shut and my hands tied behind my back.

 

But in the end, I suppose it was worth it.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Lunch in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 48**

****

Despite my elaborate attempts to avoid such an event, June cleverly ambushed me on my way out of Charms, practically pouncing on me the second I exited the classroom. There was absolutely no escaping her this time.

 

"Evans!" she cried, jumping in front of me as soon as I'd cleared through the doorway, Grace following closely behind. There was a large, eager smile plastered on her face. "I need to talk to you."

 

Uh, yeah, I sort of figured that one, Slaggy.

 

"Cool your heels there, Mackey," Grace laughed, throwing the younger girl an amused look and causally stepping in front of me, blocking June off from me with her body.

 

June rolled her eyes and gave Grace an impatient stare. "This is _important_ , Reynolds. _Move_."

 

Grace let out a half-snort/half-laugh. "I think I'll leave this one to you, Headie," she told me with a smirk. I glared at her as I realised she meant she was abandoning me. "See you at lunch!" she called with a wave, and with one last snort at the fidgeting June, strode on down the corridor, leaving me alone.

 

Alone.

 

With Slaggy.

 

"What do you want, June?" I asked impatiently, more than a bit ticked off that Grace had abandoned me in such a way. Some loyal mate she is. Psh.

 

"I need your help, Evans," June told me seriously, still fidgeting in her spot. I arched an eyebrow at her.

 

"Help?" I asked, instantly suspicious. "What sort of help?"

 

June let out a long, suffering sigh, as if my simple question had somehow suddenly made this unnecessarily difficult for her, even though it hadn't.

 

"It's really quite simple," she told me, flicking her hair casually behind her shoulder. I waited for her to continue. She didn't.

 

"And?" I prodded.

 

She sighed again, once more acting if _I_ was the one who was prolonging this dreadful conversation. " _And_ ," she repeated, rolling her eyes. "I need your help."

 

I had to hold myself back from strangling the stupid brat.

 

"Get to the point, June or I'm leaving," I snapped, letting my annoyance with her be known. When she just rolled her eyes again, I started to walk off.

 

"Wait! Stop!" she cried, grabbing my wrist and dragging back to where we were standing. Glowering at her, I threw her a look that clearly stated I wasn't in the mood.

 

"Either say your bit or let me go," I told her curtly, finally just fed up with the whole thing. 

 

Plus, I was really hungry.

 

"Fine," she bit back, glaring at me. "I...I..."

 

"June–"

 

"I need you to switch patrols with me!"

 

I stopped.

 

Er, what?

 

"What did you say?" I asked, narrowing my eyes skeptically.

 

"I _said_ ," she repeated, her voice not losing its biting edge, "that I need you to switch patrols with me. Mine's Thursday. Yours is next week. Switch with me."

 

That was it. It wasn't, 'I need you to do my essay', or 'I need you to brew me a Contraceptive Potion,' or even, 'I need you to help me murder this one-or-another'. Just 'I need you to switch with me'. Now, I'm not stupid–I mean, I _did_ have to work very hard to get my end-of-the-month round patrol spots and all, considering everyone knows that they are the best patrol days (I'm not sure why, but those are the days you just seem to be able to get out of it earlier. You know, like instead of patrolling until 12, you can get out at 11. Things like that)–but I hardly doubt that June Mackey would be humbling herself to me simply to get out of an hour of walking around the castle. It didn't make any sense.

 

"Why?" I asked warily.

 

June glared at me harder. "Does it matter?" she snapped.

 

I nodded my head. "No explanation, no switch," I told her firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and I thought that perhaps she was going to turn on her heel and stalk away right then and there. Instead, she turned her head to the side and mumbled something into her shoulder.

 

"Speak up," I ordered, trying to get her back into eye contact. She tossed her head back to face me and glared some more. I gave her an annoyed look and she sighed heavily.

 

"Fine!" she seethed, crossing her own arms across her chest. "I–I…do you know who you're partnered with?"

 

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head. I had rushed to the timetable, signed my name in two days near the end of the month, and then sprinted off. I honestly hadn't even checked who was doing rounds with me yet. It didn't really matter.

 

"Well, you're doing it with... _someone_ ," June stated, readjusting her crossed arms in discomfort. "I need to– _speak_ with this person."

 

I looked at the blonde disbelievingly. "Someone?”� I questioned doubtfully. "Speak? Don't tell me you're actually going to try and _seduce_ some poor, unsuspecting bloke while you do _rounds_!" 

 

The look on June's face told me that that was _exactly_ what she was intending to do.

 

" _Merlin_ , Mackey!" I groaned, not even bothering to keep the disgusted look off my face. "That's a new low! Even for you!"

 

"Oh, sod off, Evans!" June fumed. "It's not as if I'm going to rape anyone! He wants it just as much as I do!"

 

I couldn't really contradict her on that one. I mean, there are very few gentlemen who willingly resist June's indecent advances. But still...

 

"Who is it?" I asked.

 

June shook her head furiously. "That's for me to know, Evans."

 

"I'll find out eventually," I insisted, shrugging my shoulders.

 

"Well then we'll wait until then," she countered determinedly, her face scrunched up with obvious distaste for what she’d just revealed. I thought about pressing the issue, but then decided to drop it. I wanted this confrontation over with as soon as possible.

 

"So do we have a deal, then?"

 

She held her tanned, manicured hand out to me, and I glanced at her cautiously. Should I be doing this? I mean, the poor unsuspecting bloke...even if he _does_ want it...it's not fair...and I'll have to go on the extra hour...and the poor bloke...and the rounds…

 

June tapped her foot impatiently. "Come on, Evans. I don't have all day."

 

I bit my bottom lip uncertainly. "June...I'm really not–”�

 

"You'd be doing rounds with Diggory."

 

I froze, my heart stopping in my chest as I regarded the younger girl with dumbfounded amazement.

 

" _What?”�_ Icroaked out, unable to believe that she had just told me that for the reason I thought she had.

 

June smiled coyly at my reaction, fixing me with a smug stare. "I'm doing rounds with Amos Diggory on Thursday," she clarified, keeping her voice an innocent monotone, though I knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to hit my weak spot.

 

And she had.

 

And Merlin curse it all, the bloody slag knew it.

 

I didn't ask how she knew about Amos. I didn't even really care at that point. Forget about the morals of the unsuspecting bloke! Forget about June and her slaggish ways!

 

Almost without thinking, I stuck my hand into hers and shook.

 

"No,”� I said, my voice hard and determined. “ _I'm_ doing rounds with Amos Diggory on Thursday."

 

___________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 50**

****

Observation #50) Professor Abbott has either been completely slacking off or has unknowingly lost a rather important paper.

 

I passed Professor Abbott in the corridor just now, and surprisingly enough, she was _not_ glaring furiously at me. In fact, she didn't even acknowledge me. She just glanced my way, stared a bit with her usual coldness, then continued on down the corridor. She _saw_ me–I know she did–but she wasn't glaring more than she usually does. This leads me to believe either one of two things:

 

a) by some miraculous, unlikely burst of luck, Abbott hasn't yet read The Assignment, or

b) she’s read it, was absolutely appalled, and is now waiting until I have class tomorrow so that she can do something drastic (i.e.: humiliate me in front of the entire class)

 

Can she do that, though? Humiliate me publicly, I mean? Isn't that some sort of student abuse or something? Because I seriously doubt that she hasn't looked at The Assignment yet. She's one of those professors that always gets assignments back to you the next day. She's had all weekend, not to mention today, to grade papers. So she's totally read it. There's just no way she couldn't have.

 

Wait a minute. Unless…

 

What if it's lost?

 

What if, in the midst of all the chaos when everyone else was handing in _their_ papers, _mine_ was somehow accidentally knocked off the pile and onto the floor, never to be seen or heard from again? It's possible. I think it's happened before–not to me, of course, but it _has_ happened–so that could totally be it.

 

And you know what? Maybe I'm better off with it lost. I mean, I'll still be receiving the same failing grade anyway, so what does it matter? And then Abbott would never have to know that I had practically insulted her with my excuse-for-an-essay. And I wouldn't even ever have to pay James the ten galleons either, because I _did_ hand it in, it just happened to get lost.

 

Hm. Well. That worked out rather well, I think.

 

___________________

**Very Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 7**   
**Total Observations: 51**

****

Even though it's incredibly late, I'm incredibly tired, and both Elisabeth and Emily have chosen this particular moment to loudly pick out their outfits for the Hogsmeade trip (which is at least a month away, by the way), I find myself in a rather happy disposition. I mean, apart from the whole 'Emma is being a prat' thing, my life is in relatively nice order compared to the havoc it has recently been.

 

So, at least for tonight, I think I can rest easy.

 

I like that.

 

___________________

**Tuesday, September 23rd, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 8**   
**Total Observations: 51**

****

Neither James nor Marley are here this morning, and I have to say, it feels rather strange. 

 

I mean, yes, I've really only been eating with them this early for three days now, but it _feels_ longer than that, which is probably why it feels so odd now. And I’m a bit lonely as well. Because no one else really is up this early. Everyone else is sane, and are therefore still sleeping. Which, you know, good for them, but not so much for me. I just wish–

 

"Hullo, Lily. Do you mind if I sit with you today?"

 

Oh, me. What do we have here?

 

"Er, sure, if you'd like, Thomas," I answer with a smile. Perhaps I won't be so lonely after all. Thomas smiles back and takes the seat across from me.

 

But why is he over here when he could be sitting with his mates over at the Hufflepuff table? I ask him.

 

"They were being annoying wankers," Thomas has just informed me. I nod my head and tell him that my mates tend to be annoying wankers sometimes as well. He grins at this.

 

"Like James Potter and his ketchup?" he has just asked. I grin back and nod my head, not bothering to correct his assumption that James and I are mates. I think it'd be just a little bit too complicated to explain to little, adorable Thomas Dunn that James Potter isn't exactly my mate, but just a person I happen to be _friendly_ with. It far less complicated just to nod and continue looking at that gorgeous head of hair of his. Overall, not a bad way to spend a morning, I suppose.

 

Observation #51) I can tell this day is going to be a good one.

 

___________________

**A Bit Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 8**   
**Total Observations: 52**

****

Observation #52) I am totally and completely stupid.

 

Oh, bloody hell, I totally forgot what today was.

 

Potions day.

 

Meaning, Return of The Assignment Day.

 

Which means that even though this day has started so well, it will ultimately end up very very bad–because whether The Assignment has succeeded in losing itself or not, Professor Abbott is still going to kill me. I mean, even if it _is_ lost, Abbott's not going to know that. She’ll just think I that I didn’t bother to hand it in at all. Which is, you know, better than her thinking (or knowing, rather) that I had willingly (albeit, under the peer pressure of a 10-galleon bet, which to an avaricious person like myself, is something that can't be resisted) written a rather insulting letter to her, but still.

 

I just can't get a break, can I?

 

Oh, blast it all. Not even Thomas Dunn's beautiful head of hair can cheer me up now. 

 

Life is very sad indeed. 

 

___________________

**Later, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 8**   
**Total Observations: 52**

****

Why am I worried? Why am I going crazy _now_? I knew when I handed it in that Abbott was going to fail me–THAT was when I had a right to be going mad, but not now. I should be happy now, right? I should have some sort of feeling of accomplishment, shouldn't I? I fought the system! I should feel free and liberated!

 

Ugh. Then why do I just feel really sick?

 

Free and liberated my arse. Madwomen are obviously just not ALLOWED to feel free. It must be against the Madwomen Code or something.

 

I think I just may throw up.

 

Merlin, I hope it's lost.

 

___________________

**Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 8**   
**Total Observations: 53**

****

You know, I have always considered myself a rather good judge of character. Like, generally I'm usually pretty good at picking out the prat from the pack. In fact, I've always rather prided myself on my brilliant judge of character.

 

But now I'm not so sure.

I walked into Potions class, my mind, body and soul all _fully_ prepared for Abbott's _very_ sound and _very_ public verbal thrashing of me for completely insulting her teachings in my letter, or her _equally_ sound and public thrashing for not bothering to hand in The Assignment at all (because she isn't aware that my classmates lost it). But even though I was prepared, and even though I was supposed to feel content and liberated, my head and stomach were both throbbing by the time I made it to my seat. I mean really throbbing. Like, 'I-think-I'm-going-to-pass-out' throbbing. Which just wouldn't be good. At all.

 

"Merlin and Agrippa, Lily!" Grace groaned as she took her seat next me. "What is it with you and bloody Potions class? You always look as if you've just eaten something poisonous."

 

I barely registered Grace's comment as my head continued to pound. There was something I could use right about now. Poison. Some quick, painless and completely effective poison. Like the poison Romeo got from the poor apothecary in _Romeo and Juliet_. That stuff was good. Very effective.

 

"I'm fine," I muttered, slowly massaging my aching temples. A sound of disgust escaped from Grace.

 

"Oh, sod it, Lily," she scoffed, giving me a dirty look. "What is going on?"

 

I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it after a moment's thought. Did it even matter if I told her now? I mean, would it even make a difference? She'd probably just get mad that I didn't mention it to her before. Or insulted that I hadn't shown it to her. Or some equally as stupid emotion for some equally as stupid reason.

 

"It's nothing," I told her dishonestly. "Leave it alone. Don't worry about it."

 

But she didn't leave it alone. In fact, she started to press the issue even farther, bombarding me with even more questions.

 

"Why aren't you telling me?”� she demanded, her face conspicuously irritated. “ _What_ aren't you telling me? And why do you keep doing that? We've never kept secrets before, Lily." She looked rather annoyed. I didn't blame her. I think I'd be annoyed, too.

 

"Look," I started, the aching in my head slowly fading to a minor twinge, "it's...complicated. I'll tell you later."

 

Grace didn't seem to think this was any better then me keeping it from her entirely.

 

"I don't know what's up with you, Lily Christine Evans," she grumbled, glaring, "but you are driving me _mad_."

 

I sighed, letting my head drop dejectedly onto the desk, the coolness against my forehead soothing the pain a bit. The morning just seemed to be getting worse and worse and...

 

"All right there, Lily?"

 

And worse.

 

I heard Grace turn in her chair, but I didn't bother moving from my pain-lessening–albeit not exactly the most comfortable–position. 

 

I hate him. He's such a prat.

 

"Go away," I mumbled into the desk.

 

There was a light snort of laugh before I felt someone's hand gently swipe along my back in a comforting manner. I raised my head slightly from the desk. James was smiling down on me, his eyes holding that amused, knowing look. He leaned over slightly, moving so that his face was close to mine.

 

"Deep breaths, Slave," he whispered softly, his voice so quiet only I could hear him, his smile so wide and gleeful, I wanted to hit him.

 

Instead, I grabbed the nearest thing–a quill–and threw it at him.

 

I may be sick, and I may be going mad, and I may be only moments away from receiving my first failing grade–not to mention my first public thrashing–but I was NOT, in any WAY, SHAPE, or FORM, going to let James Potter think he won this stupid bet. No way, no how. Not after all this.

 

"You just wait, James Potter," I told him menacingly. "You're getting nothing from me."

 

James clutched at his chest in mock-distress. "Oh, Evans!" he cried with fake sincerity. "Tsk tsk tsk! Now is that how you treat your–"

 

Before he could make another comment about me being his slave, I grabbed the next nearest thing–another quill–and chucked it at him again. James laughed, even when the spare ink on the tip of the quill stained his pants. I grumbled at his amusement.

 

"Her what?"

 

My eyes riveted over to Grace, and I slowly sat up in my seat, the movement doing little to help my headache. She was looking at James and me with carefully slit eyes. It was then I really regretted not telling her about the stupid bet. She must have felt like such an idiot then, completely out of the loop while James and I bickered. 

 

James looked at Grace, her glares, and then at me. "You didn't tell her?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t say anything. Grace continued glaring.

 

"Tell me _what_?" she demanded forcefully, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

James ignored her. He was still looking at me. "About any of it?"

 

I shook my head again. I didn't know why it mattered to him. Me not telling Grace about the bet, I mean. It's not as if I don't ever keep secrets from her, because I do...I think. But this all happened so fast, so I really didn't have _time_ to tell her all about it. Even though I _did_ sort of have time this weekend...and this morning...and Friday morning...and Thursday night for that matter...

 

Oh, bugger it.

 

I looked towards Grace with the words of an apology on the tip of my tongue, but stopped when I caught the look on her face. Instead of looking angry and annoyed as I originally thought she would, she was looking hard at James, her expression very thoughtful, as if she was mentally putting together the pieces of a puzzle. I stared at her and then looked up at James. He was staring at Grace with the same confused expression I'm sure I was donning.

 

"Er, Grace? You all right there?" James slowly waved his hand in front of her face in an attempt to break her trance. Grace's gaze snapped over to me, but before she could say anything, Professor Abbott entered the classroom.

 

"Seats!" she snapped, striding purposely towards her desk, a large pile of parchment held securely under her arm. I forgot all about Grace and her odd expression as I spotted the pile. 

 

My stomach churned. 

 

Here it was.

 

"Black!" Abbott shot curtly. "I _said_ in your _seat_!"

 

I gulped. This wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. Professor Abbott _never_ yells at Sirius. Never. She yells at James and she yells at Remus and she yells at Peter, but she _never_ yells at Sirius. It's a known fact that he's a favourite of hers. The only other time I've ever heard her raise her voice to him was in 2nd-year, when he had purposely blown up his entire cauldron, succeeding in setting Penny O'Jean's robes on fire in the process. And even _then–_ when Penny had to spend two days in the Hospital Wing and later confided in us Gryffindor girls that her breasts would just never be the same–Professor Abbott later apologized to him in front of the _entire class_ , and the issue was soon forgotten. She had to be in only the most dreadful mood to snap at Sirius. There were quiet murmurs in the classroom as a shocked Sirius took his seat next to James. No one knew what could have put Abbott in this sort of mood.

 

Unfortunately, I did.

 

" _Quiet!"_ Abbott bellowed, her voice a bit less edgy as the class ceased their talking. She scanned the class slowly from left to right. I stared down at my desk, not able to make eye contact. I heard the quiet rustle of papers, and when I finally looked up, Abbott was holding up the pile of essays high above her head for everyone in the classroom to see. "These," she said, scanning the room once more, "were not at all what I expected of NEWT level Potions students. They were bleak, shortened and repetitive. If these excuses-for-essays were what you chose to write on your NEWT examinations, then I'm pleased to inform you all now that most of you will fail." Groans and sighs filled the room as Abbott dropped her outstretched arm and began straightening the pile of papers, readying them for returning. My head pounded so hard I had to count slowly to ten to try to get the nauseous feeling out of my system.

 

"Mine was a load of rubbish," Grace whispered to me, her voice light and unconcerned. She'd obviously forgotten about the odd scene with James just before, because she didn't seem cross. I nodded, but didn't respond because I was positive that if I opened my mouth, I would vomit right then and there, which, you know, ew.

 

It seemed as if Abbott passed out the papers in slow motion, walking around the classroom at a snail's pace, deliberately driving me mad. I watched as she sluggishly returned each paper to their respective owners and listened for the periodical groan of distress or sigh of relief (more the former than the latter) as she did so. When Abbott handed Grace hers (full of red corrections, a dreadful mark naturally, but Grace didn't care), she didn't acknowledge my presence. Not with a glare, not with an insult...not at all. It made me worry more than if she _had_ done something.

 

It seemed like forever when the pile had begun to dwindle and Abbott finally caught my eye, slowly making her way towards me from the opposite side of the room, where she had just handed a distressed Jervis Rennet back his paper. My heart froze in my chest and my breath quickened involuntarily, but I couldn't look away. Every second brought Abbott closer to me and another step closer to failing. She still wasn't glaring and she didn't look angry, but that was no consolation to me. My breath caught in my throat as she reached my desk and stood quietly in front of me, ever so slowly extracting the top piece of parchment– _my_ parchment–from her pile. I finally managed to rip my gaze from Abbott's and instantly stared down at the hard wood of the desk, telling myself that it was no use crying now, in front of everybody, when everything was said and done. 

 

One second I was staring at the desk, and the next I wasn't. 

 

Instead, I was left staring at my letter.

 

My letter, that didn't include _any_ red marks –not even one on the top of the page indicating my failing mark–but which _did_ include something else.

 

Another letter, connected to the back of mine. One written in Abbott's precise, red cursive.

 

My gaze instantly flew up to Abbott, who was still standing in front of me, and I nearly had a heart attack when I caught sight of her. She wasn't glaring and she wasn't clenching her teeth–in fact, to my complete and utter astonishment, she wasn't angry _at all._

 

She was _smiling_.

 

_SMILING_.

 

And this wasn't one of those evil smiles you might expect from a Professor such as Abbott, who takes joy in seeing her students fail. It was one of those smiles you see on Professor Flitwick when the first-years finally manage to get their Charms correct, or one of Professor Lundi's smiles when I don't yell at him for calling me Mily-va-Lily, or one of _my_ smiles when I spot the five types of rice on the Gryffindor table at dinner. In fact, she was smiling so widely, I think that perhaps with a bit more encouragement, she could have been _laughing_.

 

And I had _never_ –in all my years at Hogwarts, and all my classes with Professor Abbott– _ever_ seen her laugh. But I think, just then, she might have been on the verge.

 

"Gulping _gargoyles_ , Lily!" Grace gaped, completely awestruck, staring after Abbott as she left our desk. "What did you _write_ in that thing?"

 

But I wasn't paying any attention to Grace. I was too engrossed in reading Professor Abbott's letter:

 

_Dear Miss Evans,_ she wrote.

__

_I'm quite sure that you were perfectly aware of the assignment, and I'm quite sure that–while I have no intention of doing so–if I_ were _to look into your trunk in your dormitory, I would indeed find this half-finished essay you claim to have written._

__

_You were quite correct in your assumption that there are very few, albeit very_ vital, _effects to the Grentlis Potion, and that most of your classmates' essays were dismal and repetitive. Yours, surprisingly enough, was like a wand among the sticks._ _And while I am quite sure that were you to ask some poor woman who is suffering from Benedict's Fever–a magical malady where the body starts to shut down and the immune system is unable to help–if_ she _found the Grentlis Potion–the only known cure for Benedict's–'useless', she would assure you that it was far from that. However, considering the fact that there have only been two known cases of Benedict's Fever in the last hundred years, I see where your opinions might surface in that case._

__

_Seeing this, I will not be giving you a failing mark on this assignment, as you may or may not have already assumed. Instead I am assigning you another 3-foot long essay to be handed in tomorrow on the advantages and dangers of the Polyjuice Potion, something I'm sure you will run into in your days as an Auror._

__

_I warn you however, Miss Evans, that if this essay is not promptly handed in by tomorrow, you will find me not so lenient._

__

_On a closing mark, I'm finally glad to see you've shown some of the backbone we both know you have. I've been waiting to see it for quite some time. Women shouldn't cower and take in insults and unfair treatment, even from their Potions professors. Don't be afraid to strike back, Lily._

__

_Now, shall I inform Mr. Potter of your win, or would you prefer to?_

__

_Sincerely,_   
_Professor Whitney M. Abbott_   
_Potions Master, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

__

__

Holy. Bloody. Fucking. Shit.

 

"Lily? What's wrong? What does it say?"

 

Before I could even think about what I was doing, I quickly grabbed a slab of empty parchment off my desk and copied Abbott's letter, much like I had with The Assignment on Friday, and as quietly as I could, began to crumple it into a ball. With the aim of a professional Quidditch player, I quickly turned in my seat, aimed, threw, and hit James (who was talking to Sirius at the time) square in the face. He jumped, his gaze going to the projectile parchment, then instantly, as if it was so obvious who had thrown it (which I suppose it was, considering I'm really the only one who tends to throw bits of parchment at his face), his gaze flickered to me. I mouthed 'Read it!', before turning back around.

 

A few minutes later, James burst out laughing and Abbott told him to be quiet.

 

The rest of class went by like a blur. I didn't copy down any notes or even listen to any of the lecture. All I could think about was that letter and how wrong I'd been about Professor Whitney M. Abbott.

 

I still couldn't believe it. Abbott hadn't failed me. I hadn't done the assignment, I had insulted her choice in topic–therefore insulting _her_ –and she still hadn't failed me. No one could've blamed her if she had–I mean, it would've been perfectly acceptable and perfectly necessary–but she hadn't.

 

I thought she hated me. I thought she was a mean, rotten, frigid old bag, when all along she'd just been waiting for me to show some backbone. She had insulted me, glared at me, and yelled at me, not because I'd been doing anything wrong, but because she was waiting for me to strike back.

 

AND SHE KNEW ABOUT THE BET!! She _knew_!! And she hadn't even failed me because of _that_! Or given me detention for gambling underage, either! But how could she have _known_? I mean, I hadn't even told _Grace_ about it, how could _Professor Abbott_ have known? James wouldn't...would he? No. I don't think he would...

 

AND SHE CALLED ME LILY!!!!!

 

It's always been "Evans this" and "Evans that". I don't think I've _ever_ heard her call me Lily. It's almost as weird as James...oh, wait. He calls me Lily now, too. But still.

 

I can't believe that all this time I've been wrong about Professor Abbott. Totally and completely wrong. It rather makes me wonder, you know? I mean, if I'm obviously not as talented at judging character as I previously thought, who _else_ have I confused? Elisabeth Saunders? June Mackey? Possibly even my precious Amos?

 

I just don't know anymore.

 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a three-foot essay to write on the advantages and dangers of Polyjuice Potion.

 

I can't believe she called me _Lily_...

 

Observation #53) I think far too highly of myself. I'm a dreadful judge of character. Can probably blame this on my karma.

 

___________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 8**   
**Total Observations: 53**

****

"I can't believe it. I can't bloody _believe_ it!"

 

I raised my head from my almost completed essay, watching with a smile as James sauntered over to my table in the library, his books in one hand and a familiar piece of crumpled parchment in the other. With a look of complete disbelief on his face, he slid into the seat next to me, slapping the letter onto the table in front of him.

 

"You do realise," he started, his eyes narrowed, but more in humor than in actual anger, "that if _anyone else–_ save maybe Sirius _–_ did what you did, they not _only_ would have _failed_ miserably, but also most likely would've been sent to Dumbledore so quick, their head would be spinning?"

 

I laughed and nodded, not sure what to say because I'd been thinking the exact same thing this morning. James shook his head in obvious regret.

 

"I should have known better than to make any sort of bet with you," he said with a sigh. "Teacher's pets always get out of things."

 

I threw him a look and swatted at his arm. "Teacher's _pet_?" I cried indignantly. "Before today I was absolutely certain Abbott _hated_ me!"

James smiled crookedly. "So did I," he told me flatly. "That's why I made the bet in the first place." He laughed then, an impish smile playing at his lips. 

"Well, serves you right then!" I scoffed with a smug smile. He laughed again and I went to turn back to my essay, then stopped and turned back to him. "I still wonder how she knew though," I thought out loud. "About the bet, I mean."

 

James's eyes sparkled with mischief. "So did I."

 

My mouth dropped open.

 

" _Did?"_ I stammered. "W-what do you mean _'did'_?"

 

James turned his head to look at me, his smile wide. "Well you didn't expect me to just sit back and wonder did you?"

 

I stared at him in disbelief, gaping like a fish. "You mean you _asked_ her?"

 

James nodded, his smile not fading. 

 

Bloody effing hell. Have I actually found someone madder than me?

 

After a few moments of simple smiling and nodding on his part, but no elaboration, I let out a cry of amused frustration.

 

"Well?" I cried. "What did she say?"

 

James smiled smugly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms haughtily over his chest. "She said, and I quote, 'The library is a public place, Potter, and you and Evans just happened to be sitting by the Potions section'."

 

My mouth fell open again. "She was...she was _eavesdropping_?!"

 

"Certainly not!" James cried in mock-horror. " _Apparently_ , we don't seem to realise 'how well our voices carry'."

 

I rolled my eyes, but the absolute ludicrously of the whole thing made me laugh again. I couldn't believe she'd been _eavesdropping_! EAVESDROPPING!

 

"I can't believe it," I muttered humorously, shaking my head in disbelief.

 

"And I always thought Abbott a rather conservative bird, too," James added with a smirk.

 

I shook my head again, trying to clear it before remembering something. I turned my gaze back over to James, imitating his relaxed, confident position as I leaned back in my chair and crossed my own arms over my chest. "So," I drawled, throwing him a smirk of my own, "when do I get my ten galleons, then?"

 

James stood up from his chair, lightly grabbing his books before sweeping down into a mocking bow. "I am your personal slave, madam," he said. "Do with me as you wish."

 

I clunked him over the head with my Potions book and he went off laughing, leaving me alone to finish off my essay.

 

___________________

**Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 8**   
**Total Observations: 53**

****

Grace has been acting really strangely. Stranger than usual, I mean.

 

I thought she would be upset or cross with me for not telling her about the bet (which I still haven't, by the way, but she seems to have forgotten all about it), but instead she's acting rather cheerful and nice. Not that she isn't cheerful or nice normally, she is...mostly...but now she's being _extra_ nice and _extra_ cheery. _Overly_ cheery and nice. And not in a good way.

 

"Would you like my rice, Lily?" she offered me at dinner. Twice.

"More pumpkin juice?" she asked, two minutes later.

"Do you need help with that, Lily?" she asked a few minutes ago, because she thinks I'm doing my Transfiguration homework, even though I'm writing in here about her possible mental instabilities.

 

She's driving me mad. Really, she is. And when I asked her what was going on, she said nothing except that she was really really proud of me. I thought for a second she was talking about the bet, but then remembered that I had yet to _tell_ her about that, so that couldn't be it. So I gave her a dirty look and asked her why.

 

"You are such a brilliant bird, Lily," she tells me instead of answering. "I'm sure you've made certain... _people..._ very _very_ happy recently."

 

I throw my pillow at her.

 

I think my madness may be rubbing off.

 

___________________

**Wednesday, September 24th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 54**

****

Even though I've been doing this for quite a few days now, and even though I have never had a problem with it before, my body apparently has just decided that it hasn't yet adjusted to the drastic change in my morning schedule, and was seriously objecting to getting up early this morning. This perhaps could be because I went to sleep rather late last night, as Grace kept me up telling me how "proud" she was of me (which she still won't elaborate on, by the way), or because of the large amount of turkey I had at dinner yesterday, which everyone knows makes you unbearably sleepy. Either way, I found I had to struggle to get up. And even as I was stepping out of the dormitory ten minutes later, my eyes kept fluttering shut involuntarily. This, I knew, was not safe and would eventually lead to someone (most likely me) breaking something (most likely my body parts), but I still kept on walking. 

 

Unfortunately, this theory was almost proven solid, when as I was walking wearily down the stairs to the Great Hall, I clumsily tripped over my own two feet and nearly went tumbling down the stairs. Luckily, just as I was about to fall to my bleak and untimely death, I hit something hard and felt two strong arms wrap securely around me, breaking my fall.

 

"Whoa! You all right there, Lily?"

 

My head snapped up, my body still shaking from the near-death experience. Gazing down at me, filled with curiosity and a bit concern, were a pair of familiar bright blue eyes.

 

Very _nice_ , bright blue eyes.

 

Cue melting.

 

"Amos!" I cried hoarsely, blushingly detangling myself from his supporting embrace (though very reluctantly, I assure you). "I'm sorry! I...it's..." I sighed, shaking my head to clear it. "Early," I finished wearily. "It's really really early."

 

Oh, Merlin. Way to be articulate, there, Evans. Let's just dazzle him with my charms, eh?

 

Stupid idiot mouth...

 

I blushed even deeper when Amos nodded at my lame excuse. He flashed me one of his brilliant smiles. "Not a morning person, then?" he asked.

 

I shook my head and stammered on, "Well, it's, er...it's new."

 

"You'll get used to it," Amos laughed, as he turned and started walking towards the Great Hall. I watched after him, not sure if I was supposed to follow him or not, then decided to sit tight for a moment, even though my entire body was dying to follow. A few seconds later, he looked back at me, a dwindling smile on his handsome face. "You heading to breakfast?"

 

I nodded jerkily. He motioned his head towards the Hall.

 

"Well, come on, then," he said, then started walking again.

 

Needless to say, I didn't need to be told twice.

 

"Actually," he began, when I had caught up with him a few moments later, "I'm glad I ran into you." He stopped, then looked at me with a small smile that made my stomach flutter. "Or rather, I'm glad _you_ _fell_ into _me_."

 

I tried to cover my blush as I muttered another lame apology. He simply shrugged it off with another smile. Could the man possibly _get_ more brilliant? 

 

"Quit apologizing," he teased, shaking his head at me slightly, letting a few stray locks of hair fall neatly into his face. I fought back the urge to push them aside. This boy was driving me mad. "I told you, it was a good thing."

 

"How so?" I asked, hoping he would tell me it was because he was so desperately in love with me that any chance to see me or talk to me–nevertheless have me fall straight into his arms–was a slice of heaven.

 

"Because we needed to set up a meeting for that Runes project," he told me instead. 

 

It was a bit anticlimactic to say the least.

 

"Oh," I answered flatly, trying not to look too disappointed. "Right. Of course. I'd forgotten about that."

 

Which, oddly enough, was the truth. It definitely says something when a girl is so wrapped up in other affairs that she completely forgets the fact that she has a valid excuse to sit and talk with the love of her life for hours on end. I obviously am just too stressed out.

 

"Well how about tonight?" Amos asked, snapping me from my thoughts.

 

"Tonight?" I repeated dumbly. Amos smiled, then nodded.

 

"Around eight, maybe?"

 

Wednesday. Eight. Tutoring. Damn.

 

"Er, how about seven?" I altered, praying that it would be all right and that he wouldn't ask me _why_ it couldn't be eight.

 

My heart sank when he smiled and teasingly inquired, "Why? Have a date planned?"

 

"Not quite," I answered hesitantly, scanning my head for any sort of excuse other than the truth. "Tutoring," I heard myself say instead.

 

Damn stupid traitorous mouth. It can't even lie properly anymore.

 

Amos arched an eyebrow. "Tutoring?" he asked disbelievingly. " _You_?"

 

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, hoping that maybe Amos went for that sort of thing. Like the not-perfect-in-every-class sort of thing, I mean. "Transfiguration seems to have it out for me,”� I answered hesitantly, the redness in my cheeks increasing tenfold. “I'm rather dreadful."

 

Realization dawned on him, as Amos nodded and then said, "Oh yeah. Something about a crazed chicken, right?"

 

I froze. 

 

Double bloody fucking _hell_! 

 

He _heard_ about that? Who the bloody hell told him?!

 

With my face so flushed I'm sure I blended right in with hair, I nodded dumbly. "Er...I...uh...yeah. Yeah, that was it."

 

Oh, Merlin. I can't believe what an extreme _loser_ I am.

 

I can't even express how relieved I was when we reached the Great Hall a few seconds later. It was obvious my traitor-of-a-mouth just couldn't be trusted in situations like this. Amos was probably already laughing himself to death inside his head, thinking about how stupid and silly little Lily Evans was.

 

"So, seven?" he asked me as we were about to part our ways.

 

"Seven," I repeated with nod.

 

And with one last smile, Amos left me, heading confidently towards the Hufflepuff table. I miserably dragged myself over to the Gryffindor table, barely acknowledging Marley and James, who were both looking at me curiously. A bittersweet morning I was having indeed.

 

Observation #54) It's far too early to be failing life already. Why am I so unlucky?

 

___________________

**Later, Ancient Runes**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 54**

****

Penny O'Jene and The Human Hyena broke it off yesterday after what I'm told was a rather loud row concerning the Potions dungeons, a fruit basket and someone's pink knickers. So needless to say, Penny is back in her seat and I am back in mine. This means no more Amos, though thankfully not permanently, as I recently discovered when Penny and Timmy went to Lundi to plead their case and ask for a switch of partners. Lundi told them we would keep our original groups regardless of their feuds. This of course, is a good thing, because even though I made a complete fool of myself in front of Amos this morning, I would be devastated not to have the chance to make it better tonight. I swear, I'll make myself out to be the epitome of grace, serenity and perfection tonight. Amos will be sure to finally realise he loves me after that.

 

Plus, now I can stop trying to write left-handed so that Amos and I can "accidentally" brush hands. I know I had ambitions to be ambidextrous and all, but sometimes a girl just has to know when to give in. I am not left-handed. At all.

 

Could the day finally be starting to look up a bit?

 

I won't hold my breath.

 

___________________

**Later, Transfiguration**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 58**

****

Observation #55) Apparently, when someone is “really proud of you”�, even for reasons you are not yet sure of, they tend to do things for you, like transfigure your worm into a coffee maker when McGonagall has her back turned.

 

Observation #56) When McGonagall turns around and looks at your work and nods her head in approval, you start to get a rather funny feeling in your stomach, which oddly enough feels a lot like guilt.

 

Observation #57) When you insist for a certain someone to turn your worm back into a worm so that you can get rid of that guilt-like feeling in your stomach and actually do some work for yourself, she does so, but also adds in the fact that she’s proud of you.

 

Observation #58) Even when you manage to create the world's first ever _worm_ -maker rather than a proper coffee-maker, a certain someone insists she is _still_ proud of you.

 

___________________

**Even Later, 7th-year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 58**

****

Thirty minutes until I have to meet Amos. I shouldn't be nervous, right? I mean, all I have to do is act perfect and wonderful and everything will go fine. It'll be all right.

 

Oh, Merlin, I think I'm going to heave.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 58**

****

I shouldn't be nervous! It'll be _fine_. I'll just act nice, cool and collected, just like I act around everyone else. I'll pretend he's Grace...just, you know, better looking and, yeah, a man. 

 

A brilliant man. 

 

A brilliant, intelligent, _gorgeous_ man.

Oh, Merlin, my palms are sweating. That is _so_ gross. Amos is going to take one look at my disgustingly sweating palms and turn right back around and leave. He's so going to think I have some sort of hygienic problem. He's going to hate me. He's going to refuse to work with me, I just know it. And then, not _only_ will I be without a future husband, I'll _also_ fail Ancient Runes. 

 

Ugh.

 

Okay. I have to stay _calm_. Calm, Lily, _calm_. Breathe. In and out, in and out...

 

Oh, but why is he late?? I mean, he did say seven, right? And now it's...seven ten. Ten minutes. He's definitely not coming. Or maybe he came, saw me sitting here with my severe sweating problems and then left. That's it. That's definitely–

 

Oh, bloody shit. Here he comes.

 

___________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 58**

****

"Hey."

 

Oh, Merlin. There he was. I seriously thought I was about to melt.

 

"Er...hi," I responded lamely, a nervous smile on my face. Amos smiled back, his grin not conveying any nerves whatsoever. I self-consciously slipped my hands under the table. By that time, I had practically perspired a river, which was the _last_ thing I needed Amos seeing. He took the seat across from me, his unsweaty hands calmly placing his textbooks upon the table.

 

"Have you been waiting for me long?" he asked simply.

 

Er, only four years or so, love.

 

"No," I answered. "Not too long."

 

He smiled at me again. My stomach flopped.

 

"Good." He opened his textbook with a still non-sweating hand. "Quidditch ran a bit long and I was afraid you'd been waiting."

 

Aw. Now how sweet is _that_?

 

"No worries," I said with a smile of my own, trying not to sound or look _too_ obviously flirty, while also simultaneously trying to wipe the ridiculous amount of moisture off my hands beneath the table. I cautiously lifted my hands into view and opened my own textbook to the back pages where several complicated passages were held. "So," I started slowly, looking up. "Do you have any ideas of what you'd like to translate?"

 

Amos started carefully flipping through the pages and I followed suite, slowly skimming the different passages, looking for the one that struck my fancy. The fifth was the easiest, and the seventh was the hardest, so I thought that perhaps we could do the eleventh, seeing how that was right in the middle. Yeah, the eleventh would do.

 

"Well," Amos drawled a few seconds later, "how about the fifth? It looks like it's the easiest."

 

Or, you know, the fifth. That'll work too.

 

"Sure," I agreed readily, though I couldn't help but be a bit disappointed. I would have rather liked to try something a bit harder than the child's play fifth. Oh, well. I suppose it's like what my Aunt Mae always says–you get what you get and you don't get upset.

 

And honestly, who could get upset with _Amos Diggory_ , anyway?

 

"All right, then," Amos grinned. "Let's get started, shall we?"

 

I nodded, then slid my hands back under the table. Just in case.

 

Working with Amos wasn't at all what I thought it would be, but everything I _hoped_ it would be. He was funny and he was nice and best of all, I didn't have to try too hard to be perfect for him to be that way. I mean, even when I said or did something stupid (which, you know, being me, couldn't be avoided), he would just laugh it off and smile at me like he thought being stupid meant being adorable or something. And do you know what else? I think maybe, just _maybe_ , he might have even been _flirting_ with me a bit! I mean, I was blatantly flirting with him the entire time, but somewhere over the course of the forty minutes we sat there, he started responding. It was as if Christmas had come early, right then and there in the library, at the table by the Potions section. It was bliss. It was paradise.

 

It was _Amos_.

 

As our work began drawing to a close and the time became closer and closer to eight, Amos and I carefully started clearing our things and putting our work in its proper place. We'd actually gotten a rather large amount done, but considering how easy the work was and how lovely he and I worked together (!), it wasn't that difficult to figure out why.

 

"I figure that we can do this once more, and then it should be done, right?" Amos asked me as he stood, straightening his papers. I nodded my head.

 

"That sounds about right," I grinned, extremely happy with how this whole evening had turned out. I was about to ask Amos just when he wanted to get together again, when a loud, curt calling of my name had me swing around towards the library entrance.

 

" _Lily Evans_!"

 

There, striding purposely towards the table where Amos and I were sitting, with an _extremely_ annoyed look on his face, was James Potter. 

 

(Followed closely by Madame Pince, who was shushing and scolding James in rapid French and looked possibly as annoyed as he did. James, of course, ignored her)

 

"What did you do?" Amos muttered to me, watching as James neared closer and closer to our table. The decreased distance showed his obvious anger even more. I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. What _had_ I done? I didn't even know!

 

When James finally reached our table, he was breathing deeply and was motioning frantically with his hands. "Y-you...I–you..." he stammered, glaring at me furiously as he pointed an accusing finger in my direction. "You fed me to the _wolves_ , Evans!"

 

I stared at him blankly, not exactly knowing how to respond to an accusation like that. What was he _talking_ about? Throwing him to _wolves_? Do I _look_ like I know any wolves?

 

"What are you playing at, Potter?" Amos asked from beside me, his tone curious and slightly accusatory. James completely ignored him and kept his eyes on me instead.

 

"You threw me to the wolves!" he repeated in the same loud, exasperated tone. Madame Pince shushed him again and muttered something else in French. James threw her a glare over his shoulder and then turned back to me, leaning threateningly against the table and lowering his voice to a harsh, curt whisper. "You threw me in and watched them rip my flesh and bones, piece by piece!"

 

I gave him a disgusted look.

 

Um, ew, no I didn't.

 

"I have no idea _what_ you're talking about, James," I snapped back at him, leaning over the table as well, "but I assure you that I have _not_ in any way _thrown you_ to any _wolves_!"

 

James glowered angrily at me. I threw him a glare right back.

 

"Oh, yeah?" he countered, still glaring at me as he began fumbling through his things. He retracted a piece of parchment out of the pile and slapped it on the table in front of me. "Explain _this_ then!"

 

With one last glare at James, I pulled the sheet over to me and looked down.

 

It was the Prefects' rounds calendar.

 

Oh, yes. Wolves.

 

I was about to tell James off for being an utter prat when something towards the end of the paper caught my eye. I leaned in closer, my eyes opening wide as I realised just what he was showing me. There, at the very bottom, in a nice, curvy print, my name had been carefully crossed out and had been replaced by June's. And just under that, the name of the other person assigned to rounds that night, and June's newest seducee...

 

_James Potter._

Oh, bloody hell.

 

"Explain _that_!" he snapped again.

 

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, Merlin.

 

It was _James!_ The bloke who June wanted to seduce was _James!_ Of course! How could I have been so _stupid_ not to figure _that_ one out? But apparently–I winced–he wasn't as eager to be seduced as June had let on. I _was_ throwing him to the wolves–no, June was _worse_ than the wolves. She was like...whatever is worse than wolves!

 

"Oh, James, I'm sorry," I said, cringing. "I...well, she asked me to switch and I–I...she _told_ me the bloke _wanted_ to me to switch with her, so I..." I sighed in defeat, giving him a pleading look as I quietly added, "I didn't know it was you."

 

He looked so annoyed, so distressed, that the guilt began to creep up on me in full force and I had to look down. I knew when June had asked that I should have said no. I knew that it was a stupid plan and that I had no right to do that to some poor, unsuspecting bloke. But what could I do? She had me cornered! She _bribed_ me! I _couldn't_...I mean, there was just _no way...I didn't_ even get a _chance_...

 

Oh, bugger.

 

"I'm really _really_ sorry," I pleaded again, glancing back down at the edited calendar. "Maybe we could switch someone around or you could always fake sick or something..."

 

James didn't say anything and I was too ashamed to look up at him. Why oh _why_ did I have to agree to stupid June Mackey's plan anyway?! I am so so _stupid_!

 

"Wait a second."

 

Amos's comment jarred me from my self-guilt pity party. I had almost forgotten he was standing there.

 

"Look." He pointed down to tomorrow's slot, where June's name had been crossed out and mine had been replaced. Amos's resided under it.

 

"What?" I asked.

 

"Well, Potter could just switch back with me, couldn't he?"

 

My heart sunk.

 

"Yeah," I muttered, looking up at Amos, then up at James, both of whom were looking at me. "That could–that would work."

 

"Wait a second," James intervened, just as Amos was about to change it on the calendar. I prayed he'd come up with an excuse. I really _really_ wanted these rounds with Amos. "What about you?" he asked. "June's not stupid. If we switched, she'd just attack you."

 

Oh. Well that was rather considerate of James to think of. After all, the last thing I needed was an abused and sexually assaulted future-husband. Especially when I had been the one to indirectly cause the said abuse. Lord only knows how much therapy something like that would invoke. Probably more than I could afford. Aurors don't really make all that much money when they first start out.

 

"She won't," Amos answered flatly. "We're cousins."

 

"I'm sorry," I muttered without thinking. When I realised I'd said it out loud, I wanted to slap myself in the head. Oh great. Now I've insulted the in-laws. But instead of being rightfully incredibly insulted, Amos simply flashed me a grin.

 

"It has its perks," he answered with a shrug, then proceeded to change the names on the calendar. None of us spoke as Amos and I finished straightening out our papers. A few minutes later, everything was in order and Amos was about to depart.

 

“Thank you for switching,”� I told him gratefully, trying to hide the large disappointment that had settled over me. So close. So bloody _close_. Amos nodded with a smile.

 

“You’re welcome,”� he said. Then he quirked an eyebrow and added, “But I _am_ sorry I won’t be able to do rounds with you. It’s sort of a disappointment, actually.”�

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“Oh!”� I croaked, completely dumbfounded. “Yeah…yeah, me too.”�

 

HE WAS _DISAPPOINTED_!!!!!

 

_YES!!!!!!_

 

“Better head out, then,”� Amos said with one last smile. He turned to James. “You coming, Potter? Lily has tutoring.”�

 

James’s face showed no expression as he slowly raised his hand. “Tutor,”� he told Amos flatly.

 

Amos didn't seem too happy with that minor revelation. Probably due to the fact that James is such a good-looking bloke and all and Amos feels threatened by him. He obviously doesn't want to lose me. 

 

Or, you know, doesn't want to be blamed for my murder because he left me with a homicidal maniac whom I accidentally threw to the wolves.

 

I think the first one as well.

 

Despite his (obviously jealousy-driven) reluctance, Amos nodded his head and accepted the tutoring arrangements. He looked a moment more at James (probably shooting one of those 'She's mine. Don't touch her.' looks that males give each other but females can't see. But just because I couldn't see it doesn't mean I didn't know it was there) before giving me one last smile and then turning around and leaving. I let out a huge sigh and watched as James emotionlessly took the seat Amos had vacated.

 

"Well," I started uncertainly, unable to tell whether or not James was still annoyed. "It's a good thing Amos was here to help with that whole mess, wasn't it?" James still sat silent, watching me carefully, his face still emotionless as if I hadn't even said anything at all. Hesitantly, I tried again, putting on an extra bright smile as I shook my head ruefully. "Could you even _imagine_ the two of them being _cousins_? Poor Amos! I mean, imagine having to see June Mackey at every single family function–"

 

"It rather puts a damper on marrying into the family now, doesn't it?"

 

Family?

 

I froze, shocked. My fixed smile quickly faded into a frown as I regarded James with curiosity.

 

"What are you–" I started, eyeing him warily. "I mean, I don't know–"

 

"What I'm talking about?" James finished bitterly, his eyes blaring into mine. It was quite easy then to tell exactly what he was feeling. The obvious annoyance and blatant frustration shone clear across his face. "Don't you, Lily?"

 

I shook my head slowly, not sure exactly what he was getting at. He didn't know... about Amos? I mean, about _me_ and Amos... about my _feelings_ for Amos. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

 

Could he?

 

"I really don't know what you're trying to get at, James, but let's just drop it and–"

 

"Oh, come off it, Lily!" James interrupted with a snarl. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about! You all but _threw_ yourself at the bloody prat!"

 

" _Bloody prat?"_ I cried, my outrage, shock and pure embarrassment at the fact that he did _indeed_ know my secret was momentarily pushed aside by my own frustration. "That _bloody prat_ just got you out of a rather sticky situation, if you even care to remember!"

 

"Only because he wanted to impress _you_!" James shot back furiously, slamming his palms loudly against the table and leaning menacingly over towards me. "He only did it to play _your_ knight-in-bloody-shining _-armour_!"

 

"My _knight-in-shining-armour_?!" I glared furiously at him. "By sticking me with _you_? An annoying, stuck-up, stupid _git_? Oh, yes! Some _bloody fabulous_ _saving_ he did _there_!"

 

The moment I'd said it, I wished I hadn't. I wished I could just shove the words back in my mouth and swallow them down. I'd let my mouth run away from me again. I'd let my _temper_ run away from me again. I hadn't meant the words, but I was so frustrated that they had just come tumbling out out of habit. The truth was that James hadn't been annoying or stuck-up–a git, yes, sometimes, but all blokes are–the entire year, and only compared to Amos was doing rounds with him a let down. I liked spending time with him, I think. 

 

But because of those stupid, anger-filled words, I don't think it mattered anymore.

 

James let out a loud, strangled noise before furiously swiping up his books and rising from his seat with such a jolt, the chair tipped backwards and toppled over to the floor with a _crash._

__

"Where are you going?" I snapped at him.

 

"I'm leaving," he answered curtly, already starting to walk away.

 

"But what about–"

 

"Study by your fucking self, Lily!" he thundered back, continuing on his way out, stopping only for a mere moment to turn around and caustically add in a slightly bitter tone, "This way you won't have to be _stuck_ with me for the next hour!"

 

And with that last scathing remark, he furiously made his way out of the library, leaving me all alone to deal with an equally furious Madame Prince who didn't seem to care one bit that I couldn't understand a word of French.

 

___________________

**Really Late, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 9**   
**Total Observations: 59**

I suppose that maybe I hurt his feelings. 

 

I mean, I probably would have been hurt too if he had told me that someone had 'stuck' me with him and that I was an annoying, pompous git. But he started it! I mean, what was with the sudden whiplash on Amos? And what does he care if I throw myself at Amos or not? It's none of his bloody business, anyway!

 

And I can't believe he _knew_. About how I was throwing myself at Amos, I mean. I barely told anyone besides Grace and Emma about my infatuation with him, and now all of a sudden all these people–June, James–seem to know exactly how I feel. Am I that obvious? And if I am, does that mean–oh, _Merlin_ –that _Amos_ may know too?

 

Oh, I just can't think about this any more. It's making my head pound like mad and I have to go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning. I'll just talk to James tomorrow and we'll reinstate our previous 'friendly' status.

 

There. Simple. I'll sleep now.

 

Observation #59) I think I might have a bit of apologizing to do tomorrow.

 

___________________

**Thursday, September 25th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 60**

****

You know, it's awfully hard to reinstate yourself into 'friendly' terms with someone when they refuse to talk to you. 

 

Or look at you. 

 

Or generally acknowledge your presence.

 

_Why_ does he keep looking at his bleeding _plate_? What could possibly be _so interesting_ that he refuses to look up? Is it an egg circus? A bacon Quidditch match? Or is it possible that his pancakes and waffles have engaged themselves in some sort of magnifying duel?

 

Well, I don't _care_ –even if his pancakes and waffles _are_ dueling! 

 

Earth to James Potter! Hello, James Potter! I CAN'T BLOODY APOLOGIZE IF YOU WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME!!!

 

Marley has tried several times to engage him in conversation as well, but he simply answers in single-word, monotonic statements.

 

And you know what? He doesn't look at all mad like he did last night, either. He just looks kind of... _blah_. Like nothing even matters anymore. I've never seen James Potter look _blah_ before. I mean, my simple comments couldn't have hurt him so much that he's like this. I've called him and said worse things to him before, and he never acted like this. So my insults can't be the reason.

 

Right?

 

___________________

**Later, Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 61**

****

Why is he being such a bloody _prat_? I mean, is he _trying_ to make me feel perfectly dreadful, because if he is, congratu- _bloody_ -lations, he's done it! Does he honestly have to keep ignoring me like this? I was angry and distressed when I said all those things last night! He shouldn't be holding that against me!

 

Stupid bloody prat. He _will_ talk to me. I'll _make_ him talk to me.

 

___________________

**Bit Later, Still in Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 63**

****

_Why won't you look at me? -LE_

__

_I said I was sorry about the June thing last night._

__

_And I'm sorry about what I said afterwards. Calling you those names and about being stuck with you, I mean._

__

_Come on. Please just talk to me._

__

_I don't like when people are mad at me, remember??_

__

**So? -JP**

****

Ah! FINALLY! RESPONSE!

 

_The last time you were cross with me it was reason enough to forgive me._

__

**I'm not cross with you.**

****

Ha. Silly boy. Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?

****

_Yes you are. But that's okay_ – _I would be angry too if I were you. So I think it would be a bit hypocritical of me not to understand that you're angry, don't you think?_

__

**I suppose.**

****

_And I_ am _sorry. I was...embarrassed, so I got angry and lashed out at you._

__

**I noticed.**

****

_So I'm sorry. Really sorry._

__

**You said that already.**

****

_I know, but you keep avoiding answering._

**Answering what? What do you want me to say?**

__

_That you forgive me._

****

**For what? I told you, I'm not angry.**

****

_Then why won't you look at me? And why wouldn't you talk to me this morning?_

****

**Why do you care?**

_I...don't know._

****

**Well when you figure it out, let me know.**

****

___________________

**Later, Still in Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 64**

****

I care because I can't pass Transfiguration without him.

 

I care because I don't like when people are mad at me.

 

I care because were supposed to be 'friendly'.

 

I care because I like it better when he's nice and likes me, than when he's cross and doesn't.

 

I care because I'm just starting to realise that maybe being mates with James Potter isn't the worst thing that could ever happen to me.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Still Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 64**

****

** The Pros and Cons to Being Mates with James Potter**

 

Con #1) It's entirely possible that James won't be nice to me forever.  
Pro #1) It's entirely possible that James _will_ continue to be nice to me, as he has been, forever.

 

Con #2) Though he seems to have gotten rid of it, there is a strong possibility that his overlarge head can return.  
Pro #2) People who can single-handedly deflate their own head from the gigantic size it previously was have got to have a lot of potential.

 

Con #3) Anyone who willing dates Elisabeth Saunders may have a bit of insanity in the family.  
Pro #3) Anyone who breaks up with Elisabeth Saunders has brains.

 

Con #4) Pranks. So totally immature and occasionally harmful.  
Pro #4) Being friends with all the Marauders automatically means you aren’t pranked. Or, if you are, you can hex them all very badly and then laugh about it the next day without having to worry about retaliation.

 

Con #5) It might not be possible for two people with so much bad history to be mates. Trust would be a major factor.  
Pro #5) James has three very good friends that trust him completely and a bushel load of other friends who trust him. I can learn to as well.

 

Con #6) We fight like no one I’ve ever known.  
Pro #6) When we’re not fighting, he’s fun to talk to. 

 

Pro #7) I'll have a permanent Transfiguration tutor.

 

Pro #8) Head duties will be _so_ much easier.

 

Pro #9) I think that maybe I _want_ to be mates with him.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Still still in Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 65**

****

Being mates with James Potter. 

 

A year ago, a month ago, even a _week_ ago, the idea of such a thing would have seemed like a joke. But it's not. A joke, I mean. Because I think that the reason I'm so bothered with James being cross with me is the same reason why it bothers me when Grace and Emma are cross with me.

 

And I like talking to him. He's actually a rather funny bloke. I learned that the night he helped me with my homework and I kept him up until ten talking more than helping. Perhaps he's always been like that–funny and easy to talk to, I mean. Maybe that's why Grace and Emma have always been mates with him. But I've never seen that side of him before this year. To me, he was always that stupid, cocky bastard who would ask me out as a cruel joke because he knew no one else would and enjoyed rubbing it in my face. I really didn't fancy being mates with a bloke like that. But he's different now–grown up, I guess. I mean, I haven't even seen him hex Snape yet this year, and if nothing else, _that_ certainly says something.

 

And I have fun with him. That whole bet thing was definitely one of the most brilliant things I've ever done (albeit, also one of the most rebellious, which I suppose is okay once in a while for a ninny like me). And you know what else? I think that if it had been anyone else who had challenged me, I wouldn't have done it. He just...knows how to push my buttons. Not in a _bad_ way, per say, but...I don't know. It used to drive me absolutely _mad_ before–and I suppose it still does a bit–but now I know he's not doing it maliciously. Now he just does it and starts to laugh, and somehow, I find myself laughing too.

 

Mates with James Potter.

 

Ha. Merlin knows we'd give the entire Hogwarts population heart attacks. I hear our brilliant rows are actually quite a sight to see. Hogwarts will have to arrange for some other forms of amusement, I suppose. Perhaps a parakeet and a few dancing bears. Now _there's_ entertainment.

 

Mates with James Potter.

 

Yeah, that'll do.

 

Now all I have to do is convince him of it.

****

___________________

**Even Later, Potions**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 66**

****

**Can I see your notes? -GR**

 

_My notes? Abbott said we didn't need to take any of this down, she's just talking. -LE_

__

**Not the _Potion's_ notes, you twit. The notes you were passing with James in Charms this morning.**

 

_What? No!_

 

**Why not?**

 

_Because they're not_ yours _, that's why!_

 

**So? You always let me read your notes.**

 

_Well not these. Go away and pay attention, Grace._

 

**Fine, but I'll just keep badgering you until you let up. You'll fall asleep tonight listening to my badgering.**

 

_I'm not going to be in the dormitory tonight, so there._

 

**What? Where are you going?**

 

_I have rounds._

**Rounds? I thought you signed up at the way end of the month so that you could skivvy off early?**

 

_I did, but...it got...complicated. I had to switch._

 

**So you have them tonight? With who?**

 

_James._

 

**_Oh_. I see now.**

 

_See what?_

 

**Nothing. Have fun on your rounds.**

 

_Grace? Grace, what? What do you 'see'?_

 

**Go away and pay attention, Lily.**

****

___________________

**Even Later, Divination**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 67**

****

I'll do it when we have rounds tonight. Convince James we should be mates, I mean. First I'll have to see if he's still cross with me, though. Maybe I'll bribe him with some chocolate or something. No person can resist a good bit of chocolate. I think I still have a bit of fudge left that Mum sent along...

 

You know what? I suppose the whole "switch" thing worked out to my advantage after all. I’ll have to remember to thank Slaggy and her slaggish ways when I see her.

 

___________________

**Still Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 67**

****

I was finishing up my Divination homework after classes in the dormitory when Grace and Emma walked in, chattering together quietly. As soon as she saw me sitting on my bed, Grace turned to Emma and inquired very loudly, "Hey, Em, do you know what Lily's doing tonight?"

 

Oh, bugger. Not this 'see' thing again.

 

Emma's eyes were wide (surprisingly, not glaring) as she looked from Grace to me.

 

"What?" she asked.

 

"She has _rounds_ ," Grace answered, emphasizing the last word.

 

Um, so? What is she on about now?

 

"Rounds?" Emma asked, her voice not cold and/or hostile for the first time in quite a while. "But I thought you signed up for next week. You said before..."

 

I shook my head and was about to explain when Grace cut in, smiling pointedly at Emma. "She had to _switch_. Now she has her rounds with _James_."

 

I rolled my eyes at Grace's emphasis again. What exactly was she doing? And what was the big deal about me switching my rounds? And what did it have to do with James? Did they know about my plan to convince him to being my mate? I didn't get it.

 

"She..." Emmeline muttered, her wide-eyed gaze falling to the ground. Then suddenly, without warning, she grabbed Grace's arm and forcefully tugged her back out of the dormitory. "I need to talk to you," was all she said as they left.

 

I watched them go and cringed as Grace loudly slammed the door shut on their way out.

 

Those two just get loonier everyday.

 

" _You're_ doing rounds with James Potter tonight?"

 

I jumped, turning in my spot towards a bed on the other side of the room. Elisabeth had just pulled back the hangings on her bed and was regarding me with narrowed eyes. I hadn't even known she was there.

 

"Er...yeah," I answered hesitantly, eyeing her narrowed eyes warily.

 

Elisabeth froze, her mouth slowly falling opening, before she let out a soft, "Oh... _Merlin!"_

 

Then she grabbed her robes, threw them on and dashed off out the door just like Grace and Emma.

 

It's obvious that my madness is contagious. The whole dormitory has caught it. No wonder they lock madwomen up. We aren't safe in the least.

 

___________________

**Still Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10**   
**Total Observations: 67**

****

I'm going to leave to collect James in a bit for our rounds. He wasn't at dinner, so I couldn't gauge his anger-meter then, so I'll just have to wing it tonight. I am, however, fully armed with sugar tarts, sucking sweets and my mum's famous fudge to change his mind if he happens to decide he's still cross with me. And if that doesn't work, I'll just have to take out the big guns and lock him in a broom cupboard until he's no longer cross with me. Rounds are rather long. I can have him locked up in there for at least a couple of hours.

 

"What is that for?" Grace has just asked me, pointing to my bag, which I have filled with my ammo (tarts, sweets and fudge).

 

"I need it for rounds," I tell her simply.

 

"What for?" she's asks. "Planning on sacking the rule-breaker's over their heads, then? I’m sure knocking them unconscious will sure teach them a lesson."

 

Psh. Um, _no_ , Grace. This is for sacking my _partner_ over the head...if it comes to that, that is.

"Most definitely," I tell her instead.

 

She snorts. I snort back.

 

"Hey," she's just said. "You can lie all you want. You'll tell me eventually, I figure."

 

Tell her? What?

 

"Tell you what?" I ask.

 

Grace just smiles and rumples my hair. "I'm just so proud of you, Lily."

 

Oh, bloody hell. Not this again.

 

___________________

**Very Very Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 10 (Possibly 11?)**   
**Total Observations: 69**

****

I am most definitely the greatest, most compassionate girl who ever walked the planet. I'm serious. Not many girls would do what I just did without pay. In fact, some girls probably wouldn't even do it _with_ pay. That's how bloody sympathetic I am. Sickeningly sympathetic.

****

Oh, Merlin, I'm exhausted. 

 

And I smell so _so_ bad.

 

I suppose we should start from the beginning then, shouldn't we?

 

At precisely nine o' clock (or around there, anyway. I had intended to go down at nine, but then I saw this bit of something on my skirt that just wouldn't come off, so I had to change it), I headed down to the Common Room–armed with my bribe bag, of course–in search of James so that we could start our rounds. As soon as I got down there, I spotted him at a table by the fire, sitting with the rest of the Marauders. Remus and Peter were playing a round of chess, while James and Sirius were huddled over a book, writing things down on pieces of parchment as they went along.

 

"According to this," Sirius was announcing loudly to the group as I approached the table, "I'm going to be having a _very_ good week."

 

"Again?" Peter asked flatly, moving his bishop up a few squares.

 

" _Last_ week was a fluke," Sirius explained, throwing a look at the chess-player beside him. " _This_ week I've apparently got the letter 'E', a bunch of knickers and Charity Rivers in _my_ immediate future." He grinned devilishly and looked expectantly towards his mates.

 

" _Charity Rivers_?" Remus cocked an eyebrow. "You mean the Charity Rivers who plays keeper for the Harpies?"

 

Sirius nodded, a smug smile on his face. "The very same, mate."

 

Remus glanced at James, then at Peter, both of which whom were sporting similar disbelieving looks, and then pulled the open Divination book towards him, searching its contents. "Now where exactly did you get that rubbish?" he asked, flipping through the pages.

 

Sirius pointed to something in the book. The three other Marauders huddled over to see what it was.

 

" _'The_ _river of charity will flow through your veins_ '?" James quoted with a snort. "You read _that_ and come out with Charity Rivers and knickers?"

 

Sirius leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "You lot are just jealous because you're not as _creative_ as I am."

 

"Or as _mad_ ," James muttered, shaking his head. They all started to laugh, except for Sirius, who grabbed the textbook from Remus and smacked James over the head with it. Then Sirius was laughing too.

 

"Oh!" Peter said a few seconds later. "Hullo, Lily!"

 

I smiled slightly, stepping closer to the table as my presence was noticed. "Hello," I greeted amicably.

 

"Need something, then?" Sirius asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Perhaps some homework help, or a book of some sort, or possibly a nice, thorough snogging from yours truly?"

 

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "James, actually," I told him.

 

Sirius's eyes bulged out. "You want a nice, thorough snogging from _Prongs_?"

 

" _No_ ," I corrected sternly, throwing him a glare.

 

"A nice, thorough _shagging_ then–?"

 

I hit him.

 

"Oy!" he cried, rubbing at his head. "I liked you better that day you _weren't_ a prude!"

 

"I'm _not_ a..." I started, then stopped and rolled my eyes again, throwing a fierce look his way. "Oh, just fuck off, Black," I said, purposely making myself swear. Sirius grinned.

 

"That ‘a girl!" he cried gleefully, patting my arm approvingly. I pulled out of his grasp and then turned to James.

 

"Ready?" I asked.

 

"Ready for a sh–" Sirius started, but James cut him off with a stern, " _Shut_ it, Padfoot." Sirius looked surprised for a moment at James's harsh tone, but then seemed to shrug it off rather quickly.

 

"We have _rounds_ ," I explained, shifting uncomfortably. Oh, Merlin, I really _am_ a prude.

 

"There are _a lot_ of broom cupboards on those rounds..." Peter added cheekily, nudging Sirius in the ribs as the two of them began howling with laughter. I ignored them. James turned and glared at the pair, but Remus was looking at me, even though he seemed to be talking to James. 

 

"Rounds?" Remus questioned, also ignoring the laughter of the two twits next to him. "I thought you had rounds next week, Prongs?"

 

James shook his head, but didn't elaborate. He just stood and began pushing together and sorting through the papers he'd just been writing on. Remus looked to me again.

 

"It's...er...complicated," I told him slowly, giving him the same excuse I'd given out before. Remus cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything else as he turned back to the chess game, thankfully letting the subject drop.

 

I was itching to get away from there and out of the Common Room, but James seemed to be moving in extra slow motion, not catching on to the fact that I wanted to leave.

 

"What's in the bag, then?" Peter asked, nodding his head towards the Bribe Bag after he and Sirius had finally calmed down.

 

I let out a frustrated sigh, glaring at him. "It's to hit unsuspecting rule-breakers with," I told him quickly, repeating Grace's joking statement from before. I turned to James, who was still lingering with his papers. "Let's go," I commanded, not leaving any room for argument. Then I turned on my heel and strode from the Common Room, hoping that James would follow.

 

I only risked looking back when I was clear out of the Common Room and halfway down the corridor. As I hoped, James was trailing quietly behind me, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes looking ahead, but not really focused. I stopped and waited for him to catch up.

 

"Sorry," I told him quietly when he'd finally reached me. "I just wanted to get out of there."

 

He shrugged, then looked away. I sighed. He was obviously still cross with me.

 

We walked around for about forty minutes or so, running into only a few strangling sixth-year Ravenclaws down by the Great Hall, but since it wasn't that late yet, the actual disciplining part involved with the rounds hadn't occurred yet. Like this morning, I tried to engage James in conversation, talking about everything and anything that came to mind, but he either answered very simply or didn't bother to answer at all. When we struck the one-hour mark and James's silence was really starting to get to me, I glanced down to the Bribe Bag and decided it was time to take out the big guns.

 

"Do you want some fudge?" I offered with a smile. James's gaze snapped to me for the first time in ten minutes.

 

"What?" he asked, confused.

 

"Fudge," I repeated, reaching into my bag and pulling out the tin of fudge. I shook it in front of him in a coaxing fashion, the fudge rumbling inside the container as I did so.

 

"That's what was inside the bag?" he asked flatly, completely ignoring my tempting shaking. It was disappointingly enough, the longest string of words he had spoken to me all night.

 

"And a few other things," I told him offhand, then resumed waving the tin in front of his face, determined to get some sort of rise out of him. "It's really brilliant fudge," I continued. "Ask anyone."

 

He ignored my comment again. "What else?" he asked.

 

"What else, what?"

 

"What else is in the bag?"

 

"Oh. That." I reached into the bag and started shifting through the various bribery items resting within, encouraged that he was at least interested enough in the bag to speak a few full sentences. "Well," I started, "there are some sweets and...er...some tarts and such..."

 

A sudden, strangled noise made me snap my head and look towards James. When I did, I nearly shrank with relief.

 

He was laughing.

 

Really, truly laughing.

 

Thank, _Merlin_!

 

"W-were you... were you trying to _bribe_ me with _food_ so–so that I wouldn't be _cross_ with you?" he stammered out through his laughter, shaking his head at me disbelievingly. I bit my lip, hesitated, then nodded. James burst out laughing again, slumping against the wall in glee.

 

"You're one odd, bird, Lily Evans," he told me through chuckles, wiping away the tears of mirth from his eyes. " _Smart_ , but odd."

 

"Er, thanks, I guess," I muttered, my gaze dropping uncertainly to the floor. I wasn't sure what exactly to say to that, and I was even _more_ unsure of what I should be doing now that he no longer seemed cross with me. Though you could never really be sure with James. He seemed to have the emotional stability rate of a pea.

 

There was a moment of silence before James promptly spoke up. "Well?"

 

My gaze flew to his once more. "Well, what?"

 

Slowly, a crooked smile crept across James's face, his eyes twinkling merrily. It was such a drastic change from his expression just moments before that it almost startled me. "Well, hand over the fudge, woman!" he commanded with a grin. "Let's see if it's as brilliant as you claim it to be, yeah?"

 

With a smile of my own, I gladly did as ordered.

 

And from then on out, everything was pretty peaceful.

 

It didn't take long for James to completely throw off his previously cross disposition, and before I knew it, we were talking and laughing like the night before had never happened. I told him that my mum had made the fudge and was known all over Surrey for it. He told me his mum couldn't even find the _spoons_ in the kitchen, much less use it to make something. He asked about my summer, and I told him about how I had mostly lounged around my house all summer long. He'd gone to France with his family. Sirius had gone with him. Then he'd apparently lounged about as well. At first it was a relief to actually have him speaking to me again, but as we began moving easily from one subject to another and time was quickly flying by, the fact that I hadn't yet brought up the 'being mates' subject was getting to be a problem. But how was I supposed to bring it up? I mean, how exactly did one go about getting on a subject like that? When we were talking about Charms ("I would really like to get those Charms papers back already. Do you know what else I would really like? For us to be mates.")? When we were talking about Quidditch ("I really detest Quidditch. I detest this too. 'This' being us not really being mates, I mean.")? There didn't seem to be a possible way to breech the subject. 

 

And the fact that I had given him the last of my mum's fudge and all of my sugar tarts didn't seem to get the message across either.

 

Our rounds were dwindling down to a close at around midnight and we were heading back to Gryffindor Tower. The night had passed without much drama on the disciplining front (Penny O'Jene and Timmy Ricks, who are apparently back together, in the fifth floor corridor, snogging). I was still at a loss where the whole 'mates' thing was concerned.

 

"...and I told him not to do it, but you know Sirius," James continued on, completely unaware of my internal battle on how to bring the subject up. "He just went on in and threw it, and before we knew it, we were down in McGonagall's office, being told off again."

 

I laughed hollowly as he concluded the story, my worries making it impossible for me to fully concentrate on what he was saying. Perhaps I could just do it tomorrow. I mean, what was one day anyway? And why did it matter so much? Did I really have to go and put a label on the steadiness we seemed to be able to have together? What was the difference between leaving it as it was now and calling each other friends? Was I turning this into something it didn't need to be?

 

Lost in my thoughts, I wasn't aware that we'd practically reached Gryffindor Tower until I slammed full-force into James's back with a soft _oomph_! He'd stopped short and was staring at something in front of the portrait hole.

 

"James, what–" I started. Then I caught sight of what he was staring at. My eyes bulged out. "Oh my..."

 

There, with her clothes crumpled, her hair a mess and the strong scent of alcohol in the air, laid Elisabeth Saunders, curled up in a ball in front of the portrait hole.

 

She wasn't moving, but I could see the uneven falls of her chest, so I knew that at least she wasn't dead. I stood frozen in my spot behind James, watching Elisabeth's curled up form from behind his shoulder. For a few seconds, James seemed too stunned to move, as well. Then I heard him sigh deeply and he strode towards her fallen form. Not knowing what else to do, I followed.

 

"Holy shit, Lizzie," James was murmuring as I slowly approached, wiping a few stray blonde locks from her face.

 

_Lizzie_? 

 

I'd never heard anyone call her that before–not even Carrie. Then again, it's not as if I spend that much time with her that I would. But it was such a childish, girlish, _innocent_ name...so _not_ Elisabeth Saunders. At least so not the Elisabeth _I_ knew. James had dated her, so I suppose that constituted the use of a nickname.

 

But even so– _Lizzie_?

 

"Is she..." I started, finally finding my voice as James gently tried to wake her up. "Do you think she's all right?"

 

For a moment, James didn't answer; he just continued shaking Elisabeth gently, quietly telling "Lizzie" she had to get up. "Just passed out, I think," he mumbled a few seconds later. I nodded, trying not to gag as the strong stench continued sailing through my nose. It was making me sick. Quickly remembering my wand, I pulled it out and cast a Cleansing Charm, sighing with relief when the smell finally began to disappear.

 

"Good thinking," James said, obviously thinking I'd done it for Elisabeth's sake. Then it hit me– we'd just found a girl, passed out and obviously drunk, outside the common room after curfew. That alone left only about a _million_ rules broken. And McGonagall was extremely strict about drinking, too. When I was in fifth-year, there was this huge victory party after a particularly grueling Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match and someone had somehow smuggled a bushel load of Firewhisky and strong ale into the party. By the end of the night, everyone from tiny third-years to experienced seven-years were more than a bit tipsy. When McGonagall came in later that night to find a group of fourth-years playing a game they liked to call "Duck, Duck, Drink", all hell broke loose. I'd never seen McGonagall so angry in all my life. Ever since then, any drinking done in Gryffindor Tower had to be kept completely hush-hush. Last year, when one seventh-year got plastered after a rather bad row with his girlfriend and McGonagall caught him, he was sent home and suspended for a week.

 

If McGonagall heard about this, I had no doubt the same, if not worse, would be done to Elisabeth.

 

The question was, what was I going to do about that?

 

James's thoughts seemed to have drifted to the same place as mine, for when I looked back down at him and Elisabeth, he was looking straight at me, his face impassive. He stood slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. 

 

"I...I know you don't get along well with Elisabeth," he started, his voice uncertain. "But... McGonagall will go _mad_ , Lily. She'll go _mad_." His voice trailed off as his eyes strayed back down to Elisabeth. "She...Elisabeth has been warned for this sort of thing before. Many times before." His gaze flickered back to mine. "They'll kick her out, Lily," he told me quietly. "They won't just suspend her like they did to Tony last year. They'll kick her out of school."

 

I didn't know what to do. To say Elisabeth and I don't get along was like saying Voldemort was just a bloke gone a bit astray. She hated me. She made my life miserable. And I did my very best to reciprocate the favour. When I tried to imagine what Elisabeth would do had our rolls been reversed, I could only see her laughing gleefully and rushing off to McGonagall with an extra jilt in her step. Could I do that? I knew I _wanted_ to, but...

 

I shook my head solemnly, knowing that regardless of what I _wanted_ to do, I knew what I _had_ to do.

 

"She won't get kicked out," I sighed, defeated, running my hands tiredly over my face. "At least not this time."

 

James looked so thankful, I thought he was about to hug me, but a sudden moan from the floor stopped him and he turned back around to Elisabeth. I kneeled down beside him, annoyed.

 

"Lizzie?" he called gently, placing a comforting hand on Elisabeth's shoulder. "Come on, Lizzie, wake up."

 

A few seconds later, ever so slowly, Elisabeth's eyes flickered open.

 

"James?" she asked groggily, stirring quietly.

 

"Shhh," James quieted her, watching as she crookedly sat up. With a gentle ease, James slipped his arm around Elisabeth's waist and helped the staggering girl to her feet. She leaned weakly against him, blinking rapidly and looking at James with unfocused eyes. She didn't seem to notice I was there beside him. As Elisabeth slowly got back into her own, I stole a look over at James and was surprised to see that his face had changed drastically. He was angry. He was very _very_ angry.

 

"James, I–" Elisabeth started helplessly, seeing his face as well and swallowing nervously. James cut her off, his tone quiet, but harsh.

 

"Are you _mad_ , Elisabeth?" he snapped softly, glaring daggers at her. "Are you _bloody fucking mad_?" Elisabeth tried to talk again, but James interrupted her once more. "You _know_ what Dumbledore said, Lizzie! You _know_ what he said would happen if this happened again! Do you _want_ to be kicked out of Hogwarts? _Do you_?"

 

" _No_!" Elisabeth cried, shaking her head, then moaned obvious in pain. James shushed her again.

 

"I didn't _mean to_ ," Elisabeth defended quietly, looking feebly at James.

 

"And you think that _matters_?" he countered furiously, the rage still evident in his voice. "What if someone else had found you, Elisabeth? What if it had been _someone else_? Do you think it would've mattered to _them_ whether or not you _meant_ it?"

 

"But it _wasn't_ someone–" She stopped. Slowly, her head turned. Her gaze finally reached me.

 

"Oh my _god_ ," she cried brokenly, her mouth dropping open. Suddenly, her eyes that had been so unfocused only moments before filled with such a fiery hate, I took a step back. "What are you two doing out here?" she fumed, glaring at me with blatantly obvious anger, not unlike James had been doing to her a few seconds before.

 

"That doesn't matter," James snapped back. Elisabeth ignored him and continued glaring at me with an even more burning velocity. "Stop that!" he commanded heatedly, causing Elisabeth's gaze to snap away from me and onto him. "She could _easily_ get your sorry arse kicked out of here! But I asked her not to, and she's not going to, so I'd be _groveling with thanks_ rather than glaring if I were you!"

 

Rather than pacifying her as both James and I had obviously thought, James's comment seemed to enrage her even more, and without any sort of warning, Elisabeth completely lashed out.

 

At _me_.

 

I tumbled down to the hard floor with a loud thump as the wind was knocked instantly from my chest as one of Elisabeth's limbs plummeted into my stomach. I took a deep breath, ignoring the strong twinge in both my back and my previously injured ankle as I tried to fill my lungs. James was restraining Elisabeth tightly around her waist, pulling her kicking and fighting form away from me.

 

"You don't even _like him_!" Elisabeth was shouting hysterically, thrashing wildly in James's arms. I was shocked to see there were actually tears streaming down from her eyes. "I _hate_ you! _I hate you!_ Stupid, dirty _Mudblood slut!_ You don't even–"

 

" _Stupefy_!"

 

James's voice cracked through the air followed quickly by a burst of red light as Elisabeth fell limp in his arms. I hadn't been aware I'd stopped breathing again until I let out a long, suffered breath.

 

"You all right?" James asked quickly, placing Elisabeth's fallen floor to the ground and rushing over to me. I nodded, shaking, wondering why he was eyeing me so oddly.

 

That was until I felt the wetness on my cheeks.

 

I was _crying_.

 

"I'm fine," I muttered, wiping furiously at my eyes. I was actually _crying_. I mean, it'd hurt, and I was surprised, and my stupid ankle was hurting a lot more than it should have been, but...

 

"You're not fine," James insisted forcefully, nodding towards my wet cheeks.

 

I let out a small smile as I finished wiping at all the stray tears. "I was just...shaken up," I explained quietly, shrugging my shoulders. James hesitated, and then nodded, holding out a hand to help me up. My ankle burned in pain as James lifted me to my feet, but I didn't say anything.

 

"We'd better get inside," James said a few seconds later, still eyeing me carefully. "Merlin only knows if Filch heard all the commotion." I nodded, then looked down at Elisabeth's stunned form. With a rugged sigh, James bent over and lifted Elisabeth in his arms.

 

"Let's go," he muttered quietly. We turned to the Fat Lady, who was watching us with a very disgruntled face. " _Locus Loft_."

 

With an annoyed _humph_! the Fat Lady swung open and we climbed inside.

 

The common room was empty save a stray pet or two. Fire still burned in the fireplace, but it was obvious a house elf would be along shortly to rekindle it some more. I followed James silently to the girl's staircase.

 

"I'll have to levitate her up," I whispered tiredly, pulling out my wand from out of my bag. "The alarms will go off if you try to go up."

 

"Er, yeah," James answered in an equally soft tone. Gently, he placed her on the floor in front of him.

 

I pointed my wand at Elisabeth. " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

 

Her body slowly lifted from the floor, hovering a few feet from the ground. Silently, I motioned towards the staircase, watching as Elisabeth's body followed my command and little by little made its way up the staircase, waiting for me halfway up. I sighed wearily, then turned back to James.

 

"Do you reckon I should 'ennervate' her?" I asked him.

 

James shook his head. "Don't bother," he told me. "She'll sleep it off. She'll have a headache from it tomorrow morning, but I figure she'll have one anyway."

 

I nodded, then turned my head to look back up at Elisabeth. Her body was still hovering, unmoving in the same place.

 

"She may kill me in my sleep," I muttered flatly, a wiry grin spreading across my face. When James didn't say anything, I turned back to face him. He was looking at me in the oddest way, his eyes bright behind his glasses, the firelight playing softly on his face and hair. He really is very good-looking. I suppose when your almost-mates and not enemies, it's easier to see things like that.

 

"You really are brilliant," he whispered quietly, his voice strangely heavy. "You know that, don't you?"

 

I stared at him blankly, not sure what to say to that. "I'm...I mean, I'm not..."

 

"You _are_ ," he insisted vigorously. For a few seconds he didn't do anything, and then, hesitantly, as if he wasn't quite sure of what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. 

 

Maybe it was the whole crazy events of the night, or because I was so tired, or perhaps because I had just recently decided he was actually as good-looking as everyone claimed, but for whatever reason, I started blushing furiously.

 

"I...yeah, um–thanks, then," I stammered, my blush deepening. "Er, g'night, James."

 

"G'night, Lily."

 

Then I turned around, still blushing, and made my way upstairs, levitating Elisabeth's body in front of me.

 

And now here I am, the only one awake, smelling like alcohol, with no fudge, no sugar tarts and no James Potter for a mate–or at least, not as an _official_ mate, anyway. And if _that's_ not compassion, if _that's_ not all-giving and no receiving, I just don't know what is.

 

Mother Teresa has _nothing_ on Lily Evans.

 

Well, at least for tonight, anyway.

 

___________________

**Friday, September 26th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 70**

****

That is the last time I'm ever compassionate again. Seriously. The last time _ever_. There will be no more good-heartedness for Lily Evans. From now on, I'll be a bloody Scrooge if that's what it takes to feel like a normal person again.

 

I'm exhausted.

 

I smell.

 

I'm bitter.

 

I'm hungry.

 

And my ankle? It totally feels like it's about to fall off again. This means that sometime today, I’m going to have to visit Madam Pomfrey, who will yell at me again for not taking better care of myself, though I’d like to see how good _she_ would fair after having a tall, drunk, wild girl lash herself at her.

 

Not too well, I think.

 

Mother Teresa can have her title back. Being compassionate is for tired, smelly, bitter old fools.

 

Psh.

 

___________________

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 71**

****

Observation #71) No matter how many times you shower, or how well you wash yourself, the stench of alcohol never seems to leave. Even if you weren't the one drinking it.

 

I can't stand this much longer. I'm making myself sick. And I'm _tired_...just so _tired_.

 

Maybe I should go up to bed. James stayed in bed. _He's_ not here at breakfast. What's food when you smell and you're bitter and you're tired?

 

"All right there, Lily?" Marley asked me when I sat (or fell) into my chair. I nodded, but didn't answer, because I've discovered that I'm only capable of saying bitter things this morning, and Marley really doesn't deserve my bitterness. It's not her fault that Elisabeth Saunders is a fall-down drunk and I'm stupid enough to help her.

 

Ugh, _tired_.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 71**

****

James and Elisabeth are passing notes.

 

They've been at it for the past ten minutes or so.

 

It bothers me. I'm too tired to wonder why.

 

___________________

**Still Later, Still in Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 71**

****

**What do you reckon they're talking about? -GR**

****

_What? Who? -LE_

__

**Saunders and James. You've been glaring in that general direction for the past twenty minutes, by the way.**

****

_Have I?_

__

**Yes.**

****

_Hm_ _._

__

**Hm** **, what?**

****

_Hm_ _, nothing. Pay attention._

__

**Are you all right? You look completely buggered out.**

****

_I am._

****

**Why? What time did you and James get back last night?**

****

_Late. Very, very late._

__

**_I guess you had fun then._ **

__

_Hm. Fun._

__

**You know, if you don't quit glaring at Elisabeth like that, you might just burn a hole in her head** – **not that I'm complaining or anything, go right ahead, but just a warning.**

__

_He calls her Lizzie._

****

**Who does?**

****

_James._

****

**I know. He used to call her that all the time when they were dating. Don't you remember?**

****

_No._

****

**Does that bother you?**

****

_Yes._

****

**Really?**

****

_I just said it did, didn't I?_

****

**I know, it's just I can't believe you admitted it.**

****

_Bugger off, Grace. I'm knackered._

__

___________________

**Even Later, Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 71**

****

They're still at it.

 

What's the matter with them, anyway? Can't they see that Flitwick is trying to teach us an especially difficult charm? They can't possibly be writing _their_ notes _and_ his. It has to be one or the other. And really, I think we all know which one of the two is more important.

 

And what are they talking about anyway? I mean, if it's about last night, don't they think I should be included too? I was there after all. I saved Elisabeth's sorry arse, remember? I have the really screwed-up ankle to prove it.

 

Stupid prats.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Potions**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 71**

****

"Lily?"

I'm sleep deprived. Maybe it's a mirage.

 

Uh, no. It really is Emma.

 

"Hmm?" I mumble, laying my head against the cool surface of my Potion's desk. I really just wasn't in the mood to be yelled at right about then. 

 

"I want to talk to you," Emma says, her voice very commanding. "Could you please just lift your head, at least?"

 

I do as she asks, but do not intend to actually listen to her.

 

"Listen, Em," I say, cutting her off from whatever subject she was about to dive into. "I'm really, _really_ tired and not at all up to whatever Lily-bashing thing you might have in mind right now, so could we please just do this a bit later?"

 

At first, she just looked shocked, then slightly disappointed. She must have really been looking forward to her Lily-bashing. With a quick nod, she turned around and went off to her seat next to Mac.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 73**

****

I passed Elisabeth and James in the corridor as I was walking to the library, and neither one of them even bothered to acknowledge my presence. At all. And, yeah, so what if they were sort of in deep conversation? Have they forgotten what I did last tonight? Has my compassion disappeared completely from their minds? James has obviously forgotten about my complete brilliance that he'd insisted of last night. Or else he just thinks Elisabeth is even more so. Even more so brilliant, I mean. Or _Lizzie_ is in any event.

 

Don't I even deserve a thanks or something? Is this how Mother Teresa works? All giving and not a single thanks? Maybe Mother Teresa can live like that, but Lily Evans can't. At least an acknowledgement of my presence is all I'm asking for. Is that so hard?

 

No, I don't think it is.

 

___________________

**Still Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 74**

****

I fell asleep while trying to do my Potions homework. A disgruntled-looking Ravenclaw third-year woke me up, insisting that he could no longer concentrate on his work because–in an unsuccessful attempt to try and wake me up–Madame Pince had been stomping continuingly up and down the rows of bookshelves, making loud noises with her feet and practically throwing the books noisily against the shelves.

 

I apologized to the boy and told him I was having a stressful day. He told me he didn't care; he just wanted me to get up so that he could finally finish his History of Magic assignment without having to hear Madame Pince's stomping about and swearing in French under her breath. I asked him if he'd at least picked up some new French swear words out of it. He said yes, but no one would understand him if he went around saying them, anyway. I said I was sorry for that too, and then asked him what time it was. He said it was nearly curfew. I thanked him, and then he left.

 

Oh, bugger. Just before curfew. Now I'll have to rush my exhausted self all the way up to Gryffindor Tower without running into anyone who might not like the fact that I'm up and about.

 

Ugh.

 

___________________

**Even Even Later, Somewhere Near the North Tower**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11**   
**Total Observations: 74**

****

When I walked into the dormitory, very tired, very irritable and a bit put out (because, looking back on it, I had just been soundly and thoroughly told off by a puny third-year), I knew that the only thing that was really going to help this post-compassionate Lily Evans was a long, overdue and rather well-deserved lie-in. So that's what I planned–just stop worrying about stupid things like Elisabeth Saunders and James Potter and tiny Ravenclaw third-years who have the nerve to tell off a very tired and very stressed out Head Girl–and just sleep it all off.

 

At least, that's what I'd planned until I stepped into the dormitory, only to find Grace and Emma sitting on my bed (yes, the very one I intended to "sleep it off" in), engrossed in what seemed to be a rather serious conversation. In fact, at a closer glance, I could see that Emma's eyes appeared to be rather red and blotchy, and Grace's face held a noticeably solemn look–a red flag sign that something was amiss. I took a few cautious steps forward before stopping, eyeing the pair warily. I wasn't exactly sure whether or not I was welcomed into the conversation.

 

Even though, you know, they were sort of sitting on my bed and all.

 

"I can...er...leave, if you want me to." I motioned towards the door, retreating back the few steps I had taken. At my suggestion, Emmeline's eyes grew wide and Grace began to shake her head.

 

"Come sit, Lil," Grace said, patting the empty space between her and Emma. I looked towards Emmeline for consent on this, figuring that with the way she's recently been, the last thing she'd want is for me to be in her presence, much less intruding on her conversations. When Emma failed to give any response to my silent question, I uncertainly made the familiar trek to my bed, taking my place at the previously designated spot.

 

"Is everything...all right?" I asked slowly, my gaze flickering from Grace to Emma nervously. What was going on? What was this all about? I didn't like the fact that Grace wasn't her normal-smiley self, and I would've taken even angry-glaring-Emma over this red-faced, swollen-eyed stranger. I couldn't even remember the last time I saw the cool-headed Emma cry.

 

"Well?" I questioned, my voice getting a bit frantic–possibly from the nerves or from the stress or maybe just from my exhaustion. "Isn't anyone going to tell me what's going on here?"

 

Grace glanced at Emma. Emma glanced back. Then they both looked towards me. Grace gave Emma an encouraging nod and Emma's eyes became a bit wild. Silently, I just hoped she wasn't going to go lash out at me _Ã_ _la Elisabeth Saunders_.

 

Instead, to my shock, Emma threw herself at me and bust into tears.

 

"Oh, Lily!" she cried, sobbing heavily into my shoulder. She babbled on some more, but I couldn't make out a single word she was saying through her tears and the muffling of her face in my shirt. Suddenly, I had completely forgotten the fact that he'd been ignoring me all day and–possibly for the first time–I began to feel really _really_ bad for James Potter. Had this been what it was like for him when I had attacked him in the Transfiguration classroom with my tears? Had he been this uncomfortable when my traitor-of-a-mouth had gone off and spilt my entire life-story to him? And what about yesterday when I had started to cry? Did he feel this way then, as well?

 

Oh, that poor poor boy.

 

He totally deserved all of that fudge. And more. I will definitely tell Mum to make him more.

 

"Shhhh," I murmured softly, rubbing Emma's back as she continued crying into my shirt. I hoped, for her sake, that my shirt was at least a comfortable shirt to be crying in, as James's had been for me. It was really the least I could've done for the poor bird.

 

"I'm sorry!" Emma blubbered, her speech finally slightly coherent. "I'm so so sorry, Lily! I've been dreadful! Totally and inexcusably dreadful and I–"

 

Then her voice became incoherent again.

 

"It's okay," I told her, still rubbing her back as her tears began to slowly subside. If I hadn't been so exhausted–and Emma's waterfall of tears hasn't shaken me up so bad–this simply apology probably wouldn't have been enough for anti-compassionate Lily Evans after the hell Emmeline's put me through this past week. However, you know, since I _was_ exhausted and she _was_ crying, the apology would have to do.

 

"But it's _not_ okay," Emma insisted, finally lifting her head from my shoulder. "I had no reason... it was just so stupid and I...I..."

 

She flung herself back at me and starting crying again.

 

Oh, bother.

 

"Em," I started, my voice holding a bit of a desperate tone. "Just...stop. Stop worrying about it. It's all over, right? Just stop–"

 

"But it _wouldn't_ have been over!" Emma countered feverishly, looking at me pleadingly. "If you and...hadn't started..."

 

And there she went again.

 

I looked helplessly at Grace over Emma's shaking shoulder. Grace's hand had joined mine as we continued rubbing Emma's back soothingly in an attempt to calm her down.

 

"Deep breaths," Grace coached her softly, still rubbing her back. "You're not making a single bit of sense, blubbering on like that. Just tell Lily exactly what you told me, all right?"

 

After a few seconds, Emma finally lifted her head from my shoulder, her eyes and cheeks still wet, but her face determined.

 

It took a few more moments for her to completely regain her composure and her ability to speak again. "Well," she started with a short, nasally laugh. "I suppose you want to know why I've been acting like such a prat all this time, don't you?"

 

Er, no, actually. I just sort of wanted to go to bed.

 

"I guess," I replied, fidgeting uncomfortably in my spot. "I mean, unless you're not up for it or something, because I'll honestly understand if you want to put it off until tomorrow..."

 

_Please, please say yes. Please let me go to bed._

__

Emma shook her head defiantly. "No," she answered. "I've...I've let this go on far enough already. I won't make you wait any longer."

 

Damn.

 

Bloody fucking double damn.

 

Emma took a long, deep breath, her eyes slowly beginning to dry and the redness and blotchiness returning to her skin, but her face never losing its determined resolve.

 

"Do you remember," she started, her voice hoarse as she had difficultly getting out the words. "Do you remember...well..."

 

Oh, Merlin. At this rate, I wouldn't be getting to sleep until _tomorrow_ night.

 

"Remember what?" I prodded, trying to sound interested as I stifled a yawn. Emma took another deep breath.

 

"Do you remember," she repeated, pausing slightly before going on, "when you first became a prefect?"

 

A prefect? As in, three _years_ ago 'just became a prefect'?

 

Oh yeah. Totally going to be here all night.

 

"I–yeah," I answered, confused. "But what does that have to do with this? That was three years ago, Em."

 

"I know," Emma replied. "But do you remember how we–how _I_ –reacted when you told Grace and I?"

 

She didn't seem to realise that she was rather lucky I was remembering my own _name_ I was so tired, much less something rather trivial from _three years ago_.

 

"Not presently," I answered honestly, rubbing furiously at my eyes. Emma's face fell. She was obviously disappointed I hadn't remembered.

 

"Well, Grace was ecstatic," Emma started to explain, motioning towards the silent Grace next to her. "And I...I told you that it was brilliant and that I was really glad for you."

 

I nodded, her descriptions not really setting off any memories, but taking her word for it nevertheless.

 

Another deep breath later, Emma turned to me and said flatly, "I lied."

 

Oh.

 

Lied.

 

Er, all right then.

 

"I...don't know what to say to that," I answered honestly, a bit stunned. Slowly, Emma went on.

 

"I got cross with you later that day," she told me with a sad sort of smile. "You thought it was because you were teasing me about my emerald shawl again." I stared at her blankly. Emma sighed. "It wasn't," she added.

 

As Emma stopped talking, I tried to understand just what she was trying to tell me. She'd been cross. I rather remembered that actually, because Emma has never been one to get cross easily, so I figured that I had really blotched it up with my teasing. But apparently she wasn't cross for the reason I'd assumed.

 

Then what?

 

"I don't understand," I responded quietly. "What...why were you angry then?"

 

Emma bit her lip and waited a few moments before she told me exactly why she was so cross.

 

"I was jealous, Lily," she told me bluntly. "Completely and totally jealous."

 

I froze, stunned, my eyes opening wide for possibly the first time today. Thinking I'd heard her wrong, I asked her to repeat herself... and she said it again. Jealous. _Jealous._ The thought seemed so inconceivable, so absolutely mad...it just didn't seem possible.

 

"And then this year," Emma continued, her voice cracking and her eyes starting to fill again, "I _knew_ you were going to get Head Girl–I _knew_ it–but then when James got Head Boy, and he's never been prefect either...well, I suppose I just started to hope...but it was stupid! And I _knew_ it was stupid because you deserved it! But I couldn't help hoping. And then when you told us..."

 

"But you only got cross with me a few weeks into term!" I protested franticly, still trying to comprehend that Emma–perfect Emmeline Vance– was somehow jealous of _me_. "I told you I got Head Girl over the summer. Why weren't you cross then?"

 

"I'm getting to that," Emma insisted, rubbing at her now dampening eyes. "It was only until later in term, when I was talking to Mac–"

 

The second she said 'Mac', my guard was instantly up. I'd known from the second I'd met that stupid old twit that there was something off about him. It seems as if he has some sort of personal disgust for me, and I hadn't even _met_ the bloke before this year. Had he been the one to set Emma on this path of Lily-hatred? Somehow, I didn't doubt it. 

 

"–before everything just kind of...hit the fan, I suppose."

 

I stared at Emma suspiciously, not liking the idea at all that Mac had been the one to instigate this entire thing. What ever happened to mates before blokes? "What exactly did you and Mac talk about that made you–that made it all hit the fan?" I questioned slowly, not exactly certain I was prepared to hear the answer after the Great Jealousy Shock of moments before.

 

Emma stared at me silently for a few seconds before finally sighing softly, and looking at me pointedly. "Do you...you don't remember Mac from when you were prefects before, right?"

 

I shook my head. "I don't think we ever crossed paths," I told her truthfully.

 

Emma gave me a small smile before telling softly, "You did."

 

I looked at her blankly. "Er, what?"

 

"Your paths crossed," Emma repeated again. "In fact, they crossed often–or often enough for Mac to fancy you quite a bit, anyway."

 

_FANCY?_

__

" _What_?" I choked out. "That's–Em, he _hates_ me! That day you introduced us he practically screamed it with those looks he was giving me! How...I..."

 

I was speechless. This couldn't be right. All this was a dream. That whole third-year-waking-me-up-in-the-library thing? Totally didn't happen. I'm still sleeping at my table in the library. I pinched myself.

 

Oh, Merlin. I wasn't dreaming.

 

But it didn't make any _sense_. I'd never even _heard_ of him before this year! And if he'd fancied me as Emma claimed, wouldn't he have at least attempted to _talk_ to me? And you would think a bloke that fancied me would be a little more courteous! And why in the name of all that's magical would someone fancy _me_? _Especially_ back then! I wasn't even mildly interesting then! I was tempery and bookish and a total anorak if I've ever seen one! _No one_ asked me out (well, except for James, but he didn't do it seriously). _No one_ fancied me. It just wasn't _possible_. Emma must have gotten something wrong.

 

"He did," Emma persisted quietly. "For all of fifth year. And when he told me after that day I introduced you...well, I guess it was all my jealous side could take. I just...blew up."

 

"But that wasn't my _fault_!" I insisted indignantly. "I didn't _ask_ for Mac to fancy me! I didn't _ask_ to be Head Girl!"

 

"I know that," Emma replied simply. "And I knew that then, too."

 

"Then WHAT have you been doing all this bloody time?" I demanded angrily, the stress of the day, my exhaustion and this completely unbelievable conversation finally pushing me over the edge. "Testing my temper rate? Seeing how long it took before I finally started groveling for you to forgive me?'

 

"No!" Emma answered quickly, shaking her head frantically. "It's not like that! I wouldn't have even let it go any farther than that if I hadn't seen you walking past just as Mac and I finished our conversation! And then the very next day, you come out doing exactly what he said you weren't–"

 

"What are you _talking_ about?" I cried furiously, glaring at Emma. "I didn't hear _any_ of your bloody conversation! And what do you mean 'exactly what he said I wasn't'? What exactly were you and Mac saying about me, Emmeline?"

 

"All he said was that you hadn't changed!" Emma told me, her voice a bit panicked as she saw me begin to get angry. "All he said was that you were still the same conservative, slightly odd girl he'd fancied fifth-year and that's why he didn't anymore!"

 

"And he knew this from one conversation?" I countered with a snort. Emma shook her and head and began to defend him again, but I cut her off. "And what about the 'me doing exactly what he said'?" I asked. "What exactly did I do?"

 

"I woke up the next morning and there you were, make-up on, hair-down, skirt-shortened–what was I supposed to think, Lily? I thought you were trying to prove him wrong! I thought you were trying to show him he _could_ still fancy you!"

 

My mouth dropped open and I stared at Emmeline with disbelief. "You–you _what_?"

 

"Because you _could've_ , Lily!" Emma screamed, her voice quivering with her own anger. "I thought that in the process of trying to prove your point, you were going to take Mac away from me! And you would've succeeded, Lily– _especially_ looking like you did that day–all dolled up like some sort of common _slag_ ready to _drag in the kill!"_

 

As soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, Emma stopped, instantly throwing her hand over her mouth. I froze as well, my heart stopping clear in my chest. Is that...I mean, that _had_ been the point of the whole de-pruding thing–to prove I wasn't a conservative prude–but _not_ because of _Mac_. _Not_ because of my best mate's _boyfriend_. Did Emma–did _anyone_ –really think that dreadfully of me? Did she honestly think I was so terrible as to steal her boyfriend from her? Is that the sort of friend Emmeline thought me to be?

 

A few moments later, Emma removed her hand from her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I...I'm _so_ sorry, Lily," she choked out. "I–"

 

"I can't _believe you_!" I growled furiously, not even wanted to hear her go on. "I can't–you actually thought I'd _do_ that to you, Emmeline? You actually thought after _seven years_ , I'd retort so low as to steal you bloody _boyfriend_ from you? Is that honestly how you think of me, Em? Like some _'common slag_ '? I...I..."

 

I couldn't go on, my own tears making it impossible to continue. I just couldn't believe it. Emma–my best mate Emmeline– thought I was some dreadful, stupid, self-centered slag. And not just your normal, everyday slag either, but one that would go on and actually STEAL her boyfriend, just for the sport of it. My heart was pounding in my chest, a burning sensation floating through my stomach and I began to feel sick. Feeling as if I was about to gag up everything I'd ever eaten, I wiped furiously at my eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop falling.

 

" _Please_ , Lily," Emma begged. " _Please_. I was stupid. I knew I was stupid. I didn't mean any of those things. I _know_ you would never do that–that that was never your intention. _Especially_ now–"

 

"What do you _mean_ 'especially now'?" I croaked, glaring openly at her. "What makes last week different from this one? Was I less of a boyfriend-stealing whore this week, then?"

 

" _No_!" Emma cried. "I just meant, that with you and–"

 

" _Emma!"_

 

Grace's voice shot through the air, cutting off Emmeline's explanation. Up until then, I'd almost forgotten that the silent Grace was still there.

 

"Don't, Emma." Grace stared at her, trying to convey something to Emma without out-right saying it.

 

Without saying it in front of me, that is.

 

"No!" I snapped, turning my glare on to Grace. "What's going on? What was it, Emmeline? Someone had better tell me!" When all they did was look at each other, I started to get hysterical. " _Tell me!"_ I screamed.

 

A few seconds of silence passed before Grace sighed heavily, shaking her head. "We...know you didn't want us to know," was all she said.

 

I stared at her, confused. "Didn't want you to know what?" I asked, my voice wavering with pent-up emotion. My head was bursting and my stomach was cramping up. Something was wrong, and I was going to find out exactly what it was. The only question was, would I still want to know?

 

"Sirius and I were talking and we discovered it," Grace continued quietly, without actually saying what 'it' was. "At first I thought maybe it was just me–that I was just imagining it all–but then we were talking to Remus and to Peter and to McKinnon–"

 

"To who?"

 

"McKinnon," Grace repeated. "Marlene McKinnon."

 

At my confused look, Grace rolled her eyes. "Spunky little sixth-year Gryffindor? Chaser for the Quidditch team? You eat _breakfast_ with her every morning–"

 

My eyes opened wide. "You mean _Marley_?"

 

Grace nodded. I threw her a confused look. What on earth could _Marley_ have to do with any of this? And I hadn't known she was on the Quidditch team! Granted, I didn't even know her last name–or her entire first name, for that matter–but still. How was _she_ involved in all this?

 

"And then we talked with Emma yesterday," Grace continued. "Everything just started to fit together, I guess."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, shaking my head in confusion. I watched them both warily–well, watching _them_ watching _me_ warily is more like it. Whatever the group appeared to have concluded, it was something to be treaded easily on.

 

"We know," Emma started, pursing her lips, before continuing, "about you and James."

 

Me and...James?

 

What?

 

"You know _what_?" I asked, the possibilities endless. What could they know? Did they know about the bet? Did they know about the fight? Did they know about me wanting to be his mate? Did they know about me saving Elisabeth's arse for him last night? Did they know he thought I was brilliant–or at least, brilliant enough to deserve a kiss?

 

As it turned out, they didn't know any of that.

 

What they _did_ know, apparently, was this:

 

"We know you and James are dating."

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

" _WHAT_?"

 

"We know you're dating," Grace repeated matter-of-factly, nodding her head. "It all made so much sense once we figured it out. I mean, that day you left your textbook in the library and wouldn't go get it from him–you said something happened and that it was complicated and that's why you couldn't–he'd kissed you then, hadn't he? Then you both started smiling at each other all the time and passing notes–Sirius says you even gave James a _love letter_ one day after Potions! Then Marley told us how you both teased each other constantly at breakfast and how James got you to eat _eggs_. Last night? That must have been the first date, because Merlin only _knows_ that rounds don't last until _two o'clock in the morning_ –which, according to Remus, is the time James got back into the dormitory last night, which would explain why you were so tired all day. Then this morning, with all the glaring at Elisabeth–an _ex-_ girlfriend–when they were passing notes." She paused, waiting for something. "I know you didn't want to tell us yet, but, I guess it's all right now that we know, right?"

 

I couldn't answer. I was speechless. Absolutely bloody speechless.

 

Oh. My. God.

 

_Oh my God!_

 

THEY THOUGHT I WAS DATING JAMES POTTER!!!

 

It SOUNDED like I was dating James Potter!!!

 

OH MY GOD!!!!

 

"I can’t _believe_ this!”� I cried, finally finding my voice a few seconds later. "That's...it's...oh, bloody _Merlin!"_

__

"It's okay, Lil," Emma insisted. "We're not cross you didn't tell us–well, actually, Sirius is a bit cross, but I suppose he'll get over it."

 

"Yeah," Grace agreed, nodding her head. "I mean, we would've _liked_ to know, of course, but if you and James wanted to keep to yourselves for a bit, we can understand that."

 

"After all," Emma added. "I didn't tell you lot about Mac until nearly a month after we started dating."

 

So lost in my own thoughts, I barely heard the conversation that transpired after that. I couldn't believe it. I honestly had no idea what to say to any of this. James Potter–JAMES POTTER–my _boyfriend_? Were they _mad_? They had taken a whole bunch of random events and twisted them and turned them into something straight out of a romance novel. Except they had gotten everything wrong. They had gotten everything so totally and completely wrong, it was almost laughable. The day I left my textbook in the library, _they_ thought he'd kissed me, when really, all I did was insist that he joined societies obsessed with hating me. As for the smiling and passing the notes–well, that was because of the supposed "love letter" I gave him after Potions, and not because we were intent on writing sweet nothings to each other during class. And breakfast? Had Marley been _blind_? He'd threatened to shove the eggs down my throat! What was I supposed to do– let him? As for our "first date"–I don't know _what_ James was doing until two in the morning, but _I_ was tucked up in my bed by _one_ the latest. As for the ex-girlfriend glaring...well, I was tried, and it's _Elisabeth Saunders_. I'm _always_ glaring at her. Since when do I need a prerogative? But do you know what the _worst_ part was?

 

I didn't even know how to properly defend myself to them.

 

I mean, honestly, trying to explain what _really_ happened would take far too long and would probably sound just so ludicrous to them that they would think I was making it all up. Because, really, it did honestly sound as if I _was_ dating him. Moreover, you know what else? My awful, bad-karma had come to bite me in the arse again, because as it turns out, I couldn't even use the universal excuse that _any_ girl uses when she's accused of dating or snogging someone she's not.

 

The "we're just mates" excuse.

 

Because me and James, we're not. 

 

Mates, I mean. At least, not officially anyway.

 

So, really, what was I supposed to do then? I couldn't explain, I couldn't lie, I couldn't even use the bloody fucking universal excuse. What was a girl to do in my position except just sit there and cry (which I was doing both, by the way)?

 

So I sat there, crying and thinking, staying silent except for the few soft sobs that I let escape, ignoring whatever it was Grace and Emma were going on about just then, when suddenly, something made me stop. It made me stop, freeze, and think...but not about defending myself anymore. Instead, I was thinking about something Emmeline had said before. Something that hadn’t made sense then, but now…oh, now it did.

 

_"But it_ wouldn't _have been over! If you and... hadn't started..."_

 

Still frozen, I looked up at Emma in shock.

 

"Dear, Merlin," I mumbled, my eyes opening wide. Emma looked back, her face a mask of confusion.

 

"What?" she asked, her voice concerned. "What is it, Lily?"

 

I stared at her opened eyed, before suddenly, some wild streak passed through me, and I found my eyes narrowing and my temper flaring up again.

 

"Dear, _Merlin_!" I repeated, this time furiously. I stood up from my bed, glaring fiercely at Emma. "You–you wouldn't even have _done this_!" I cried hysterically. "If you hadn't thought I was dating James, you would have thought I had been trying to take Mac away from you _forever_ , wouldn't you?"

 

Emma's eyes instantly widened. She didn't have time to lie. The truth was blaring out at me through her guilt-stricken eyes.

 

"I can't..." I choked out, shaking my head in disbelief.

 

"That's not it, Lily!" Emma protested, though we both knew it was. "I... _please_ , Lily! It's _over_ now. Does it even matter anymore?"

 

"Of course it matters!" I snapped back, glaring daggers at her. "If you hadn't thought I was dating him, you would have gone on thinking I was some sort of boyfriend-stealing, _stupid, self-centered whore_ for the rest of our lives!"

 

"But I _wouldn't_ –"

 

"Wait a minute!" Grace interrupted, her voice stunned. " _Thought_?" The word hung in the air. “If we hadn't _thought_ you were dating James? You're...you're _not?"_

 

My gaze snapped to hers, but my fury was unquenchable at that point. Making a quick decision without really thinking it through, I strode quickly to the door of the dormitory, only turning back once to icily add, "Why don't you ask my _boyfriend_ about that one?"

 

Then I threw the door open and flew out of the room, not turning back again.

 

And that's how I ended up here, stuck in some cold, narrow stairwell somewhere near the North Tower, after running blindly through Hogwarts castle, after curfew, crying hysterically and having no concern whatsoever for anything. I don't even care if I'm caught now. In fact, I might just go and search for Filch a bit later if I'm up to it. But as of right now, I'm just...angry.

 

And bitter.

 

And cold.

 

And so unbelievably hurt it's making me physically sick.

 

She wouldn't have even bothered with this whole conversation if she hadn't thought I was dating James. She would have gone being cross with me forever–and she really didn't even have a reason to be in the first place. 

 

And I can't believe she thought I would _do_ something like that. Steal away Mac from her, I mean. Even if I _was_ trying to prove a point, I never would have done something so cruel. I'm not stupid. I know that's not the way to do things. I can't believe she thinks I'm just some stupid, silly whore who goes around trying to steal her best mates' boyfriends. I can't believe–

 

Bloody hell.

 

Footsteps.

 

I think someone's coming–


	10. September 26th: New Mates and Hypothetical Lovers

**Author’s Notes:** Ah, so here we are again. I apologise for taking so long uploading here, but I’ve been concentrating more on getting the current chapters finished and I’ve come to find that I’ve neglected uploading here. Very sorry for that. But here is chapter ten, edited only slightly. Thanks for this go to my beta readers, Megan, Juli and Lynn, whom without which, you would not be able to read this. And thanks a million to everyone who reviews!! Keep ‘em coming! ;) —Bee

 

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"If you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and tripping and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr. Brave man, I guess I'm a coward."

-Jack Handey-

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**___________________**

****

**Extremely Late (Probably Early Tomorrow, Actually), Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 11 (Probably 12)**   
**Total Observations: 76**

****

I didn't move as the door at the bottom of the stairwell began to creak open. I held my breath, willing my crying and sniffling to stop before they betrayed me. As hysterical as I still was, I knew I hadn't meant what I'd written earlier–I _didn't_ want to get caught. I wasn't upset enough to forget the sort of trouble I'd get into if I were caught, and I was _certainly_ not upset enough not to care about that trouble. But as the door continued opening and my inevitable discovery loomed closer and closer, it seemed that all the dread and humiliation of the entire night (plus the added stress of being caught now) had finally taken their toll on my poor, fragile body.

 

Which was why I think, despite all my attempts to stop, I started crying even harder. 

 

And louder. 

 

Neither of which was really going along too well with my ‘not being discovered’ plan.

 

Groaning miserably, I scrunched myself up into a tight ball, my back against the wall of the stairwell and my head buried in my knees. However, surprisingly, I found I wasn't thinking about what Filch was going to do once he found me there in the stairwell. I wasn’t thinking about what excuse I could use to explain my presence or what explanation I could give for my tears. Instead, only one thought remained in the forefront of my mind:

Mates, they're not so great after all.

 

Seriously. I don't even know why I was bothering trying to acquire any more. All they ever do is cause trouble and distress and then they leave you all alone in dusty stairwells somewhere in the North Tower to cry out your sorrows until Filch finds you. So what good are they, really? I might as well just get myself some mate rocks. Mate rocks wouldn’t think you're a dirty, rotten, slag-of-a-friend. Mate rocks wouldn’t think you had a boyfriend, even when you're _clearly_ in love with another wonderful, perfect bloke. Mate rocks would understand that all you were _really_ trying to do was _befriend_ your falsely accused boyfriend, NOT snog him. Mate rocks wouldn't think anything like that. In fact, mate rocks wouldn't think at all, on account of the fact that they're rocks. 

 

Which I'm beginning to see was the brilliance behind that whole pet-rock craze in the first place.

 

Yeah, I could do with a few of those right about now. Pet rocks, I mean. Because my mates, they're pretty much rubbish. I think everyone's are. It rather makes you wonder why anyone even bothered befriending anyone else in the first place. Why humans when you can have rocks? 

 

Yes, that’s what I want to know.

 

And all that time, while I sat there thinking about how I really should start gathering about a few rocks, I had pretty much forgotten that someone had opened the door and found me. That is, until the person spoke.

 

"Lily?"

 

My head snapped up at the familiar voice.

 

Oh, shit.

 

Double bloody fucking _shit_.

 

It wasn't Filch that had found me.

 

It was James.

 

Ugh. _Naturally_. After all, where there's Lily and where there are tears, there's James Potter. I should've expected something like this to happen. My karma enjoys humiliation like this.

 

"Oh, go away!" I cried, my voice raspy and slightly muffled since I'd buried my face back in my knees. I knew that there was no way he'd just been wandering around the castle. He'd definitely been out looking for me. And I mean that in the least the-world-revolves-around-Lily sort of way. There's just no other explanation for it. I bet Grace and Emma had run off to him the second I stormed out of the dormitory. Stupid twits.

 

A few seconds passed in silence, my head pounding as I tried to hold back the sobs threatening to wretch out of my chest. I waited anxiously for James to do something, anything. I expected him to completely disregard my request to leave, but I wasn't entirely sure what he’d do with me if he stayed. It was quiet. I heard the sound of soft footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the door closing. 

 

He’d…left? 

 

I froze. 

 

Really? That was it? He'd actually _listened?_ I'm not going to lie, I was a bit shocked. More than a bit shocked, actually. Not that I'd wanted him to stay. I didn't. I really didn't. I mean, I was crying and wailing and carrying on like a two-year-old and that's not exactly the sort of thing you want anyone else to witness. But I thought that's why he might have stayed. James, I mean. Because I was crying and upset and all. But he hadn't. He'd left. Surprised at his quick and uncharacteristic compliance, but relieved all the same, I let out a shuddered breath that I'd been holding back since he'd come into the well.

 

Then I felt his arm slide around my shoulders.

 

I was so startled by his touch that my head instantly shot up, my watery gaze flickering to his. 

 

He hadn't left after all. He'd just gone back to shut the door. My stomach churned uncomfortably. I didn't know whether to be thankful that he hadn't abandoned me or annoyed that he hadn't listened. In the end, it didn't really matter either way, because I just started crying again.

 

Honestly. I was getting just as bad as Emma.

 

"Shhhh." James pulled my teary face into the crook of his neck, his hand rubbing comfortingly up and down my arm. At first I tried to pull away--albeit, not because I really _wanted_ to (he was wearing one of his comfortable shirts again), but because the burning memory of what it was like to have a hysterical girl bawling her eyes out in your arms was still clear in my mind. And even though James wasn't exactly my favourite person at that point, I still wasn't going to subject him to that kind of cruel and unusual torture...er, again. I was still trying to live down the last seven or eight _million_ times the poor bloke had seen me cry.

 

However, it seemed that James wasn't aware of the fact that I was trying to _save_ him, for his arms just clamped more tightly around my shoulders as I tried to pull away again.

 

"Stop," he ordered softly. His arms tightened around me again. I only did as he asked because his firm grip was starting to hurt. When I stopped struggling, he loosened his hold on me. "Just cry it all out. You'll feel better."

 

Crying?

 

Feel better?

 

I almost laughed at that one. _Please_. The idiot obviously didn't realise that I'd been "crying it out" for the last hour and a half. I was sick of "crying it out". It doesn't help at all. It just makes your eyes all red and puffy and your cheeks all big and blotchy. There is no upside to crying. But you know what? I was already crying. My eyes were already red and puffy and my cheeks were already big and blotchy, so if James really wanted me to "cry it out" into his comfortable shirt, who was I to say no?

 

So that's what I did. 

 

I sat there for a while and "cried it out" into James's comfortable shirt, even though I was still pretty brassed off about the whole "everyone-thinks-we're-dating" thing–oh yeah, and the ignoring-me-all-day thing. I was pretty ticked off about that one as well. But I figured I'd let him have it later. After his shirt got too wet to be comfortable, I mean. And as it turned out, even though I thought I'd already cried myself silly, it seemed that I had more than a few tears left to shed for James. In fact, I think I cried harder with him than I had for the entire time I was wallowing in self-pity by myself. And I had to seriously commend him for his brilliant comforting skills. It wasn't at all like the time I'd cried to him in the Transfiguration classroom. That time he hadn't been sure what to do with me, while this time it seemed as if he'd been doing this comforting-hysterical-girls thing for his entire life. It made me wonder if he'd ever had the misfortune of actually being put in this situation with any other mad girls before. Has he ever comforted "Lizzie" while _she_ cried?

 

Psh. Good riddance. I hope not.

 

When it seemed as if my body had finally just run out of its entire water supply and I finally calmed down and stopped crying, James continued rubbing my arm as he let out a light laugh.

 

"Feel better?" he asked.

 

I gave him a weak smile. "No, not really.”�

 

He laughed again and shook his head ruefully. "Well, maybe it takes a while or something."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a small grin. "You know. It takes a bit to settle in and _then_ you start to feel better."

 

"How long is 'a bit', then?"

 

"Oh, a day or two at least.”� 

 

I snorted, the dryness of my throat making the sound harsh and raspy. We sat in silence for a few minutes, his arm still thrown comfortingly around my shoulders, before he gently broke through the quiet.

 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

 

I bit my lip and avoided the question. "A-about what?"

 

James threw me a look. "I think it's a bit late to start with the 'I'm really fine and everything's dandy' bit, isn't it?"

 

I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally, but the action seemed stupid, even to me. It was strange, but I found I _wanted_ to talk about it. All of it. I wondered how much he already knew–how much Emma and Grace had actually told him. I wondered how much _I'd_ tell him if he didn't know. And when you thought about it, it was hardly James's fault that our dolt mates thought we were dating, right? I couldn't really get angry and blame him for that.

 

And plus I wanted to know if...I mean...well, if _Emma_ could think something that horrid of me...well, could...

 

"James?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"Do you think I'm a slag?"

 

His arm stopped rubbing mine. "Do I think you're a _what_?"

 

His indirect answer made my stomach drop. "A slag," I choked out again, turning my head to face him. He looked completely shocked, though whether that astonishment was over the plain ridiculousness of the question, or the fact that I would dare voice the obvious, I wasn't sure. He sat silently stunned for a few moments and I felt the tears I thought could no longer exist start pricking at the back of my eyes once more. I swiped at my moistening eyes and asked again, "D-do you think I'm a slag, James?"

 

He must have heard the urgency and desperation in my voice, for this time he answered straight away. " _No_ ," he told me seriously, more serious than I'd ever seen him. His eyes were hard as he stared at me. " _Why_ in the _bleeding hell_ would you ask me something like that?"

 

I couldn't answer him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him until he burst. I wanted to stand up and sing–if you know, it wasn't way past curfew in an echoy stairwell and I knew how to sing. My stomach lurched with a burst of happiness. If James Potter–a boy who I _knew_ wasn't afraid to speak his mind and I knew was even _less_ afraid of hurting my feelings–was so shocked and opposed to the idea, then I knew I at least wasn't publicly slaggish.

 

Only, it seemed, to Emma.

 

The thought put a damper on my previously enthralled disposition.

 

" _Lily_!"

 

I jumped, snapping out of my thoughts at James's sudden outburst. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set. He looked almost angry.

 

"What?"

 

"Why did you ask me that?" His voice was a bit harsher now. I realised he _was_ angry...or irritated at any rate. About what, I didn't know, but he was.

 

And because he looked like he was about to ring my neck if I didn't start talking soon, I took a deep breath and for once in my life, willingly let my traitor-of-a-mouth run loose and told him the entire story.

 

And I didn't even cry once while I did it, either.

 

"–then I sort of told them to ask you about it and stormed off." My shoulders drooped slightly as my retelling finally came to an end. It was odd, but I found that I felt better telling an actual person about what had happened than I had when I had just wrote it all out. Or maybe James's "crying it out" theory had finally settled in or something. But regardless of the reason, my chest began to feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. 

 

I glanced up at James curiously, uncertainly, waiting for some kind of reaction from him. He remained silent, his face guarded and expressionless. Slowly he dropped his arm–which had remained thrown around my shoulders throughout the entire telling of the tale–from around me. The sudden absence of his body warmth sent a trail of chills down my spine. I took a deep breath, still waiting for any type of sign that would let me know that James had even been listening. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he spoke.

 

"Grace and Emma didn't tell me all that."

 

I cracked a small smile. "Yes, well, I imagine they didn't exactly have time to spill out the whole disastrous thing. They had much more important things to discuss with you, like the fact that we apparently weren't going out."

 

I had meant it as a light-hearted gibe at my prattish mates, but James apparently took the comment a bit too seriously and a frown began to form upon his face. "Yeah, they had time for _that_." He continued frowning as he turned his head to me, his eyes flickering with a strange sort of emotion I couldn't recognize. "You didn't deserve to be attacked like that," he said softly, his voice still serious. "Emma didn't have the right to attack you like she did."

 

I shrugged my shoulders, finding myself, oddly enough, defending Emma. "She was just upset and jealous," I insisted, not exactly sure why I was trying to justify her completely out-of-line actions. James seemed to have a hard time comprehending it as well.

 

"Why are you defending her like that?" he demanded, the frown on his face deepening as he rose from his seat next to me. I paused for a minute before answering.

 

"I...don't know," I admitted honestly. "It's just...she's _Emma_ , James. She's my _mate_."

 

"And she's being an arse!" James threw me a dirty look. "Mate or no mate, Lily, you shouldn't be defending someone who's treating you like that. When Sirius or Remus or Peter is being an arsehole, I tell them so. Then we fight it out and move on. Emma may have had her reasons, but they weren't very good ones. Tell her she's being an arse! Don't try to justify what she did!"

 

"It's not as simple as that!" I cried helplessly, trying to make him understand while also trying to understand it myself.

 

"It _is_ that simple!" he countered feverously. He stuck me with another dirty look as he continued with his rant. "How is it that I can do the _smallest thing_ and you stay brassed off at me forever, and yet Emma calls you a _slag_ and you're still on her side?"

 

"I'm not on her side!" I shouted back, though the argument sounded weak, even to me. "I _am_ cross with her and I _am_ disappointed in her, but it's just..." I tried to find the words, but they just wouldn't come out. It was then that I discovered why the anger was suddenly starting to disappear. I was exhausted. I was just so tired and sick of it all that my body was trying to forget everything and just go to bed.

 

"You're just tired," James finished for me with a sigh, reading my mind completely. I nodded slowly, feeling the energy continue to creep out of me piece by piece. With another deep sigh, James sat back down on the steps next to me.

 

"I'm sorry for attacking you just now, too," he told me tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

 

"It's fine," I said. "You were right. I shouldn't be defending her. It was wrong of her to think of me like that and... and it hurt." And it still did. I sighed and tried to ignore the throbbing that had come back into my head at the thought of Emma's accusations. A thought popped into my mind then, and a small smile began to creep up on my face as I looked over at James. "Though, you know," I started, giving him a pointed look, "I suppose I should be getting used to the whole 'being attacked' thing by now. I mean, mentally, verbally, _physically_...I get attacked pretty often, don't you think?"

 

Obviously realising where this comment was heading, James winced. "Oh, yeah. About that..."

 

"Yeah, about that," I repeated flatly. "Or did you just happen to forget that I was there also last night?"

 

"I didn't forget you were there."

 

"Well, from the way you've been completely ignoring me all day, it sure as hell seemed like it."

 

"I wasn't ignoring you!"

 

I rolled my eyes. "No, of course not," I scoffed sarcastically. "You were just too busy talking and passing notes with _Lizzie_ all day to bother acknowledging my existence. What if I had been hurt? What if I had woken up with bruises all over my body? And what if one was possibly turning purplish-green?"

 

James froze. “You’ve got a bruise that’s turning purplish-green?”�

 

“Er, no.”� I waved off the lie with my hand. “But that’s not the point!”�

 

“What _is_ the point?”�

 

“That you were ignoring me!”�

 

"But I _wasn’t_ ignoring you! I was trying to get _her_ to understand what I was trying to get your bloody _mates_ to understand an hour ago!" His tone implied that this automatically cleared him of all fault. "And it wasn't an easy task, there, Evans. Let me tell you."

 

" _What_ wasn't an easy task? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

 

James sighed exasperatedly, as if I was being very stupid and clearly missing the obvious point. "I had to explain to her that there was no–" He motioned his hands back and forth between the two of us. "–us."

 

I leaned back, startled. Wait one gosh-darned second here. Saunders had...she'd thought...

 

I suddenly remembered what Elisabeth had been shouting about after she'd launched herself at me last night.

 

_"You don't even like him! I hate you! I hate you! Stupid, dirty Mudblood slut! You don't even–”�_

__

So our prattish mates hadn't been the only ones to think James and I were going out.

 

Wonderful. Brilliant.

 

"So she thought we were..."

 

"Yeah," James said, throwing me another look. "And it damned well took me a long time to convince her otherwise, too."

 

I nodded absently, my head spinning so fast it began to ache. I thought about what James was telling me, but couldn't understand how Saunders had thought such a thing. I mean, let's be serious here, I'm _me_ –boring, ordinary, fiery-tempered me. And James...well, let's just say that the bloke pretty much has his pick of the pack where the girlfriend department is concerned. Elisabeth Saunders understands this. She knows of my many flaws and she knows of James's near perfection. What I couldn't figure out then was how she could even _consider_ the idea that James would chose _me_ over all of the other perfect Hogwarts girls. My mates are obviously too blinded by our friendship to notice my complete inadequacies, but _Saunders_...well, she's not blinded at all.

 

"But I don't understand," I started, my hands twitching nervously in my lap. "How could she...I mean, how could she _believe_ that?"

 

"She apparently overheard Sirius and Grace talking about it sometime this week," James explained blandly, as if it was perfectly obvious why she had thought what she did. "Then she formed her own conclusions. But if you really think about it, Evans, they all do have a point. From an outsider's perspective it _could've_ seemed like we _were_ dating."

 

"I know," I agreed, nodding my head. "It _did_ seem like that, the way Grace explained it all. But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean, let's be serious here, James–all incriminating actions aside– _you_ and _me_? I would think Saunders would know better!"

 

James gave me a curious look. "Why do you say that?"

 

"Because she should've," I repeated matter-of-factly. "I mean, you're _you_ and I'm _me_ –"

 

"I think we've established that already."

 

"–well then you get what I'm saying!" I was becoming a bit exasperated with his ridiculous pseudo-ignorance.

 

James's blank expression remained. "No, actually. I don't."

 

I sighed dramatically, letting him know that I was annoyed that he was forcing me to establish the rather humiliating details of the situation. "Come on, James. We're not exactly in the same _league_ here, are we?"

 

"League? What the bloody hell are you on about, Lily?"

 

My face flushed in embarrassment as I stumbled on with my explanation. "It's like this," I started, my cheeks burning. "You...well, when was the last time some girl asked _you_ out? Yesterday? This morning? Possibly Wednesday at most? And _me_...well, I can't even _remember_ the last time I was asked out–"

 

"But term's just started!" James interrupted. "You've got to give a bloke a chance to settle in before he goes off fishing for birds!"

 

"Even last term!" I cried, ignoring his slightly degrading "fishing for birds" comment. I was sure that my face was now as red as my hair. "Maybe even the term before that. I'm not really sure."

 

"Term before... Lily, what are you _talking_ about? You go on dates all the time. All those Hogsmeade trips and everything…”�

 

“Oh, those don’t really count!”� I scoffed, my blush increasing. “I’m talking about a serious date. Someone who’s in for more than just a day–”�

“You’ve had plenty of those, as well!”� James insisted. “And what about me, eh? Or did you somehow forget the several _billion_ times I asked you? Do I not count?"

 

I sent him another dirty look. "I'm talking about _serious_ proposals, James–"

 

"Who wasn't serious?"

 

"–not some arrogant proposal made to make fun of me for the asker's amusement!"

 

James froze.

 

"I– _what_?"

 

I was full out glaring at him now, ignoring his astonished expression, my embarrassment escalading as the conversation continued. "Oh, _please_! I knew _exactly_ why you were asking me out all those times, James Potter! You _knew_ no one else would bother to do so, so you and your mates thought it would be just _hilarious_ to ask me out as a big joke! And I really didn't appreciate you making fun of me like that, by the– _why_ are you looking at me like that?!"

 

James's eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets as I stopped mid-rant, my breathing heavy and uneven. His mouth stood slightly agape as he regarded me with complete astonishment. I stopped glaring, only because of his entirely bizarre reaction. When he finally spoke, his words were short and choked.

 

"Y-you...oh, bloody fucking _hell!"_

__

Then he stood up and began pacing around the small space, muttering things under his breath, most of which were various forms of colourful profanity that I had never heard, but made a note to jot down later for future use. I watched him pace and mutter for a little while longer before finally finding my voice again.

 

"Er, James? What are you doing?"

 

He didn't answer. He continued muttering obscenities under his breath.

 

"James?"

 

He still didn't answer, but had now moved on from dirty swear words to colourful sentence fragments, most of which could’ve made even a sailor cringe. Sighing gently, I finally resigned myself to sitting there quietly until James was through with his little muttering fit. I had no idea what he was going on about, but I figured that I'd let him get on with it and we'd just continue on with our rather humiliating conversation when he was done. In the meantime, I set out on the task of returning my face back to its normal non-red colour. A rather difficult endeavor for a loony, blush-prone madwoman such as myself.

 

A few minutes, and a slightly normal coloured face later, I hadn't realised that James had at last stopped pacing. When I finally looked up at him, he was regarding me with the oddest expression.

 

"What?" I squirmed self-consciously under his piercing gaze. His eyes continued scanning my face, making me more than a bit uncomfortable.

 

"You really thought that?" he asked me quietly, his voice betraying nothing of his odd expression. I swallowed hard, not sure what he meant.

 

"Thought what?"

 

He sat back down on the steps next to me, his eyes scanning mine again. "That all those times I asked you out, it was all a gag. That I wasn't serious."

 

"Thought?" I repeated dumbly, my eyes blinking owlishly. "Of course I did. I mean, you weren't serious..." His eyes clouded over, the odd facial expression remaining. I swallowed hard again, a small ball of doubt beginning to form in the pit of my stomach. "...weren't you?"

 

A few seconds later, his face buried in his hands, James shook his head.

 

It felt as though he'd just slapped me.

 

" _No_?" I cried hysterically. "What do you mean _no_? This isn't the least bit funny, James Potter!"

 

"You bet your arse this isn't funny!" James retorted. "You mean to tell me that all those years–every single time I asked you out–you thought I was making _fun_ of you?"

 

"Yes!" I cried helplessly. "And you mean to tell me you _weren't_?"

 

"Of course not!" He looked offended that I would think such a thing. " _Fuck_ , Evans, if you only knew how serious I _was_ …how much I _fancied_ you..."

 

" _Fancied me_?" I choked on my own spit, James’s words a thorough punch in the stomach. I searched his face for any sign of wavering amusement; for any sign that this was just another one of James Potter's brilliant pranks. There was nothing. "Oh, _Merlin_ ," I breathed, the air quickly leaving my lungs. "You're serious, aren't you?"

 

James nodded.

 

My head began to spin, a sickening feeling shooting throughout my body. All of those times...I couldn't even count how many times he'd done it over the years…

 

And he'd been serious. He hadn't just been making fun of me.

 

And okay, truth be told I really wouldn't have said yes to him anyway, considering the fact that he was a complete pompous prat, but I definitely wouldn't have been as mean. Because I was mean. Really _really_ mean. But only because I thought he was kidding! How was I to know that he was actually serious? I mean, as far as I was concerned, the two of us detested each other. There were no kind words spared between us and certainly no _fancying_. Even now the idea seemed rather ridiculous.

 

And what about everyone else? Did everyone else know James had been serious? Had I been the only idiot to believe it had all been a cruel joke? I tried to think back and remember anything that would spark a memory, but I couldn't remember anything of great importance. I continued scourging my mind for any explanations, but found none.

 

"I...I can't believe this." My gaze flickered back over to James. "But...why? I mean–just _why_?"

 

"Why what?"

 

"Why did you like me? _How_ could you like me?"

 

James cracked a small grin. "Fishing for compliments, there, Evans?"

 

"No!" I answered automatically. "It's just...I'm nothing special, James. I don't understand how you could...you know."

 

"Well, why not?" James asked. "That's what started this whole night off, wasn't it? Someone fancying you?"

 

My mind flickered back to Mac for the first time in awhile. That was right. Mac had fancied me as well.

 

What was _wrong_ with these blokes?

 

"It just doesn't seem possible." I ran my hands through my hair, pushing it off my face. I shook my head disbelievingly. "You're all mad. Completely off your rockers, the lot of you are."

 

James grinned again. "Yeah, well, you do that to a bloke. You've got us all transfixed." He smiled teasingly. "I mean, I always knew you were good at Charms, Evans, but it seems you've got the entire _school_ under your spell–"

 

"That's not funny!" I cried, when James started laughing. "Why are you laughing? _How_ are you laughing? This is serious!

 

"I know, I know." He continued chuckling, earning a scathing look from me. "It's just...I can't believe...Merlin! When I think of all the times I asked you out…how many stinging rejections you gave me–hey! Wait! _Would_ you have said yes? If you'd thought I was serious?"

 

Um, no.

 

"Truthfully?" James nodded. I winced slightly. "I wasn't exactly, er, kidding when I called you a pompous prat all those times, James. You were a rather arrogant jerk back then. You weren't exactly my favourite person."

 

"I wasn't arrogant!" cried James indignantly. I threw him a knowing glance. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "All right, well, maybe I was a _bit_ arrogant, but–”�

 

"A _bit_ arrogant?" I snorted. "You were completely unbearable, Potter!"

 

"And _you_ were a brat!" he huffed defensively.

 

I smiled sweetly at him. "But you still fancied me anyway, right?"

 

James opened his mouth to retort again, but then closed it as my sweet persona fell and I started cracking up in spite of myself. With a shake of his head and a slight laugh of his own, James nudged his shoulder into mine and grumbled, "You're still a brat."

 

I stuck my tongue out at him. He continued laughing.

 

"I really was perfectly horrid to you back then, though," I admitted a few moments later.

 

"You're _still_ mean to me," James corrected.

 

"I am not!"

 

James grinned. "Sometimes. You get cross about the _strangest_ things, Evans."

 

" _I_ get cross at the strangest things?" I could hardly believe my ears. "And this from the bloke I had to _bribe_ into talking to me last night? Oh, and let's not forget the various other times you've up and got mad at me for _no reason at all_."

 

James shrugged lightly and leaned back with another grin. "That's because you're a pain the arse."

 

"Hmph!" I crossed my arms firmly across my chest. "Brat, pain in the arse, slag...it doesn’t seem like anyone has a very good opinion of me tonight, now does it?"

 

"Oh, it's not just tonight. You're a pain in the arse every night."

 

I punched him hard in the arm. "Well look who's being mean _now_!"

 

James chuckled and threw the previously hit arm back around my shoulders, unfazed by my attack. "You know I'm just teasing you, Lily. You bruised my manly pride. I have to regain my dignity _somehow_."

 

"Yes, well, regain it tomorrow, will you? I'm too–" I yawned. "–tired to be fighting off your insults tonight." As if to further prove my point, I yawned again, my head falling to rest on James's shoulder, my eyes closing on their own accord.

 

"I can see that," James said, shifting around slightly, getting into a position that would allow both of us to stand without having to have me remove my head from its comfortable place on his shoulder.

 

"So no more insults?" I asked.

 

"No more insults," he promised, lifting us both to our feet, my head still in place and my eyes still closed. I let out a tired giggle as James once again began shifting our weight around.

 

"We're doing it again," I laughed, lifting my head off James's shoulder.

 

"Doing what?"

 

"Giving Grace and Sirius more incriminating evidence, that's what!" I nodded my head towards his arm around my shoulders. "No wonder the two of them jump to all those conclusions. I don't know how the pair of us keep getting ourselves into these couplish situations." I giggled again, my exhaustion making me giddy and rambling. "And to think, this time last month, I didn't even _like_ you!"

 

"Oh, so you like me now, eh?" James quipped, cocking an eyebrow.

 

I nestled back onto his shoulder. "Hm, for today."

 

James laughed as we began stepping down the stairs towards the door.

 

"Wait." I stopped walking, turning my face up to his. "How are we going to get out of here? Filch will catch us for sure by the time we reach Gryffindor Tower." I suddenly groaned. "I'm going to have to go back to the dormitory. I really don't want to go back. I'm not up for another confrontation right now. Maybe I'll just...”� I looked around at the dark and dusty stairwell, “…sleep here or something."

 

"Don't worry about it," James insisted, pulling me back down the steps. "We'll just tell Filch it's Head business if we run into him. And you don't have to go back to your dormitory. I know where you can stay tonight."

 

I stopped again, fixing James with a good glare. "I am _not_ staying in your dormitory, James Potter!"

 

James cracked a grin. "I didn't know that was an option."

 

"It's not!" I gave him another good glare before he rolled his eyes, grabbed my hand and continued pulling me down the steps.

 

"Will you quit your yapping and just get going? You'll be perfectly content with where I bring you."

 

I didn't exactly believe him, but was hardly in the position to fight, considering I didn't have any better plans and I was dead on my feet. He carefully opened the stairwell door and took a cautious look around before pulling us both into the corridor. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a large piece of old parchment.

 

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

 

I glared at him as I tried to glance over his shoulder at the parchment. It seemed to have some sort of moving ink on it. "I'm glad. Now what is that thing?"

 

James shifted the parchment out of my sight and threw me a grin behind his shoulder. "I'll make you a deal," he said. "I'll let you see my parchment if you let me read that diary you cart around with you everywhere." He nodded to my diary, which I was carrying in the hand that was not held in his.

 

"Absolutely not."

 

James shrugged, muttered "Mischief managed" and then turned back to me. "A deal's a deal," he said, then tucked the parchment back into his pocket. He began pulling me down the corridor to our left. "Filch is down in the dungeons. We'll be fine."

 

"How do you know that?" I asked, surprised.

 

James grinned again. "A deal's a deal," he said again.

 

I threw him another glare. "Arse."

 

He laughed and led me further down the corridor.

 

We traveled in silence, James pulling me along, consulting his mysterious parchment every few minutes. When my feet finally seemed to be about to give out from beneath me, I spoke up.

 

"Where are we going?"

 

James glanced down at his parchment again as he answered, "Seventh floor."

 

I stopped. "I thought we weren't going to Gryffindor Tower?"

 

James rolled his eyes. "There are rooms other than the Tower on the seventh floor."

 

I remained silent after that.

 

We finally stopped in the middle of a corridor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Balmy. I looked around, but there was no door in sight.

 

"Are we lost?"

 

James shook his head. "I need you to think hard about where you want to be and walk past this spot three times."

 

I stared at him blankly. "You want me to _what_?"

 

"Just do it."

 

"But what do I think about? Where do I want to be?"

 

"Just–oh, never mind!"

 

He quickly walked back and forth down the corridor. I stared at him confused, until suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, a door appeared on the wall across from the tapestry. I jumped, startled at its appearance.

 

"How did you do that?"

 

James smiled and threw open the door. "Welcome to the Room of Requirement, Lily."

 

I walked in uncertainly, finding myself in a dormitory that slightly resembled mine. There were only four beds instead of five and it was much messier than my own, but the colors and basic shape and furniture were similar. There were different pictures and posters hanging on the walls and a blatant air of masculinity swept throughout the room.

 

I turned to face James, giving him a pointed look. "I thought I told you I wasn't sleeping in your dormitory, James Potter."

 

"It's not!" James insisted quickly. "Well, I mean, it _is_ , but it's not the _real_ dormitory. It was the only thing I could think of."

 

"What do you mean it was the only thing you can think of?"

 

That’s when he explained to me what exactly the Room of Requirement was.

 

Apparently, the Marauders came across the room on one of their various escapades during second year. The room has the uncanny ability to convert to anything you may need at the time you pass it. All you have to do is concentrate really hard on what you want, pass the space three times, and boom, there it is.

 

How perfectly brilliant is _that_?

 

I stood open-mouthed as James concluded his brief explanation. "So there you have it," he finished, sweeping his arms out in a welcoming fashion. "The Room of Requirement."

 

"Does anyone else know about this?"

 

James shrugged. "Possibly. Probably. I'm not really sure."

 

I walked around the room, still dazed and astounded. Magic can be _so_ very brilliant sometimes.

 

Though I still had many questions to ask James and I wanted to search around the room some more, the fact that I could barely keep my eyes open put a slight restriction on doing so.

 

"So which one is yours?" I asked with a yawn, nodding towards the beds.

 

James pointed to the bed on the far side of the room, surrounded by Quidditch posters. "That one."

 

I smirked at the posters. "I should have guessed."

 

I tiredly dragged myself over to the bed and instantly fell down upon it. "Hmmm." I snuggled into the pillows. "Bed. Sleep. Thank Merlin."

 

James laughed lightly from beside me. "I guess that's my cue to leave, then." He slowly made his way towards the door. "Night, Lily."

 

"Wait!"

 

James stopped and turned. I sat up on the bed, biting my lip nervously.

 

"Do you remember when I told you how Grace said we were dating?"

 

James let out a snort. "Vaguely," he told me facetiously.

 

I blushed slightly, mentally kicking myself for the obviously stupid question, but continued on nevertheless. "Well, after I'd finally picked my jaw off the floor, I...I tried to find something to defend myself, you know? Tried to find something to say to prove her wrong. And I discovered...well, I couldn't exactly use the universal excuse, could I?"

 

James arched a questioning eyebrow. "Universal excuse?"

 

I nodded, taking a deep breath before timidly saying, "The 'we're just mates' excuse."

 

Both James's eyebrows shot up then. "Ah. I see."

 

"But I would've liked to," I added quickly. "Been able to use the excuse, I mean."

 

James paused, giving me a curious look. "Just to have an excuse?" he asked.

 

"No,”� I answered automatically, saying it quickly before I chickened out. “Because then that would’ve meant we were mates. Officially mates, I mean."

 

There was silence after my quiet admission. I bit my lip nervously, wondering what James could be thinking. And I know I decided before that mates were crumby and awful and pretty much useless, but when someone sits with you for hours while you cry, allowing you to ruin their perfectly lovely shirt and allows you to call them an arrogant prat, you figure the least you can do is offer them your their friendship, right?

 

So that's what I was doing. Once and for all. While also attempting to put our entirely hate-filled past in the past in the process.

 

Now all I needed was James's consent.

 

A few more nerve-wreaking seconds past before a small smile spread across James's face. He nodded.

 

"Yeah," he said. "I guess that'll do."

 

Then with one last goodnight, he left.

 

___________________

**Saturday, September 27th, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 12**   
**Total Observations: 77**

****

** Ten Reasons Why I Will Most Likely Never Leave This Room **

****

1) I look like something straight out of a horror film. Seriously. Remember Carrie White drenched in blood? _She_ looks better than I do.  
2) Grace and Emma aren't here.  
3) I have four, count them _four_ , perfectly comfortable beds to lounge around in.  
4) Some of these Quidditch blokes on the walls are rather good looking.  
5) They serve you _food_ here. Like, privately. Made solely for you. Even when you wake up at an ungodly hour like noon. The House Elves just sweep in with your waffles, bow and leave. It's like being at a resort, except, you know, you’re not.   
6) These House Elves who bring you food, they also give you a change of clothes. This is a good thing because the only other clothes in the room are bloke's clothes, on account of you're sleeping in a replication of the 7th-year boys' dormitory.  
7) My head is _pounding_. This is by far the worst headache I've ever had. The room literally spins when I attempt to sit up. This can't be healthy.  
8) There's no one here to walk in and out, disturbing my peace.  
9) Comfortable room temperature. There is nothing in the world better than a room with a nice, comfortable temperature. Not too hot and not too cold. As I _require_ this temperature, the room adjusts.  
10) Did I mention there's no Grace and Emma?

 

___________________

**Later, Still in the Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 12**   
**Total Observations: 78**

****

I wonder if I can have one of those lovely House Elves go and fetch my rucksack for me so that I can do my assignments. I mean, considering I've decided I'm never leaving this room ever again, _I_ can't exactly do it. But would that be too harsh? Asking the House Elves to fetch my things, I mean? They’ve already fetched me my breakfast and my clothes. Would I be abusing their graciousness a little bit too much? Perhaps. Maybe. But I really need my books. 

 

And plus, after you've searched through the boys' dormitory thoroughly and completely, there's not really much else to do. I mean, you could attempt to clean this said dormitory, but where's the fun in that? And, yes, doing weekend assignments isn't exactly what I'd call a hearty jaunt in the midday sun, but I really don't have a choice with that one. If I don't do it, I'll fail school. Whereas, if I don't clean these pseudo-boys' dormitory, no love or time will be lost.

 

Hm. What to do, what to do...

 

___________________

**Even Later, Still in the Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 12**   
**Total Observations: 79**

****

I can only stay in a room with nothing to do for so long. This whole sitting here and twiddling my thumbs routine just isn't going to work for me for much longer. If this continues, it can't be long until my madwoman instincts kick in and I start burning things. It's inevitable. Look what happened to Bertha when Mr. Rochester locked _her_ in a room with nothing to do. She wouldn't have had to resort to such drastic measures if she wasn't so bored. Fictional or not, you have to give us mad people entertainment or else we have to seek out our own. And our own entertainment usually consists of finding out whether or not things are flammable. Most sane folk usually don't find this as amusing as us loons do.

 

It really is just ridiculous, though. I just don't understand how James could "require" the bloody room to include his mates' dirty laundry, but didn't "require" a single book! I mean, I'm sure Remus must have some books in the dormitory _somewhere_. Why couldn't James have thought to picture _them_ in his head while forming this stupid bloody room? He should have known that I would've decided to stay in her for all of eternity, and therefore should've planned on "requiring" me some form of entertainment. Sirius's dirty school trousers and Peter's old socks can only be amusing for a rather short period of time. After that, they just become rather gross and smelly.

 

And while, yes, I do enjoy looking at the posters of the rather fetching Quidditch players on the walls, it's hard to enjoy them when you also see the large assortment of _Witch Wonders_ pin-up girls littering the walls in little more than a toothpick and a few coconut shells. I mean, I understand the whole 'male hormones' thing, but it does put a damper on the checking-out-the-walls idea.

 

That's it. I'll apologise profusely to whatever House Elf comes in here, but I have to ask them to go get my schoolbooks. Or any book, for that matter. I'd even settle for one of Grace's trashy novels at this point. I'll just die of boredom if I don't do something soon. I'll just– _what_ is that _noise_? Stupid loud thumping...

Wait a second.

 

Is someone _knocking_? 

****

___________________

**Very Late, the Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 12**   
**Total Observations: 81**

****

The thumping continued. I froze in my place, not sure what I was supposed to do. What if it was a pair of strange Slytherins looking for a place to shag? What if it was Filch? What if it was _Emmeline_? My mind spun. Could I answer it? I decided it would be too big of a risk and was just about to hide myself under the nearest bed or in the closet, when I heard a familiar voice calling from the other side of the door.

 

"Lily? Lily, are you in there?"

 

I jumped up from my seat on the bed, rushing towards the door and flinging it open. Standing on the other side, their faces slightly startled, but smiling, were Remus Lupin and Marley McKinnon.

 

"Oh!" I tried to hide my surprise as I pushed the door open farther, allowing them to enter the room. "Er...hi. Come on in."

 

They both moved to enter, their smiles still bright. I figured James must have gone and sent them here, because he's the only one who knows where I'm currently hiding out. But why wasn't he here with them? Maybe he was sick of me. If I was him, I'd definitely be sick of me. Especially crying-me. And Merlin knows that seems to be the only time that he's ever near me. The poor bloke deserves to keep his distance.

 

"James had to go see McGonagall about something or another, so he sent us along to check on you," Marley explained, pushing a blonde curl behind her ear. She shot me a joking grin, adding, "I'll be glad to report that you look a lovely, disheveled mess."

 

"Oh!" I blushed furiously, my hands flying instantly to the tangled red mass atop my head. Fumbling frantically, I quickly pulled it back into a messy bun, hoping to save myself some dignity. I hadn't bothered to fix my horror-film looks this morning, figuring that there was really no point. I didn't plan to leave the room and I wasn't expecting any sort of company, so why bother?

 

I truly regretted that decision now.

 

"You just caught me off guard," I mumbled lamely, still blushing. I wondered if I still looked as red and blotchy as I had this morning. It was obvious then that I'd been crying. I figured I must have returned to my normal unblotchy self, though, because instead of looking concerned at my looks, Marley just looked amused. She opened her mouth to respond to my lame excuse, but was cut off by a light, choking sound that came from Remus.

 

"Is this...is this _our_ _dormitory_?"

 

Oh, bloody _hell_.

 

Marley burst out laughing as she too took in her surroundings. My cheeks burned a bright red. "It was James," I protested weakly, knowing that neither Marley nor Remus would pay any heed to the truth.

 

"Oh, right," Marley laughed, giving me a teasing smile. "Like we're going to believe _that_. When exactly were you in the boys’ dormitory, Lily Evans? And you being Head Girl, too!" She shook her head in mock disappointment. "What _would_ McGonagall say?"

 

Obviously unable to keep his Marauder-teasing instincts in check, Remus joined in. "Was it Sirius?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "Peter? James? Did one of them stash you in the closet when the rest of us weren't looking?"

 

I shook my head ruefully at their teasing quips, but their contagious laughter soon became just too much for me and I reluctantly joined in. It felt good to be laughing again, even if it was technically at myself.

 

"You two are dreadful," I said, giving them both a good glare. Their laughter just increased. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look stern, but not succeeding. I couldn't keep my own laughter hidden for very long.

 

"We're sorry for laughing," Marley said, sobering up enough to speak, though her small bouts of remaining laughter suggested otherwise. "Here. Truce?" She held something out to me.

 

It was my rucksack.

 

"Oh, you goddess!" I smiled brightly at Marley, taking the heavy bag out of her grasp. "I was just going to ask a House Elf to go fetch it for me! How did you get it?"

 

"I went up to your dormitory and got it for you," Marley explained, returning the smile. She turned and glanced around the room, then shot a small grin at Remus. "Which, by the way, was _much_ neater than _this_ disaster area. Haven't you blokes ever heard of cleaning, Remus? Neat clothes, folded sheets... a _floor_?"

 

Remus cracked a smile. "A floor?" he repeated, tapping his chin in a thoughtful manner. "I think we might've had one at one point or another. First-year, I believe."

 

"And bare walls," I added, scanning the posters and magazine-rip-outs that serviced as the room's foundation. "Do you remember those?"

 

"We get to see those occasionally," Remus answered, scanning the cluttered walls as well. "Sirius changes his posters according to which team is ahead in the standings and when the new _Witch Wonders_ comes out. There's about a two day lay off period between poster changes."

 

Marley shook her head disbelievingly. "And you blokes are always saying how _we're_ mad. Girls are a whole lot more sane than you nutters."

 

This general 'girls' category obviously does not include me.

 

Remus shrugged carelessly, taking no heed to the slight on his gender's sanity. "Who needs clean, anyway?"

 

"Apparently not you," I said with a wiry grin, suddenly feeling much better than I had all morning. Marley laughed again as she plopped herself down on the nearest bed (Peter's?), dropping her own rucksack on top of the thick sheets, a few books falling out across the bed.

 

"So," she started, switching her amused glance onto me. "You help me with my assignments, I'll help you with yours?"

 

I cocked my head to the side questioningly. "Can you _do_ my assignments, Marley?"

 

Marley's hand flew to her chest, a mockingly hurt expression dawning on her face. "You insult my vast intelligence, Lily!" She puffed her chest out haughtily. "I'll have you know that _I_ am the most brilliant of all the sixth years–possibly even more brilliant than some of the seventh years! Especially in Herbology and Transfiguration. Even McGonagall says so."

 

I quirked my eyebrow thoughtfully. "Transfiguration, you say?" I plopped myself down on the bed next to her, a broad grin on my face. "You've got yourself a deal, then, McKinnon." I stuck my hand out to her. She shook it with another giggle.

 

"How about you, Remus?" Marley asked, pulling out a few more of her books. Remus shook his head.

 

"I've got detention," he told us.

 

"Detention?" I asked, taking out some of my own books. "For what?"

 

"Don't remember." He shrugged with another smile.

 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Remus. And you a prefect!" Marley shook her head with a forlorn look. "Head Girls in the boys' dormitory, prefects in detention...what _is_ this school coming to?"

 

We all laughed as Remus began to make his goodbyes.

 

"Be sure to scrub a few of those pots for us, all right?" Marley smirked with a final wave.

 

"I will," Remus promised, waving back with one hand and opening the door with the other. "And you two think of me when you're done with all your work and are lounging about in here, while I'm stuck cleaning pots for three more hours."

 

We said we would and with a few final farewells, Remus left.

 

"Well, all right then," Marley said, rubbing her palms together in a 'let's get started' motion. “About these assignments..."

 

For the next hour or so, the two of us sat on (Peter's?) bed, finishing our weekend assignments, talking and laughing as we attempted to help each other with our weakest subjects. Marley had surprisingly not been lying about her jested brilliance. She was easily able to do both my Transfiguration and Defense work and even caught on to some of the harder Ancient Runes translations. The only thing she didn't seem to have a natural knack for was Charms, which I was thankfully able to help her with.

 

"But Flitwick told us to start on the right when we're doing the Bubble-Head," Marley protested after I informed her to write "circular left" as the correct starting motion for the Bubble-Head Charm.

 

"Trust me," I said, taking out my wand to demonstrate. "It's so much simpler when you start from the left and just..." I flicked my wrist to the right. "...flick your wrist over like that." Marley cooed appreciatively as the change proved successful.

 

"Brilliant!" She grinned, trying my alteration out herself. When she finally succeeded after her third attempt, she smiled brightly and jotted her answer down on the answer sheet. "Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve, then?" she asked as we moved onto the next question. "You know, a back lift drop for _Sonorous_ , or a right octagon for colour changing?"

 

I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps."

 

I had a surprisingly fun time completing my assignments with Marley and helping her with hers. I completely forgot about the horrible night I'd had before when I was laughing and chatting with her. I guess you don't really get to know a person too well by just sitting with them at breakfast every morning. Over the course of the afternoon, I had discovered a whole lot more about Marlene McKinnon. For instance, she is a pureblooded, only child, who lives with her Healer mother and retired great aunt. I also know that her favourite subject is Defense, her favourite colour is purple, she plays Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team (her first year) and she too has ambitions to be an Auror.

 

"Wait, you want to be an Auror?" I stopped my Ancient Runes translations and looked over at Marley. She nodded. "That's what I'm studying to become, as well! How strange is that?"

 

"Not so strange, when you think about it," Marley responded thoughtfully. "My mum says that more and more people are signing up for training on account of You-Know-Who and everything."

 

"That makes sense," I agreed quietly, nodding my head. "I mean, that's why I'm doing it, at least. To help in anyway that I can. It's dreadful reading about it all in the papers, but not being able to do anything to help."

 

"I know what you mean," Marley said, pulling her feet close to her chest. "People I know, my mum's friends, my neighbors...it doesn't seem like anyone is safe anymore, does it?"

 

"And I'm even more of a target, being Muggle-born and everything." I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear as I sighed, "I figure it’s sit back and be killed or go and try to do something about it. This way if I'm killed, at least I know that I died trying."

 

Marley flinched slightly. "Well that’s a rather morbid perspective."

 

Which it is, I suppose, when you really think about it. But that's not my fault. I don't _mean_ for it to be all morbid that way. It just is. Just like I don't mean to be selfish and ordinary and horrid at Transfiguration. These things just happen. It's either go with the flow, or let the flow go over you. I find I prefer the former a bit more.

 

I shrugged my shoulders sadly. "It's the truth. Maybe I won't make a difference in the long run of things, but I want to at least try."

 

"That's very brave of you."

 

I shrugged again. "What You-Know-Who is doing won't stop until _He's_ stopped, and the Aurors need all the help they can get."

 

"Isn't that the truth," Marley agreed bitterly, the look on her face showing her distaste. "My mum wrote me just the other day saying how the Ministry–even the Auror division–is swarming with His spies. They're all over the place." She sighed wistfully, shaking her head slowly. "I just wish that there was a non-tainted group, you know? People who you know are on our side through and through. Handpicked witches and wizards who will protect the right causes."

 

"In other words, what the Auror department used to be."

 

Marley nodded.

 

I sighed and nodded my agreement as well, trying not to let Marley know that this was probably just some very wishful thinking on her part. "Maybe some day there will be," I answered finally. Marley nodded once more and turned back to her work.

 

After that rather dreary turn of conversation, Marley and I quickly finished up the rest of our assignments, trying to ignore the slightly disconcerting air that was passing through the room since our conversation about You-Know-Who. With Marley's help, it didn't take long to finish the last of my Ancient Runes translations, and soon we were packing away our books, weekend assignments completed.

 

"We should do this again," I told Marley with a smile as we heading towards the door. 

 

Marley nodded her agreement. "You're a really good tutor."

 

"As are you," I answered. We laughed and Marley opened the door, stepping out into the corridor.

 

"Hey, Lily?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"You'll do it."

 

"Do what?"

 

Marley smiled softly. "Make a difference. If only because you want to. It's why I think Dumbledore picked you as Head Girl. You've got something in you, Evans. You'll make a difference."

 

I flushed at her compliment, trying to find the proper words to respond.

 

"I...yes, well...thanks."

 

Then, with a nod and another small smile, Marley left down the corridor.

 

___________________

**Very Very Late, the Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 12**   
**Total Observations: 82**

****

Is that why I'm Head Girl? Is Marley right? Do I have something in me?

 

Hm. I'm not sure.

 

It's a nice thought, though.

 

Something in me...

 

___________________

**Sunday, September 28th, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 13**   
**Total Observations: 84**

****

I had a dream last night that I was having tea with You-Know-Who and Amos. I meant to poison You-Know-Who's tea, but instead I accidentally poisoned Amos's. He died a very dramatic death, with a lot of gagging and swaying. When he finally died, he brought the table and the tea service down with him. I started to cry, though I think it was more because the tea service had broken than it was because I had just accidentally killed Amos. You-Know-Who cried as well. Then we played limbo. I won, but just barely.

 

Observation #83) If beating You-Know-Who at limbo is how I plan on 'making a difference', I seriously have to get my priorities in order.

 

Observation #84) Dreams are stupid. I would so care more about Amos than a bloody teapot. Especially since I was the one who killed him. My sorrow and woe would be unfathomable.

 

Observation #84) Any bit of sanity that was left within me is now gone. I think the limbo dream is valid proof of that.

 

___________________

**Later, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 13**   
**Total Observations: 85**

****

After seriously considering–

 

Oh, bloody hell. Who's knocking _now_?

 

___________________

**Later, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 13**   
**Total Observations: 85**

 

A House Elf was knocking. A House Elf with a letter.

 

_Dear Lily,_

__

_I begged and begged James to tell me where exactly it was you were hiding out so that I could come talk to you, but he said no. Then I cornered him and demanded that he at least let me write you a nice letter. I said that he himself could deliver to you, if he wanted. With much reluctance, he agreed. So now I'm sitting here, writing this silly apology letter, hoping that James won't go back on his word._

__

_I'm so sorry, Lily. Really I am. For everything. We all jumped to the wrong conclusions and didn't even bother to ask you about it. We shouldn't have assumed. I should've asked you about it the second I had suspicions and not let it turn into all this. And then the whole thing with Emma–don't get me wrong,_ I _knew she was mad, but I didn't think you'd react the way you did. I mean, looking back on it now I see that you'd obviously get upset about it, but at the time, it didn't seem like it. Call it a momentary lapse of judgment on my part, if you wish. Call it stupidity, if you want. Just please,_ please _forgive me. You don't even know how dreadfully sorry I am._

__

_It's not the same with you missing. Emma's been off on her own a lot as well, and when she's not, she's usually crying. I don't know what's got into her lately with all this crying. Seems a bit out of nowhere, doesn't it? She's always been the quiet, more sensitive type, I suppose, but she's never gone at it like this before. It's hard to be around her for long periods of time when she's like that. It was actually James that really set her off. He gave her the direct cut at dinner last night, in front of everyone. Emma burst into tears right then and there and not even Mac could calm her down. James said something to him as well. Mac, I mean. Mac turned so red he looked like a beet. Then he and Emma left the Great Hall, where they apparently had a huge row because they're not currently on speaking terms. At least I think that's what Emma said. It's hard to understand her when she's hiccupping and crying._

__

_I suppose that means that you told him everything. James, I mean. Not that that's a bad thing or anything. I think it's brilliant that the two of you are finally mates. I always told you that he's not as bad as you thought. You just have to give him a chance. Then he turns out to be a rather groovy bloke._

__

_I'm sorry again for jumping to conclusions about you and James. I just thought...well,_ he's _a fetching bloke, and_ you're _a rather brilliant bird, and you have to admit that there's been some rather unexplainable drama going on between the pair of you lately. And since you didn't seem to want to talk about it, I just thought...well, you know what I thought. But I am sorry. Really sorry. And I hope you'll forgive me for being a complete prat._

__

__

_(Hopefully) Still Your Best Mate,_

_Grace_

 

___________________

**Even Later, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 13**   
**Total Observations: 86**

****

No sooner had I just finished rereading Grace's letter, than I heard that familiar thumping sound coming from outside the room.

 

"Hold on a second!"

 

I quickly dropped the letter onto the nearest surface and, adjusting my dressing gown into a decent state, walked slowly over to the door to let Marley inside. Or who I thought was Marley, anyway. Swinging the door open, I was met not with Marley, but with a rather risqué book cover being shoved forcefully in my face.

 

_Wands of a Kind._

__

Grace's favourite of her trashy novels.

 

"I promise to burn it and never read it again if you'll just talk to me."

 

I froze. 

 

"Grace?" I was shocked to find her there. "How did you–I mean, I thought that James wouldn't tell you..."

 

"I followed the House Elf that he sent to give you the letter," she explained automatically. She thrust the book further into my face. "Take it. Burn it. Rip it. Just...please don't be cross with me."

 

I sighed wistfully, staring at the scantily clad brunette and muscular, equally naked bloke being held firmly in front of my eyes. Shaking my head slowly, I pushed the book back at Grace. "Don't be silly," I told her softly, a wisp of amusement in my voice. "I wouldn't even think of depriving you of your daily dose of Rosalind and Marcus. I'm not that cruel. Just..." I pushed the door open wider and motioned my head inside, "sit down. We'll talk inside."

 

The book hesitantly dropped back down to Grace's side. "I...okay."

 

As per my instructions, Grace brushed past me, taking a seat on the nearest bed (James's) and looking at me expectantly. "So," she started, her hands twitching uncomfortably. "You, er, read my letter, then?"

 

I nodded. "Er, yeah. It was...thanks. For the letter, I mean."

 

Grace smiled hopefully. "You forgive me then?"

 

I smiled back and teasingly told her, "You were going to give up _Rosalind and Marcus_ for me. I don't think I have any choice _but_ to forgive you." Grace broke into a large smile.

 

"Well, that's a relief," she replied happily, wiping off her brow in a relieved motion. "I thought for sure that you'd be cross with me forever."

 

"I shouldn't have got cross with you in the first place," I told her with a shrug. "I was just upset about what Emma had said and took it out on you."

 

"But I shouldn't have assumed anything the way I did! You had a right to be cross with me!"

 

"It wasn't you," I said again. "I mean, I probably would've thought the same thing in your position. It's my fault–”�

 

" _Your_ fault? How is it _your_ fault?"

 

"Because I wouldn't tell you anything. I mean, it was all so stupid and so not at all what you were thinking, but at the time...well, I wasn't exactly sure of James at that point. I guess I just didn't want to be made the fool if our tentative friendship ended up as one big joke."

 

"Why would it be a joke?" Grace asked quizzically. "That's all James ever wanted–to be your mate. Well, okay, at times he wanted to be a bit _more_ than just your mate–"

 

I froze. "You _knew_ about that?"

 

"Knew about what?"

 

"That James fancied me! In fifth year, I mean."

 

Grace stared at me blankly. "Lily, what are you _talking_ about? _Everyone_ knew James fancied you. He only asked you out every other day."

 

"But–" I shut my mouth, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. Again I began wondering just how I ever thought the entire thing was a gag. I tried to think back, trying to remember if I ever mentioned my suspicions to Grace or Emma, but nothing stood out.

 

"Lily? But what?"

 

My head snapped back up to Grace, a small tint of red staining my cheeks as I buried my face in my hands. "I am definitely the thickest, most oblivious, most _idiotic_ person to ever walk this planet."

 

Grace snorted. "Well, you're not as bad as that, but, yes, you do have your moments. Now what were you going on about? About James fancying you?"

 

I shook my head. "It's going to sound incredibly stupid."

 

Grace rolled her eyes and responded flatly, "Yes, I caught on to that bit after the 'thickest, most oblivious, most idiotic' comment. Now what's going on?"

 

I cringed inwardly, dreading every moment of the pending conversation and the load of embarrassing details I was about to dump on the recently re-friended Grace. Taking a deep breath, I hesitantly began to retell the story of Friday night, starting with James finding me and ending with him dropping me off here, emphasizing my idiocy when he explained that him fancying me hadn't been the childish trick I’d thought it to be.

 

"Wait a second." Grace held up her hands disbelievingly. "You mean to tell me that you thought James asking you out was some sort of _joke_?"

 

Too humiliated for words, I miserably nodded my head.

 

"You...you...oh, Merlin, wands and _broomsticks_ , Lily!" Then she burst out laughing.

 

"Gr _-ace_!" I slapped her arm offended, throwing her a dirty look. "It's _not_ funny!"

"Not funny?" Grace sputtered gleefully. "It's hilarious! How could you've...I mean, granted you're not always the most _observant_ of the lot–"

 

"I am too observant!"

 

And I have 86 observations recorded to prove it.

 

"–but the bloody bloke followed you around–practically _stalked_ you, Lily!–for _two years_! You honestly thought he would put that much effort into _teasing_ you?"

 

"I...well, I..."

 

I couldn't answer. I had never thought about it that way. I'm just entirely too selfish to think anyone wouldn't want to waste their time on me. And that's what it’d been. A complete waste of time, I mean. Because poor James asked me out all the time. And would follow me and would (albeit, not very well) compliment me and all of that. Stuff blokes normally do for girls that they fancy, except James always did it to some extravagant extent, which is why I think I thought he was joking. Oh, yeah, and the fact that he supposedly _hated_ me for many many years prior to asking me out.

 

And it's not as if he didn't ask other girls out as well! I mean, how could I take a bloke seriously when he would profess his love for me one day and then suddenly be dating Elisabeth Saunders two hours later? How could I have ever believed he was sincere? It just didn't fit. At least not to me, anyway. It apparently fit perfectly for everyone else.

 

"And poor James!" Grace shook her head woefully. "To think of all the times he would come to Emma and me, asking why you kept refusing him–"

 

"He _did_ that?"

 

Grace nodded. "Oh, yeah, all the time. We always told him it was because he was going about it all wrong–what with yelling his proposals across the Great Hall and all– but I suppose now that the situation was a bit more complicated than just that, eh?"

 

"Just a tad," I agreed flatly, trying to hide the disbelief from my voice. The idea that James had been so infatuated with me that he'd gone as far as to constantly question my mates about his chances came as a shock, though I'm not sure why. It seems a rather intelligent thing for a bloke to do in James's situation. Question the girl he fancied's mates, I mean. James wasn't–isn't–stupid. He knew there had to be something else other than his large, unbearable ego that was keeping me from saying yes. So, naturally, he went to the next best possible source besides asking me personally–Grace and Emma. However, unfortunately for him, they couldn't help him because they didn't _know_ why I kept refusing. I thought they had, but that apparently that just wasn't the case.

 

"It just seems so odd," I told Grace a few moments later, "that through all those years, I never mentioned the fact that I thought James was toying with me to Emma or you. I mean, I suppose I just thought that it was public knowledge.”�

 

"You might have mentioned it a few times," Grace replied, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "We probably just figured _you_ were joking. I mean, James fancying you, _that_ was public knowledge."

 

"To everyone except me, apparently."

 

Grace smirked. "Apparently."

 

With not much else left to say on the topic, the room suddenly grew quiet. But the period of silence that followed wasn't awkward. In fact, it was rather comfortable. It was the sort of silence you want when you're on a date with the bloke of your dreams and you're too busy eating to chat.

 

It was a friendly silence.

 

Between two friends.

 

I nearly sighed with relief.

 

"Erm..." I cleared my throat awkwardly, ruining the compatible and comfortable silence that had fell between us. "So...we're...good, then?"

 

Grace nodded, a large smile on her face. "Never been better."

 

I smiled back, a rush of something wonderful flowing through my body. I had mates again. Life wasn't an endless, bottomless pit any longer. Things were good...generally.

 

"Er, Lil?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"What about Emmeline?"

 

My stomach plummeted. My smile turned into a frown. "What about her?"

 

Grace shrugged slightly and bit her lip. "It's just that...well...I mean, _she's_ sorry too..."

 

I held up my hand, stopping Grace before she continued. "Grace, can we just... _not_ talk about Emma right now? I'm still...can we just not?"

 

Grace nodded automatically. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

 

There was silence again. This time, awkward. I sat, fiddling with my hands in my lap. I didn't like the unhappy turn the conversation had taken. I didn't like the fact that the second Grace mentioned Emma's name, I became cross again. I didn't like this awkwardness. I wanted to go back to being friendly mates again.

 

"Look. Grace." I sighed deeply, rubbing my temples tiredly. "I don't want it to be awkward anymore. I'm not cross with you. It's just Emma...well, I'm still rather cross with _her_. But not you. So can we just...you know, stop being awkward?"

 

Again, Grace nodded. "Yes, of course. I understand."

 

I wasn't sure if she really did or not, but I wasn't about to fight her on it. I was glad to find the awkwardness once again disappearing. Grace cleared her throat.

 

"Hey, Lily? What was going on _before_ Friday night?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"With you and James. I mean, we all thought it was...you know. But that wasn't it. So what _was_ going on?"

 

At first I was still unsure what she was talking about, but then I realised that Grace was really in the dark. The fighting, the letter, the Elisabeth Saunders catastrophe...she didn't know about any of it.

 

So, in light of our new reinstated friendship, I spent the next few hours explaining James's and my 'courtship'.

 

It was nice to have my mate back.

 

___________________

**Very Late, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 13**   
**Total Observations: 87**

****

Observation #87) I've had visitors galore this weekend–Grace, Marley, Remus, the various House Elves who take care of me–but there is someone missing...

 

Where has James been?

 

I mean, okay, I did see him Friday, which was only two days ago, but why haven't I seen him since then? Sure, he sent people to check on me, but that's not the same. As my new mate, he should've been in here to see for himself whether or not I've made it through this disastrous weekend unscathed. I could be dead and he'd never know. Seriously. Bloody and dying on the floor, and my new mate would never be the wiser. That's not good. It's not good at all.

 

Maybe he's been busy or something.

 

Maybe he has detention.

 

Or maybe...

 

Oh, no.

 

He doesn't want to be my mate.

 

James Potter doesn't really want to be my mate.

 

___________________

**Very Very Late, Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 13**   
**Total Observations: 87**

****

I'm being stupid. I'm being paranoid. Of course he wants to be mates with me. He does. I just know it.

 

I think.

 

I hope.

 

Oh, bloody hell.

 

___________________

**Monday, September 29th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 88**

****

My new mate James has once again avoided talking to and/or seeing me. Marley says that they (James and her, I mean) were on their way to breakfast when McGonagall accosted James in the corridor, insisting on discussing some Quidditch mumbo-jumbo with him. Apparently, the first match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff is just around the corner and McGonagall is getting a bit antsy. Marley insists that McGonagall has nothing to worry about and that the team is in brilliant form, but says that I shouldn't expect to see James at breakfast, because McGonagall doesn't seem to be as convinced as the rest of them.

 

I wonder if he was relieved to be accosted. James, I mean. Maybe he really doesn't want to see me. Maybe he paid off McGonagall to whisk him away. Maybe I'm not just being ridiculously paranoid. Does he really regret becoming mates with me? Am I that dreadful? I mean, I know I'm silly and oblivious and ordinary and not exactly Transfiguration-savvy, but I'm an all right kid, aren't I? And I think I'm a rather good mate as well, regardless of the fact that one of my very best mates seems to think I'm a common street slag. Plus, James said he didn't think I was a slag. And he used to fancy me. That has to count for something.

 

He totally could've said no. If he really didn't want to be my mate, I mean. He also could've just left me when he found me sobbing in the North Tower. He wouldn't have bothered to _look_ for me, for that matter, if he didn't at least like me a bit. So I have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

 

But why have I seen everyone under the sun except for him?

 

___________________

**Later, On the Way to North Tower**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 88**

****

He wasn't in Charms this morning.

 

He's skipping classes because he doesn't want to see me.

 

Oh, this is just brilliant.

 

___________________

**Still Later, Divination**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 88**

 

_Do you know where James is? -LE_

 

**Probably in class.** **Why? -GR**

 

_He wasn't in Charms._

__

**Yes he was. He came in towards the end of class and slipped in the back of the classroom. He was sitting with Timmy Ricks.**

 

_He was?_

 

**Yeah.**

 

_Are you sure?_

 

**Positive.** **He answered that question about Constant Shield Charms.**

****

**** _We weren't talking about Constant Shield Charms in class._

 

**We were for a bit, remember? Jervis Rennet wanted to know if he could use a Constant Shield Charm instead of the complicated one we were learning about, and then Flitwick said that 'constant' didn't necessarily really mean 'constant'...**

 

_Oh, blast. I completely zoned out of an entire conversation. This can't be healthy._

 

**I knew you weren't paying attention. I saw you doodling.**

 

_Why didn't you stop me?_

 

**Because you looked like you were having fun. Plus, you're doodles are rather nifty. Forget about the whole Auror thing, you should be a professional doodler.**

 

_A professional doodler?_ _Is there such a thing?_

 

**Sure. The more formal title is 'Minister of Magic'.**

 

_I'll consider it._

 

**Or 'Professor'.** **Either one will do.**

 

_Sounds like a plan._

 

**Good. Then you could just doodle all day and not worry about a thing.**

****

_That sounds nice._

 

**It does, doesn't it? But what were you on about before? About James. What happened? Is something wrong?**

 

_Not really, I guess. I just thought he was...I don't know...avoiding me or something. I haven't spoken to him since Friday night._

 

**But you want to? Talk to him?**

__

_I don't know. It's just this whole 'mates' thing that has me in fits. Do you think he really wants to be friends with me, Grace?_

 

**What are you on about, you silly prat? Of course he wants to be friends with you! I told you yesterday that that's all the poor bloke's ever wanted.**

 

_But what if he's changed his mind? I mean, I'm stupid and oblivious and I'm apparently a crying machine nowadays..._ I _wouldn't want to be mates with me. Why should he?_

 

**You're being stupid, Lily. He wants to be mates with you. Who knows? Maybe he even wants to be something more still...**

 

_WHAT?_

**Ow, brat! Don't hit me like that!**

 

_Well don't JOKE like that! It wasn't funny, Grace Reynolds!_

 

**Who's joking? I'm serious!**

 

**Owww!! LILY! If you keep that up the batty old coot is going to give us detention!**

__

_Pah, forget about detention! I can't believe you just SAID that!_

 

**Said what? That she's a batty old coot?**

 

_NO. Before that. About James._

 

**Look, Lil, all I'm saying is that it's a _possibility_. I mean, you have to admit, the bloke's done some pretty nice things for you recently. Maybe he still fancies you.**

****

**He did let you cry on his comfortable shirt, after all.**

****

**And he stunned Elisabeth Saunders for you.**

****

**Right?**

****

**Lily?**

****

**Oh, come on, Lily. You're probably right, anyway. It's probably nothing.**

 

_I hate you, Grace Reynolds._

__

___________________

**Even Later, Still in Divination**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 88**

****

It's nothing. It's definitely nothing.

 

James Potter does not, in any way, shape or form, fancy me still. After talking to me further and realising what sort of bad-karma-ed, crying, ordinary brat I am, he has realised his previous mistake and has now completely disregarded me from his mind romantically. He only wants to be my mate. That's it.

 

Yes. That's it.

 

___________________

**Still Later, Transfiguration**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 91**

 

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, shit. It's not true. Grace is a prat. Shit. Bloody double fucking shit..."

 

This was my mantra as I made my way from the North Tower to the Transfiguration classroom after Divination. With Grace running back to Gryffindor Tower to fetch her assignment, I was left all alone with my worryings and mutterings. All alone with my mad and crazy thoughts and my-not-in-the-least-bit-calming mantra.

 

"You're an _idiot_ , Lily Evans–no, _Grace_ is an idiot. Damn, damn, damn, fucking hell–"

 

"Whoa! You kiss your mum with that mouth, Evans?"

 

` Oh, bloody _hell_. Could the sodding prat possibly have any WORSE timing?

 

"James!" I nearly squeaked as I pivoted quickly on my heel and turned to face the smiling James, my face a vibrant shade of red. "I–uh, well, er...hi."

 

James's eyebrows shot up. "Having a bad morning?" he asked.

 

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of sea before I stupidly rambled on, "Well, it's been a bad _week_ really–or rather, a bad _life_ , if you really want the truth. Yes, that's it–life. I have a very bad life. Well, not that it's _all_ bad. I do have some bright spots here and there, you know...”� I trailed off, clamping my mouth shut, a pained and embarrassed expression clearly written all over my face. “I'm just going to stop talking now." 

 

Laughing gently, James lifted his hand and playfully rustled my hair (what? He's touching me? Is he flirting? Just being friendly? OhMerlinohMerlinohMerlinohMerlin...), grinning down at me. "Well, let’s all hope that your life isn’t so bad, all right?”�

 

"Er, yeah." I smiled weakly, trying not to hyperventilate as James began walking beside me. There was an awkward air between us as we walked–or at least there was an awkward air for _me_. James seemed to be quite comfortable, waltzing down the corridor as he was. Trying desperately to ease the tension throughout my body, I quickly blurted out, "Where were you this morning? In Charms, I mean?"

 

"In McGonagall's office,”� James explained casually. “One of our beaters took a beating himself this morning and she lost it a bit. Slipped on some stray bacon in the Great Hall and hurt his wrist. Madame Pomfrey says he'll be fine by tomorrow, but McGonagall doesn't seem to think so. She had me in her office for an hour, asking whether the replacement beaters were good enough. I reckon she wants the cup even more than me this year. Especially after what happened with Hufflepuff last year."

 

"What happened with Hufflepuff last year?"

 

James missed a step. "What do you mean 'what happened'? You don't _know_?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "I, er, don't exactly follow Quidditch."

 

James looked horrified. " _Why_?"

 

I struggled with my words once more. "Because, uh, it's, er...it just doesn't...do it for me."

 

James stopped walking.

 

"You don't like _Quidditch_?"

 

The look he gave me was one of pure astonishment. It was as if I'd just told him I didn't like ice cream or Christmas. I was a deer caught in headlights. A deer with an extremely twisted tongue caught in headlights. Could he not fancy a girl who didn't like Quidditch? Would he stop now? Had he even started?

 

"Well, yeah–I mean, no! I mean...I don't know. It's just..."

 

"Wonderful?"

"No–"

"Thrilling?"

"Not exactly–"

"The greatest game ever created?"

 

"Well, I was going to say 'confusing', but whatever floats your boat, I guess..."

 

"Confusing?" James regarded me with an odd expression. "It's not confusing."

 

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe not for _you_ , Mr. Captain, but it is for _me_. I'm Muggle-born. I didn't grow up knowing the game."

 

"So what?" James asked, his tone still conveying his bafflement. "It's not that hard of a concept to grasp. You've got your beaters, your chasers, your keeper and your–"

 

"Forks, spoons, knives and plates," I finished sarcastically, rolling my eyes again. "You're speaking gibberish to me, James. It's too complicated. You've got a million different people doing a million different things–"

 

"Seven! There are seven people!"

 

"–and there's thousands of balls flying all over the place–which one are you supposed to follow, exactly? Does anyone really know?"

 

"Well, generally you follow the Quaffle–"

 

"Then what's the point of the other balls? Why are they even there?"

 

"For the beaters and the seeker. The seeker finds the snitch to end the game and beaters hit the–"

 

"See? This for that, that for this... games should have _one_ general concept, not seven hundred and thirty! And then there’s the penalties–oh, the _penalties_!"

 

James groaned. "Now you have something against the _penalties_?"

 

I ignored his whining and continued on with my rant. “Every single second the whistle's blowing at _something_. It's just one big _headache_ , really. And then there's the cheering–who are they cheering for? The person with the little ball? The people with the fast ones? The people tossing the ball around? How are you supposed to know the difference? And the scoring is mad as well. Who gets 150 points for catching a ball? How is _that_ fair? All these other people are doing a whole lot more than that one person finding the little ball, but the little ball person gets all the credit and the points? It's ridiculous!”�

 

When my ranting had stopped and I turned back to gauge James's reaction, he stood silently beside me, blinking owlishly. "Wow." He blinked again. "I guess it is a bit more complicated than I thought."

 

I crossed my arms smugly over my chest as we reached the Transfiguration classroom. "See? And you look at me like I'm mad."

 

"But you _are_ mad. You even say so yourself."

 

"What? Hey! I do not–"

 

Okay, so I really am a complete head case. Privately and publicly. But still.

 

I threw James a dirty look. "What happened to not insulting me?"

 

James smirked. "That was only for one night, you silly girl. You can't expect me to lay off you _forever_ , can you?"

 

"It would be nice," I answered flatly. 

 

James smiled cheekily, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “But you look so pretty when you're all flustered red like that, Evans. You would deny me such a sight?"

 

My head snapped up in shock. Oh, Merlin. Was he joking? Was he serious? Was that an underlying start to his next comment, 'I fancy the hell out of you', or just another one of his teasing quips? My heart pounded in my chest as James began to laugh.

 

"See?" he said. "Very pretty."

 

I could have died right then and there. How was a girl supposed to respond to something like that? With a laugh? With a shove? Would I be breaking his poor heart if I said the wrong thing? Would I be leading him on? 

 

"Inside, class! Everyone in your seats! Potter, Evans, get to your seats."

 

My insides nearly split with relief. Never have I been more relieved to be ushered into my seat by McGonagall. I threw one last quick smile to James before all but running to my seat next to Grace. Somehow she had gotten to the classroom before I had.

 

"Are you all right, Lily? Your face is all red."

 

I didn't answer her. I just glared.

 

This was, after all, all her fault.

 

Observation #89) When you have suspicions about a bloke having romantic feelings for you as they have had in previous years, conversation is a no-no. Disastrous tongue twisting consequences may follow.

 

Observation #90) When you have suspicions about a bloke having romantic feelings for you as they have had in previous years, don't start debating Quidditch with him. This can lead to redness. And redness is now an even bigger enemy than before.

 

Observation #91) Do I really look pretty when I blush? 

 

___________________

**Even Later, Herbology**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 91**

****

I tried to stop thinking about it all through Transfiguration and Herbology, but it didn't seem to be working. I tried to concentrate on McGonagall and the immense difficultly that _is_ Transfiguration, but I just couldn't do it. I tried to listen as Professor Sprout potted her plant properly, but once again, I found my thoughts straying elsewhere. I mean, there he was, sitting a few seats in front of me, pretending to pay attention as I was and possibly considering the types of children we'll have one day.

 

How can anyone expect me to be concentrating when he could possibly be mentally matching my red hair to his eyes and complexion?! HOW?!

 

I'm stupid. I'm being ridiculous. I _know_ it's all in my head, but I can't _help_ it. This is James Potter we're talking about here. He was young and impressionable when he fancied me before. And now...he could have _anyone_. Anyone in the entire bloody school. He would _not_ pick me. Especially after witnessing me at my very worst, which he has, multiple times. I mean, he probably doesn't even _like_ me. He probably just said he'd be mates with me because he pitied me for losing so many recently. All these nice things he's been doing are all out of pity. Tomorrow morning he'll be going out with Saunders again and this entire thing won't even matter. Grace is _totally_ wrong. _So_ wrong.

Oh, my head hurts.

 

I'm going to hide in the library.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 94**

****

"Hey, Lily! Hey!"

 

I jumped, dropping my quill onto the table, smudging some of the spare ink on my neatly written Divination assignment. My head swiveled over towards the history section in front of me. Through the rows of shelves of books, a familiar face made his way towards me.

 

"Amos!" I tried to keep my voice from cracking. "What are you doing here?"

 

Amos smiled as he pulled back the chair across from me and sat down. My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Merlin, he's good-looking.

 

"I was looking for you," he told me.

 

_I was looking for you._

 

Clean-up on aisle three. Lily Evans has just melted all over the library floor.

 

"Looking for–I mean, that's...nice. Any, er, particular reason?"

 

_So that I could confess my undying and eternal love for you._ _Please marry me and have my children. Please let me make sweet, passionate love to you right here on this rickety, old, library table._

__

"It's about the Runes assignment."

 

Oh. Runes. 

 

Not exactly what I was expecting there, love. Couldn't we try mine instead?

 

"Yes, of course." I smiled up at him, shaking my head in a lame attempt to clear my thoughts. I just cannot conduct a serious conversation when images of Amos and me shagging like rabbits in the library are flying freely through my mind. I just can't. Taking a deep breath, I fought to keep the blush that was threatening to blaze across my cheeks under control. "What about the project, then?" I asked.

 

"Well, it's due rather soon, you know," Amos continued, his still bright smile making it hard for me to push those dirty pictures completely out of my mind, "and we're almost done and everything, but I was thinking that we could finish it up Wednesday before your tutoring like we did last week. If that's all right with you, I mean."

 

He looked at me questioningly. I nodded automatically, my mouth drying up, making it hard for me to talk.

 

"Uh, yeah," I coughed. "Sure. That'd be...that'd be perfect." 

 

Merlin, I sounded like such a bloody _idiot_.

 

Amos nodded as well. "Well, good. It's a date, then. How about we start at six-thirty? Give us a little extra time to pull the presentation together?"

 

_It's a date, then._

__

Gahhhh.

 

I just kept on nodding like an imbecile. "Six-thirty," I repeated dumbly.

 

Amos continued smiling, too polite to comment on my complete imbecility. He ran a quick hand through his mass of silky hair before pushing back from his chair and rising from his seat. "Looking forward to it."

 

If there were anything left of me to melt, it would be toast by now.

 

"See you, Lily."

 

I waved lamely. "Bye, Amos."

 

Then I watched Amos and his perfect bum disappear between the history and charms sections.

 

___________________

**Still Later, Still in the Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 94**

 

I. AM. SUCH. A. STUPID. TWIT.

 

I can't believe I ACTED like that!! What must Amos think of me now? I'll tell you what he thinks of me:

 

HE THINKS I'M A STUPID TWIT, THAT'S WHAT HE THINKS!!!!

 

I mean, could I have possibly been any _less_ articulate? 'Er, sure' 'Uh, yeah' 'Six-thirty'. I sounded like I was getting high off something! Ughhhhhhh!

 

What happened to my supreme suaveness?? Where were the clever, witty comments? Where was the blatant, swift flirting? Did they all disappear so quickly? Well, I WANT THEM BACK.

 

He left me so many openings, too! When a bloke says he's 'looking forward' to seeing you, you don't just sit there and NOD. You do SOMETHING. ANYTHING. Even a simple, 'yeah, me as well,' would have been fine! But no, I just SAT there like a bloody bump on a log, nodding along like the complete lunatic that I am. I can't believe I–

 

"LILY EVANS!"

 

What?

 

Oh, bloody hell.

 

I forgot about her.

 

Must dash out of here quickly before I'm spotted.

 

___________________

**Still Later, Still in the Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 92**

 

I am apparently as talented at dashing away as I am at talking to my future husband and transfiguring complicated things. I was caught before I was even halfway down the corridor.

 

"LILY EVANS! You stop right now, you backstabbing little liar!"

 

I cringed, stopping where I was. Turning slowly to face the very angry screamer behind me, I forced a bright smile on my face.

 

"Oh, hello, June! Everything all right?"

 

June wasn't fooled. The red-faced fifth-year nearly pounced on me, her claws unscathed.

 

"Don't you 'all right' _me_ , Evans! What are you playing at, changing the calendar? You said you'd switch with me!"

 

I'm not even going to pretend that I wasn't intimidated by the very red, very angry June Mackey. She was scary, plain and simple. She probably could've eaten me if she wanted to. She could've tackled me to the ground and tore me apart limb for limb. It could've gotten ugly. That's why I tried to remain as calm and as mature as I possibly could.

 

"Now, listen, June, you've got it all wrong." Which she did. Sort of. " _I_ wasn't the one to change the calendar." Which I wasn't. "It was lover boy and your cousin." Which it was.

 

June didn't seem to comprehend what I was saying. She gritted her teeth and growled, "It was _who_?"

 

I sighed dramatically. "It was _Amos_ and _James_ ," I reiterated.

 

"Oh, _please_!" June spat, glaring her fiercest. "As if I'm going to believe _that,_ you traitor!"

 

"But I'm telling the truth!" I cried, crossing my arms over my chest. "Unlike _some_ people."

 

June's eyes narrowed further. "Are you _implying_ something, Evans?"

 

I glared right back at her. "As a matter of fact, _Mackey_ , I am!" My confidence building slightly, I took a few steps towards her. "Wasn't it you who told me–oh, what was it, now... _'he wants it just as much as I do'_? Was that it?"

 

June flinched at my words. I grinned triumphantly. I'd cornered the little brat.

 

I took a few more steps closer, keeping my tone casual as I continued, "Because I just happened to be talking to my _mate_ James the other night, and he wasn't–how can I put this politely?– _pleased_ with these new rounds arrangements. Not pleased at all." I quirked an eyebrow, eyeing June with suaveness I thought I'd never have again. "Fancy that, eh?"

 

June let out a choking sound of disbelief as she stood there, gaping like a fish, trying to find a retort. But she wouldn't find one, I knew. There weren't any. I had used my immense knowledge and complete suaveness and now I had her cornered. I'd beaten her at her own game.

 

And it felt bloody brilliant.

 

"What? Nothing left to say, Mackey?"

 

Okay, so now I was being a bit mean. But she deserves it!

 

June sputtered indignantly, her face an even more brilliant shade of red. I reckon she was a _bit_ brassed off with me right about then.

 

"I...I... _eurgh_!"

 

And with another loud, screeching sound, June turned on her heel and stormed off down the corridor, yelling, "You'll be sorry for this, Lily Evans!" as she turned the corner.

 

Maybe I will be, but for now, I think I'm going to go back to the dormitory to bask in my wonderful suaveness.

 

___________________

**A Minute Later, Out in the Corridor**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 95**

 

 

Oh, bloody hell.

 

_Which_ dormitory do I go to?

 

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn...

 

___________________

**A Second Later, Out in the Corridor**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 95**

 

Wait a second.

 

The only reason I _wouldn't_ be going to _my_ dormitory is because of...

 

...

 

Oh, Merlin.

 

Where the bloody hell has _Emma_ been all day?

 

___________________

**Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 96**

****

When I entered the dormitory (the girls', not my fake-boys'), Grace was the only one in there, sitting on her bed, finishing her Charms assignment.

 

Me: Grace, where's Emma?

Grace: Merlin, Lily! Don't creep up on me like that! You scared the curses out of me!

Me: Er, sorry.

Grace: It's fine. Now what were you on about?

Me: Emma. Where is she?

Grace: What do you mean, 'where is she'? She's still in the Hospital Wing. Unless Pomfrey the Nazi let her out. Did the Nazi let her out?

Me: The _Hospital Wing_? Why is she in there?!

Grace: For her flu, you prat. I told you that already.

Me: No, you didn't!

Grace: Yes, I...oh, wait. Maybe that wasn't you...

Me: You think?

Grace: Yes, that was...sorry about that one, Lil. She's been there since last night. She was coughing and hacking up a storm when I got back from seeing you yesterday. Turns out, she's got the flu! Pomfrey says she'll be out by Thursday, though.

Me: Thursday?

Grace: Yup. But you could still go talk to her up in the Hospital Wing. Just tell Nazi it's some urgent Head Girl business.

Me: I don't want to talk to her.

Grace: Then why were you asking where she was?

Me: Because I didn't know.

Grace: You mean you _just_ realised _now_ that she's been missing all day?

Me: Er...well...

Grace: _James_ was gone for an _hour_ and you started hyperventilating, but _Emma's_ gone _all day_ and you don't even _notice_?

Me: Well, it's not like we're _speaking_ as of right now–

Grace: But weren't you thinking about her? You weren't worrying over her like you worry over everything else?

Me: Well, thanks to _you_ I had other things to worry over today!

Grace: Me? What'd I do?

Me: _'All I'm saying is that it's a_ possibility _, Lily'_. Does that ring a bell?

Grace: Oh. Right. That.

Me: Yeah, _that_.

Grace: Sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry.

Me: Well, you did. And I completely forgot about Emma because of it!

Grace: Is that really a bad thing, though? I mean, like you said, the two of you aren't actually speaking right now. And if you _did_ realise she was missing, you would've just stressed yourself out even more. So maybe I did you a favor?

Me:....

Grace: See? Now say thank you.

Me: No.

Grace: Fine. Then at least help me with this Charms assignment. What the bloody hell does a straight-lance swish have to do with performing a Guiding Charm...?

 

___________________

**Very Very Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 14**   
**Total Observations: 96**

****

Am I a bad mate?

 

I mean, I know we're not exactly speaking and all, but I still should've _noticed_ she was gone all day. She's my best mate–or _was_ my best mate, anyway. I'm not really sure where we stand on that one as of right now–and best mates should notice when their other mates go missing. Even if they are completely distracted by their new mates’ possible love and devotion for them. That's no excuse. I still should've noticed. 

 

Is it wrong to still be cross with her? She's up there, all alone and sick, and yet every time I try to think about her, I start to see red. Should I not be angry? What if her flu takes a turn for the worst and she's up in the Hospital Wing on her deathbed, and I'm still angry? WHAT IF SHE DIES AND I AM STILL CROSS WITH HER? WHAT HAPPENS THEN?

 

I hate being cross with people. I hate it almost as much as when people are cross with _me_. It just takes so much _effort_. And this effort is something my lazy arse just doesn't have.

 

I _am_ trying to get over this whole thing, though. I'm trying not to get angry every time I hear Emma's name or the word 'slag'. But how can I possibly just forget that my BEST MATE thought I was vindictively stealing her boyfriend away? I mean, there's a Best Mates Code and that assumption just totally broke every rule in the book. And with me being the stickler for rules that I am, I just can't push all that aside. I just can't. Because she hurt me. She hurt me a lot.

 

And maybe it was just the whole jealousy thing and the shock that Mac had fancied me (and what was THAT, anyway? Have I properly vented about that yet? Because that was totally not cool. Mac is _mean_ to me. You shouldn't be mean to a girl you used to fancy. Especially when this said girl had no idea you fancied her–or any idea who you _were_ , for that matter. You should have warned this said girl, so that she could be nice to you and set you down gently by explaining that she has already planned for her stationary to one day read, _Mrs. Lily Evans Diggory_ , so a courtship between the two of you just wouldn't be possible. You should really give a girl a chance to explain these things before you go up and ruin her friendships two years later. That wasn't cool either. Him ruining my friendships, I mean. I totally put all the blame for this entire thing completely on Mr. Fulton's shoulders. If he'd just continued to keep his stupid bloody mouth shut about his little fancying streak, he would've saved us all a whole lot of heartbreak. What an arse.)......

 

Wait. I forgot what I was talking about.

 

Oh, right. Jealousy.

 

So, anyway, maybe Emma was just in shock or something. She was so stunned that Mac had fancied me (after all, who wouldn't be?) that it completely impaired her judgment and she jumped to the first conclusion she could think of. I mean, _she_ obviously thinks Mac is pretty brilliant, so perhaps she just thought that everyone else shared her opinion. Even though we don't. Or I don't, anyway. I think he's a pile of dung. But Emma doesn't. So that's where her conclusion and jealousy obviously came from.

 

But even so...

 

Oh, bloody hell. I'm sick and tired of trying to make excuses for her. If she wants to explain and wants to apologise (which she better, or I will never be speaking to her again), she can find me herself on Thursday when she's flu-free. I should be up to talking to her then. And if not, I'll send her away and she can explain and apologise on Friday. Or Saturday. Or...whenever I'm not cross with her. We can talk then.

 

Okay. Sleep time.

 

___________________

**Tuesday, September 30th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 96**

 

"Come on, Lily. Just eat it. You like it."

 

Ugh. He's kidding me right? I'm trying to eat my BREAKFAST over here. It's too early to be beating him and his bloody eggs away from me. I don't care if I'm breaking his heart by yelling at him. It's his fault for starting to fancy me again in the first place. It's too early for this.

 

"James, stop waving your bloody _fork_ in my face! I'm not eating your stupid eggs again!" I give him a good, hard glare for measure.

 

He pauses for a moment...then continues waving.

 

"STOP!"

 

"Well, if you would just _eat_ them–"

 

"I am _not_ going to eat–"

 

"Could the two of you _please_ cut it out? I'm trying to read my paper here!"

 

James stops waving his fork. I stop yelling. Marley sighs in relief and turns the page of _The Prophet_.

 

"Thank, _Merlin_. You two are so _loud_ in the morning."

 

Yes, well, I wouldn't _have_ to be loud if James would just keep his bloody red _eggs_ to himself. He totally started it. I tell Marley this.

 

"Stop being annoying," Marley tells James. "Let Lily eat what she wants to eat."

 

I throw him a satisfied look. He starts waving his fork around again.

 

"You keep that way from me, James Potter, or I swear I'll–"

 

"You'll what? Throw your plain and stupid waffles at me?"

 

"As a matter of fact–"

 

" _Eughh_! _STOP_!"

 

Poor Marley. This isn't going to be a good morning for her, I can tell.

 

___________________

**Later, Ancient Runes**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 97**

****

**Even More Letters Written By Lily Evans To Amos Diggory During Ancient Runes That She Will Never In Her Life Send, But Still Enjoys Writing Because She Has Nothing Better To Do With Her Time**

****

Dear Amos,

 

Hi. It's me. Your future wife. The one you're looking forward to seeing Wednesday night before her tutoring. Yeah, that future wife.

This class is so boring lately. The only entertainment I have is watching Human Hyena attempt to pass love notes to Penny O'Jene. He's obviously having some second thoughts about the whole pink knickers catastrophe. Penny is pretending to ignore the notes, but is secretly picking them up when Hyena turns around. She's such a little tease. I feel almost bad for Hyena. Perhaps I will tell him that Penny is just playing hard-to-get? Nah. Then what entertainment will I have left?

Have I mentioned yet how fetching you look today? Not that you don't look brilliant _every day_ , but today it's just a different _sort_ of brilliant. Did you iron your robes or something? I could do that for you. If we get married, I mean. Which we will. As soon as you find a proper ring.

 

Lovingly Yours,  
Lily

 

\----------------------

 

Dear Fetching And Brilliant,

 

Maybe it's the hair? Is that what's different? Hm. Well, whatever it is, I like it.

 

Examining Your Looks,  
L.

 

\----------------------

Dearest Future Husband,

 

I wish you were sitting next to me still. I wouldn't even mind that I have to write left-handed so that we can 'accidentally' brush arms. I really wouldn't. I always wanted to be ambidextrous anyway. This would be good practice.

Wait, what are you doing? Why are you talking to that tart? Didn't I just explain to you that Penny is playing hard-to-get with Hyena Boy? She's USING you, love. She's trying to make Hyena JEALOUS. Which she is, because Human Hyena just broke his quill into two while looking at the pair of you. But you're also making ME jealous. So just stop, all right?

And by the way, if you have a chance, could you just slip me the answer to number eight? I'm too busy being jealous to fully concentrate.

 

Jealous and Not Concentrating,  
Future Wife

 

\----------------------

 

Dear Gorgy Bloke Still Making Me Jealous,

 

Jealousy is a two-way road, you know. I could totally make you jealous if I wanted to. I really could. So just stop talking to Penny.

 

Forever Yours,  
Still Jealous

 

\----------------------

Dear Brilliant Boy Who's Starting To Tick Me Off With His Chatting,

 

You want to know what, love? You know James Potter? Brilliantly good-looking Gryffindor, captain of the Quidditch team, top-of-the-class, funny prankster? Yeah, him. Well, HE might fancy me. Yeah, that's right.

So take that, Flirty Boy.

 

Your Slightly Cross Lover

 

\----------------------

 

Dear Wonderful God-Like Bloke Who Has Finally Stopped Talking,

 

Okay, so that last one was a bit of a lie. There's only a _possibility_ that he fancies me. James Potter, I mean. And Grace is really the only one who thinks so, anyway. _I_ certainly don't. James and I are just mates. He used to fancy me (did you know that? I didn't know that), but that was ages and ages ago. So you don't have to worry about him. I think. I hope.

But it wouldn't matter if he _did_ fancy me, anyway, because I don't fancy _him_. I just look at him as a mate. I mean, he _is_ good-looking and all, and funny as well, but so are you. Plus, he tries to force feed me ketchup and eggs. I can't fancy someone who does that. Even if it was kind of funny when he was waving about his fork and some of the eggs and ketchup fell off and landed right on his pants so that he had a big red stain right near his–

Yeah. So anyway...

You don't have anything to worry about. Nothing at all. I was just trying to make you jealous. Because I was jealous. But you stopped talking to Penny, so everything’s all right now.

Oh, by the way, forget about that number eight thing. Once I stopped being jealous, the whole translation was rather easy. I just wasn't concentrating properly.

 

Until Next Time,  
Yours-On-Demand

 

___________________

**Still Later, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 97**

 

_But he doesn't right? -LE_

__

**What? He, who? -GR**

__

_James. He doesn't fancy me, right?_

__

**Are we back on this _again_ , Lily?**

__

_No, it's just that I was thinking about it last class in Ancient Runes and I decided it would just be very very complicated if he did. Fancy me, I mean. So I think he shouldn't._

__

**All right, then. I'll tell him that.**

__

_NO! Don't_ TELL HIM _that!!_

__

**Well, what exactly do you want me to do, Lily?**

__

_I don't want you to do anything. I just want you to say that he doesn't fancy me._

__

**Okay, he doesn't fancy you.**

__

_Are you certain?_

__

**Sure.**

__

_Grace, this is serious!_

__

**No, it's not, Lily. You're making it out to be something bigger than it is. Would it be so bad if James _did_ fancy you?**

__

_YES!_

__

**Why?**

__

_Because it would be awkward, that's why! We're supposed to be_ mates _! I wouldn't know how to act if he fancied me. Every little thing_ he _did, every little thing_ I _did...it'd be so complicated. It would ruin everything._

__

**Well, I guess you have a point...**

__

_See?_

__

**...unless of course you fancied him _back_...**

__

_WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?_

__

**Well that would make things less complicated, yeah?**

****

_I'm not even going to respond to that, Grace Reynolds!_

__

**It was just a suggestion. To uncomplicate things and all.**

****

_Well, it wasn't a very_ good _one! Have you completely forgotten about_ Amos _? THE POTENTIAL FATHER OF MY FUTURE LIGHT BROWN-HAIRED, GREEN-EYED, HUFFLEPUFF AND GRYFFINDOR BRED CHILDREN?!?_

__

**But if it didn't work out with Amos and your, er, children.**

****

_It_ will _work out._

****

**Then why are we discussing this? You'll marry Amos and James's HYPOTHETICAL, unrequited feelings won't even matter.**

__

_Right. True._

****

**Exactly.**

****

_..._

__

_Grace?_

****

**Yes?**

****

_I don't want to hurt James's hypothetical, unrequited feelings._

****

**You won't.**

****

_Okay. Good._

__

___________________

**Later, Dinner in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 97**

****

Why did I have to start up with this again? I was perfectly fine with it all this morning, fighting with him about eggs and ketchup. Now I can't even look at him. Even though he's trying to talk to me.

 

"Lily? Can you pass the salt?"

 

I do, but don't look up.

 

"Did you start your Transfiguration homework yet?"

 

I shake my head, once again not looking up.

 

"Need any help?”�

 

I shrug, my eyes still fixed on my plate.

 

He's right. I _am_ a brat. I'm the biggest, stupidest, most selfish brat in the entire world. I'm probably doing this for nothing. I've been going over this in my head a million times. THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY THAT JAMES POTTER STILL FANCIES ME. There isn't. So I have to stop. I have to talk to him. I have to.

 

Oh, bugger it all. I'm going to hide in the library again.

 

___________________

**Even Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 100**

 

Observation #98) I’m a coward. I have to stop running and hiding in the library or people are going to start to think I live in here or something.

 

Observation #99) I'm stupid. What idiot gets herself into a situation where she has to avoid her TUTOR? I don't understand any of this Transfiguration mumbo-jumbo. It's like trying to talk Quidditch to me. The words are all there, I know they are, but it's like your mouth is moving and nothing is coming out. You might as well not be talking at all.

 

Observation #100) YAY! 100 OBSERVATIONS! And the sick and sad part is, I think I'm just as stupid and oblivious as before. But perhaps by _two_ hundred...

 

___________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 100**

****

You know things are bad when people know to look for you in the library. You know things are even worse when generally, the people who come to seek you out in the library are there for some sort of confrontation. So overall, I'm thinking I have it pretty bad.

 

"Uh...er...um..."

 

I ignored the stuttering from behind me, trying to concentrate on making some sense of the Transfiguration assignment that lay open on the table in front of me.

 

_List the ways to tell the difference between a real animal..._

__

"Er, Li–um..."

 

_...and an Animagi. Use textbook references p. 632-639 as well as any addition research..._

__

"Ah-hem! Er...AH- _HEM_..."

 

_...Record all sources used, including titles, authors and page numbers–_

__

_"_ Lily?"

__

My head swung around at the unfamiliar voice, but very familiar name. I nearly jumped back when I caught sight of just who the unfamiliar voice belonged to. Stunned, I stared silently at the intruder.

 

This was a joke. It had to be a joke.

 

Standing there, his body fidgeting uncomfortably, his gaze uncertain as he watched me, stood Mr. Fulton MacDonough.

 

Yeah. _Mac_.

 

"Er..." He continued to fidget. "Can we, er, talk?"

 

Talk? Us? Was he kidding me?

 

"Listen, Mac," I started, not bothering to hide the dislike from my voice. "I'm sure you won't find this hard to believe when I say no."

 

"You're right," he replied, but took another step towards my table. "I didn't think you'd agree, but this is important."

 

I threw him a look. "With all due respect," I said flatly, "I don't really care."

 

Mac nodded, as if expecting this. Which he should've been of course. Expecting this, I mean. We are both perfectly aware that neither of us are the other's most favourite person in the world. Who was he kidding, trying to come and 'talk' to me? What could I possibly talk about with him?

 

But Mac apparently had a cause, and he wasn't backing down easily.

 

"Look." He walked even closer to where I was sitting, making sure to keep his voice low so that Madame Pince wouldn't come and shush him away. "I know...I know you don't like me very much. And you know that I'm...not exactly a huge fan of yours either."

 

But he had been. He'd been a rather _big_ fan of mine two years ago, which is why we're currently in the predicament we're in. Stupid arsehole.

 

"But we do have one thing in common." He eyed me carefully. "Emmeline."

 

"On the contrary," I corrected. " _You_ have Emma. I don't. Not anymore."

 

"She's sorry."

 

I shrugged casually, hoping Mac would take the hint and leave. "So am I."

 

Mac sighed heavily, but instead of leaving as I was hoping he would, he pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. He sighed again and gently began massaging his temples with his hand. He was obviously a lot more determined than I had previously realised.

 

"Just give me five minutes, all right?" He looked desperate. He _was_ desperate. "Five minutes to plead her case and then I'll leave you alone."

 

I eyed Mac carefully, thinking before I spoke. There was no harm in hearing what he had to say, was there? I mean, I would've it rather been _Emma_ here to plead her own case, but that just didn't seem to be happening. But Mac was here, and much as I try to get rid of him, it doesn't look like he'll be leaving until he gets to say his little piece. So I had no choice but to hear what the bloke had to say. I really had to.

 

And it wasn't at all because I was interested in what he had to say. That totally wasn't it at all.

 

"Fine," I replied curtly. "Five minutes. No more."

 

Mac sighed again, this time in relief, and nodded.

 

"Good. Thanks." He took a deep breath, the air swishing quickly in and then out. His eyes never left mine. "I don't really know what happened Friday night," he started hesitantly, "but from what Emmeline _has_ told me, things got a bit out of hand when she went to go apologise."

 

Apologising? Was _that_ what she was doing that night?

 

"I don't know exactly what was said or what damage was done, and I'm not going to pretend I do, but what I _do_ know is that it shook Emmeline up pretty badly. I know she's sorry for whatever she did or said." He took another long breath right here. "And I know it's my fault that she did it."

 

My eyebrows shot up. "Your fault?" I said. "How do you figure that one?"

 

Mac smiled sourly. "Something your boy Potter said, actually."

 

"James is _not_ 'my boy'," I snapped automatically, Mac’s words hitting a little too close to home for what has been on my mind recently. "He's just my mate."

 

"Your mate Potter, then," Mac repeated, eyebrows raised at my quick and curt correction. "I just wanted you to know that regardless of what Potter seems to think–regardless of what _you_ seem to think–I didn't purposely try to come between Emmeline and you. I wouldn't have even brought up that–" He blushed here. "–stupid fancying stint if Emmeline hadn't cornered me on it." He paused here, and shifted slightly, uncomfortably. "She...she wanted to know why I didn't seem to like you. You're her best mate and it was tearing her apart that we didn't seem to be getting along." He gave me a small smile as he shook his head ruefully. "She said that you telling me my shoes looked 'peculiar' was actually a compliment and that you really weren't _against_ my not eating bread, just a bit surprised."

 

I held back a small smile of my own. So before she thought me a slag, she was defending me. Hm. Interesting.

 

"So that's when I told her. I said it wasn't really you per say, but _me_ , and my bad memories of lonesome Prefect meetings watching you talk to everyone else except for me–"

 

"I did that?"

 

Mac nodded.

 

Oh. 

 

Oops.

 

Now I feel rather bad, actually. Poor Mac.

 

"And then she went kind of mad," Mac continued. "She thought that maybe we didn't get along because I _still_ fancied you–which I didn't, of course! I tried to explain it to her and I _thought_ she understood, but I guess she didn't really. She just let her jealousy get a bit out of hand, I suppose. And I...well, I'm not going to lie to you. I didn't exactly _discourage_ her from being cross with you."

 

"Yeah," I said flatly, rolling my eyes. "I caught on to that one when you started glaring at me during mealtimes.”�

 

Mac flushed again. "Er, sorry about that."

I waved his apology off, finding myself somehow becoming a bit less cross and a bit more sympathetic. I wasn't sure why, but I was.

 

"So that's my bit," Mac finished with one last sigh. "I just...Emmeline and I aren't exactly speaking right now either, but I still felt that I should...explain. Because she is sorry. Very sorry." He paused here. "And so am I."

 

I tried to respond, but my throat had suddenly gone dry. I nodded instead.

 

"I just thought I'd explain before...well, I'm not sure that Emmeline and I will be–"

 

"You'll be fine," I interrupted, finally getting my voice back, though it came out a bit croaky. "Emma really likes you, Mac. She wouldn't have acted the way she did if she didn't." I gave him a small smile. "You two will be fine."

 

"And Emma and you?" he asked. "What about that?"

 

I paused. Then nodded.

 

"Maybe."

 

Mac nodded back, obviously satisfied with my answer. He stood to leave. "Thanks for the five minutes," he said.

 

"Er, sure." I pushed my hand nervously through my hair, biting my lip gently before adding, "And...thanks."

 

"For what?"

 

"For explaining."

 

Mac smiled again. The first genuine smile he's ever given me. "You're welcome," he said.

 

Then he turned back around and left.


	11. October 1st: The Infallible Lily Evans...Falls

**Author’s Notes:** Greetings all, and how fair thee? ;) Back again with chapter eleven. We’ve almost reached the present! This was the chapter that never reached ff.net, so celebrate if you haven’t read it yet. It’s actually a lot better than I remember. When I first went to go edit it, I was like ‘Uh-oh, this one’s going to need work.”� But it didn’t, not really. So hopefully, you enjoy. It has one of my very favorite titles, as well. Enjoy and review to let me know what you think!! —Bee

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()  
"Why can’t the ant and the caterpillar just get along? One eats grass, the other eats caterpillars…Oh, I see now." 

—Jack Handey  
()()()()()()()()()()()()

_________________________________

****  
**Very Very Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 15**   
**Total Observations: 101**

****

One simple chat isn't going to make this all better. I mean it. Mac can't just come on over, tell me his little sad, apologetic bit and then expect it to all be all right again. It's just not going to happen. It doesn't work that way. It can't. It won't.

 

And, okay, I know it may _seem_ like I'm a lot less cross at the moment, but I'm so not. Less cross, I mean. This loss of crossness is obviously just on account of the fact that it is very late and I am extremely fatigued. Not to mention the fact that I have far too many other things on my mind, including the predicament with my new, possibly love-stricken mate, James. I’m simply far too busy dealing with my other problems to be cross. It's not at all because of what _Mac_ said. Our little talk didn't affect anything. It really didn't.

 

Yeah. Definitely.

 

Stupid Mac and his stupid talks...

 

_________________________________

**Wednesday, October 1st, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 103**

****

** Things to Do Today **

1) Complete Potions assignment that I did not get to finish last night because of bloody Mac and his surprise appearance.  
2) Find missing Herbology textbook. I _know_ I had it in class yesterday, but after that, who knows? What is _with_ me and losing my textbooks anyway? Seriously. It's not even funny.  
3) Primp for Amos meeting at 6:30. Must look my very best for the future husband.  
4) Take a look at those Transfiguration notes James gave me. Practice and studying makes perfect–or as close to perfect as I'm going to get, anyway.  
5) Eat.  
6) Sleep.  
7) Breathe.  
8) Continue to ignore the fact that Emma is supposed to be released from the Hospital Wing tomorrow. It doesn't matter to me. It doesn't matter at all.

 

_________________________________

**Later, Still At Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 104**

****

The Gryffindor Quidditch team has an early morning practice today. I know this on account of Grace's rather loud grumblings this morning about 'mad McGonagall' and her 'stupid, prattish, follows-McGonagall's-instructions-like-the-Nazis-followed-Hitler-and-look-how-that-turned-out Captain'. Also, because James and Marley are not here. Therefore, it looks like I'll be eating breakfast alone today. Not that that is necessarily a _bad_ thing, I suppose. It gives me ample time without interruption to finish my incomplete Potions assignment, after all. But it _is_ rather lonely sitting here all by myself. Maybe I'll just–

 

"Hiya, Lily."

 

Hiya? Who...

 

"Oh!" Well, look who it is! "Hey, Thomas."

 

It's my very good (and very very attractive, though very very young) third-year mate, Mr. Thomas Dunn! What a _pleasant_ surprise!

 

Thomas smiles and politely asks, "Can you pass me that ketchup there, please?"

 

Oh, yeah. He likes that ketchup rubbish as well, doesn't he? I'd forgotten about that.

 

"Sure," I say, reaching across the table to grab the bottle–which is still present at the Gryffindor table, even though James is not–and hand it over to Thomas.

 

"Thanks," he says with grin. Then, noticing the lack of argument occurring during this recent transaction, nods his head towards the empty spaces around me and asks, "Where's Marlene and the Ketchup Loon?"

 

Ketchup Loon? Oh, this kid cracks me up!

 

I laugh and explain that both Marley and the ‘Ketchup Loon’ are currently at Quidditch practice.

 

"Quidditch?" Thomas says, his eyebrows furrowing. "So you're eating alone?"

 

I shrug. "I suppose."

 

Thomas instantly shakes his head at this. "Nonsense!" he says, plopping himself down in the seat next to me. "You can't sit alone. _I'll_ eat breakfast with you."

 

"Oh, Thomas, you don't have to–"

 

"I want to. Wait one second, I'll be right back..."

 

Then he rushed off back to the Hufflepuff table, where he is now retrieving his plate and it looks like a few mates as well!

 

Well, I guess I won't be eating breakfast alone, after all!

 

 

_________________________________

**Even Later, Potions**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 105**

 

You know what? I think that ever since that little letter escapade, my Potions skills and/or confidence has skyrocketed to an astounding level. Seriously. I don't know how I have all of this skill all of a sudden, but it's there. Like this Virnaline Potion I've just brewed? It has to be the most perfect shade of blue there ever was–all light, but deep, with just a tint of purple, just like the textbook shows! Moreover, I still have twenty-five minutes left in class as well! No one else is finished, just me–oh, wait. Snape's finished as well. But no matter. Mine is far better than _his_ is, anyway. I think.

 

And you know what's even _madder_ about this whole thing? I achieved a perfect potion while also having plenty of things around to distract me. I mean, I have Amos, my potential husband and the future father of my children, sitting just across the room (looking quite brilliant, if I do say so myself). Then there's James, my new mate who just may be sitting in his seat behind me fantasizing about our future wedding, also here. Not to mention that Mac's also seated a little ways off, the empty seat next to him a constant reminder of my malfunctioning social life. You'd definitely think that with rubbish surroundings like these, a girl just wouldn't be able to concentrate, but I am apparently just _so_ talented that I can. Concentrate, I mean. I think it's safe to say that I am obviously just so _tremendously_ brilliant... _fabulously_ brilliant... _fantastically_ brilliant...

 

"There will be no writing in my classroom when there are Potions to be brewed, Miss Evans."

 

Psh. Silly, silly Professor Abbott. Does she not see the magnificent potion residing in my cauldron?

 

"I've finished, Professor," I tell her.

 

Abbott does not look like she believes me. She really should–

 

Oh, blast. She's heading over here now.

 

 

_________________________________

**Later, Still in Potions**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 106**

****

I should definitely be offended by the absolute shock Professor Abbott has just displayed at seeing my perfect potion. Seriously. She was startled dumb. I should be completely insulted by this, but I'm not. I mean, even _I'm_ a bit surprised at its blinding perfection. So who can really blame her?

 

When I saw her walking towards me, I'm not going to lie and say that I wasn't nervous, even though I knew my potion was brilliant. I think it's just the way she holds herself that intimidates me so much–that stick-straight posture, those narrowed eyes, that suspicious sneer. Even if she doesn’t fail me when I insult her and likes that I have some backbone, it really doesn’t make her any less frightening. And it didn't help either that we had now caught the attention of the entire class–who I'm sure was very much anticipating another one of their Head Girl's very embarrassing moments. 

 

So naturally I was feeling a bit antsy when Abbott had finally reached my desk and was looking down at me like I'd just told her I was growing another head rather than that I had completed my potion.

 

"Hmmm..." She stirred my potion around carefully, a doubtful look still etched clearly on her face. She stopped stirring. I think I stopped breathing. Slowly, as if prolonging the whole thing to make me wither in my seat, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tube filled with a light pink liquid I couldn't name. She removed the cork from the top of the tube. "Let's just see about this, shall we?"

 

I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to see.

 

Nevertheless, she unceremoniously dropped the contents of the tube into my cauldron.

 

It began to bubble.

 

Oh, damn. Was it _supposed_ to be doing that?

 

"Interesting," Abbott said flatly, revealing nothing concerning whether or not ‘interesting’ meant ‘right' or 'get out of my classroom, you've just failed my class’. She put the spoon back into my cauldron and began stirring again. As she mixed, the bubbles stopped, but they began again when she’d stopped stirring. Taking another tube from her robes–this one a bright orange–Abbott uncorked that one and dumped it into my cauldron as well. The bubbling stopped.

 

"Well, well, well," Abbott said, grinning at me mechanically. I wasn’t sure whether her smiling was a good thing or a bad thing, and I wasn’t sure I _wanted_ to know either. What had that stuff been? Why had my potion bubbled? Was it _supposed_ to bubble? Abbott remained silent, thoroughly enjoying my nerves, I’m sure. A few seconds later, unable to take it anymore, I spoke up.

 

"Professor?"

 

For a few moments after I’d spoken, it seemed almost as if Abbot hadn’t heard me. She stood there silently, her lips pressed into a thin, straight line. I wasn’t sure whether I should try to question her again, or just wait for her to make a move. I didn’t have to wait long to make that decision however, as a few seconds later, Professor Abbott nodded her head towards the supply closet and quietly said to me, "Take a spare jar and store your potion, Evans." The line that had been her lips curved into a small smile. "A perfect Virnaline Potion, Miss Evans. Well done."

 

I sat gaping at her like a fish out of water. A perfect potion? A _perfect_ potion? I mean, _I’d_ known it was perfect but… 

 

Abbott turned around and headed back towards her desk. About halfway there, she turned back to me and went, "Potions work only in my classroom, Evans. Your assignment is on the board. Complete that for the remainder of the class."

 

Still not really finding my words, I nodded furiously and sputtered out a, "Yes, Professor."

 

Then Abbott returned to her desk.

 

So do you _see_? Do you see how _brilliant_ I’ve suddenly become? Even _Abbott_ was impressed! I mean, she clearly sees that I am not doing my assignment as she previously requested, but instead of yelling at me for writing in here as she normally would, she’s just pretending not to notice. _That's_ how impressed she is. How brilliant is _that_?

 

Lily Evans: Potions Master.

 

It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

 

_________________________________

**Still Later, Lunch**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 106**

****

"Handy Potions work, there, Evans."

 

I looked up over my shoulder, grabbing the last of my books as the bell ending Potions class finally rang, much to everyone inside's relief. Leaning casually against the doorway of the classroom, the rest of the class already out the door and on their way to lunch, James grinned as he waited for me to finish gathering my things.

 

"Oh, er, thanks," I muttered uncomfortably as I joined him in the doorway, pulling the strap of my rucksack farther up my shoulder. I tried not to notice that _he_ had been the one to wait for me. A bit further up, I could see Grace and the rest of the Marauders already walking down the corridor, talking in rather loud tones about whose potion had turned out the worst (much to his delight, Peter's orange, slimy concoction was in the lead so far). The explanation was simple, really. _They_ were obviously just far too engrossed in their conversation to wait for me. It meant nothing that James had opted to stay behind. It's not as if he did it _purposely_ or anything. He was probably just getting ready to leave, saw me fumbling with my books over in the corner and thought, 'Well, as her new mate, I suppose I'm rather obligated to wait for her. Especially since she doesn't seem to have many these days. Mates, I mean. So I should wait for her.' He didn't have any ulterior motives in this. He wasn't thinking, 'Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! I shall get to walk alone with my lady fair!" 

 

He just wasn't. Because he doesn't think of me like that anymore.

 

We started to make our way down the corridor, joining the rest of our classmates on our way to the Great Hall.

 

"The potion was rather easy, though," I said, laughing uneasily, though if it was because of the compliment or because I was still uncomfortable about the fact that he had waited, I wasn't sure. "So I suppose that's why–"

 

" _Easy_?" James choked out, cutting off the rest of my sentence. "It took me _ages_ just to get that thing in the right bloody _colour zone_ and you're saying it was _easy_? Are you mad? Did you not see the peculiar shade of green in most of the cauldrons in there? Or the unidentified lumps? You're practically the only one who did it right, Lily! Did you see how much yours bubbled? It was brilliant!"

 

I tried to hold back my blush as much as I possibly could, but knew I'd failed miserably. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I silently wondered if James still thought my blush was pretty, even when I was as red as a tomato. "There were plenty of others who did it right as well," I argued weakly, trying to ignore the little voice in my head that kept yelling, 'He waited for you! He's complimenting you! What more evidence do you _need_?'. I swallowed hard, pushing those voices away. "And besides, Snape's bubbled far more than mine did."

 

James sneered in distaste. "Forget about Snivellus. He's got a deal with the devil. You can't compare yourself to _that_."

 

I rolled my eyes. "That's not very nice, James."

 

"The truth usually isn't."

 

I threw him a look. "He doesn't have a deal with the devil, you prat. What's with you blokes anyway? Why can't you just get along?"

 

James cocked an eyebrow. "What? Like you and Lizzie Saunders get along?"

 

Ugh, again with the Lizzie? I tried not to cringe. "That's different," I told him. "We're _girls_. We're _supposed_ to be like that."

 

"Because you're all _mad_."

 

Very very true. Also, very very sad.

 

"Well, who says that's such a bad thing?"

 

James snorted. "Anyone who has to live with you."

 

I nudged him in the arm. "Don't be an arse."

 

James grinned and mockingly replied in a tone rather exaggeratingly similar to my own, "We're _blokes_. We're _supposed_ to be like that."

 

Ha. Funny. Clever. Not.

 

"And you say _I'm_ mad," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

 

"On the contrary," James pointed out. " _You_ say you're mad. It's your excuse for everything, you know. 'Rubbish at Transfiguration? Oh, it's because I'm mad,' 'Oh, right! That Defense assignment! I'm too mad to remember anything,' 'The apocalypse has arrived? God, why am I so mad?'. I just simply choose not to correct you."

 

"I don’t blame everything on my madness," I retorted, though really, I probably do. That and my stupidity. Because, really, that's what it is. If I wasn't so mad and/or stupid, I probably wouldn't get myself into half of the completely ridiculous predicaments I always seem to find myself in.

 

"Sure you do," James told me again. "'It's because you have a complex."

 

A _what_?

 

What the bloody hell was he on about now?

 

"What do you mean complex? I don't have any sort of complex!"

 

James simply grinned at my outrage. "Ah, but you do," he insisted, nodding his head thoughtfully. I glared as he finally explained. "You've got this inferiority complex that runs a mile deep, Evans. Merlin only knows why, but for some reason you seem to think that everyone is better than you are. You've got a serious lack of self-confidence, Lily. A serious, serious lack of it, indeed."

 

My jaw dropped.

 

An inferiority complex? A serious lack of self-confidence?

 

_What_?!

 

"I didn't notice until this year," he continued, completely ignoring my shocked expression. "Maybe it's newly developed, maybe it's not–Merlin knows you never seemed to lack any confidence before–but now...I can see right through your suave facade, Lily Evans. You need learn some self-confidence. It's all about the self confidence."

 

"Y-you're wrong," I answered automatically, my voice stuttering for some reason. "I'm not. I have confidence. I _radiate_ confidence. I...I just don't, all right?"

 

"Oh, yeah?" James challenged, arching an eyebrow. "What about just before? I told you you'd made a brilliant potion and what did you do?"

 

"Well, I–"

 

"You instantly started talking about how Snape's was better!" James shook his head and threw me a pointed look. "When you can't even take a simple compliment, you know you've got a problem."

 

For a moment, I couldn't answer. I just stood there, my mouth hanging open, the shock and embarrassment rushing through my veins.

 

I don't have self-confidence issues. I'm just realistic. Is there a problem with being realistic?

 

"I don't lack any confidence," I insisted again, my face hot. "And I can take a compliment!"

 

James snorted. "You turn as red as anything the second anyone says something nice about you, Evans, then mutter on about something else. How is _that_ taking a compliment?"

 

Erm...it's...well, it's...

 

Oh, bugger.

 

"Well, that– _modesty_!" I sputtered, inspiration coming quickly, but I had the feeling too late. "There's nothing wrong with being modest!"

 

"You're far past modest," James told me, not missing a beat. I tried to think of a clever retort, tried to regain that bit of suaveness that I knew was hidden somewhere deep inside of me, but try as I might, nothing came. There was nothing I could think to say that would get me out of the hole that I'd dug myself into with this conversation.

 

But the thing is, I _don't_ have a complex. I mean, yes, I have my moments of self-doubt, but what normal, seventeen-year-old girl doesn't? And all of it's the truth! All of my self-doubt, I mean. It's totally one-hundred percent well founded. And while yes, I do tend to turn a bit red when people say certain things about me, that’s only because of my redhead genetics. None of that equals a complex. It only equals a normal, redheaded teenage girl.

 

I think.

 

"Boost up that confidence, Evans," James said again as we entered the Great Hall. "Maybe then things might begin to make sense again."

 

_________________________________

**Even Later, Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 107**

****

What is he on about, 'maybe then things might begin to make sense again'? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?

 

I wish people would just stop talking in code. Seriously. I have a hard enough time translating English properly, I don't need any of this 'think-about-what-I'm-saying' bollocks. You pretty much have to spell these things out for me. I'm just not that intelligent, people.

 

And when I say that I'm not intelligent, it's because it's the truth, and _not_ because my "complex" is forcing me to say it. Because I don't _have_ a complex.

 

Oh, bother. I don't have time to be depicting codes and defending my confidence. Does no one realise that in only a matter of hours, I will be meeting with the love of my life for an Ancient Runes study session?

 

How easily we forget these things when we are busy defending ourselves!

 

_________________________________

**Even Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 107**

****

** Preparing For a Study Session with Mr. Perfect: **

**An Inside Look at the Dressing Process Lily Evans Must Go Trough In Order to Look Decent**

****

Step One) The Proper Trousers

 

Now, normally I don't like to toot my own horn, but I have to say that I have this one pair of jeans that makes my bum look incredibly fabulous. No joke. It looks perfect. Even from under my robes you can tell how perfect they make my bottom half look. They’re _that_ good. However, it is, of course, only this one pair that makes my bum look this way, so said jeans are only taken out and/or used for very _very_ important occasions. Like this studying session, for example. A prime example indeed.

 

Search for the Perfect Trousers: Complete

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Step Two) The Perfect Top

 

There are two abilities a top must have in order to be considered The Perfect Top. Ability number one is, of course, the ability to make you look far skinner than you actually are or really have the right to be. This ability is often a hard one to master when taking into consideration the slight bump in your stomach on account of all the rice you eat, but The Perfect Top can always pull it off rather nicely. 

Ability number two has something to do with a region a bit north of your slight bump in the belly, and actually has to do with another pair of bumps located on your chestal area. I am, of course, referring to what are commonly known as the female breasts. Now my breasts, they're actually (luckily) existent. I mean, they're not _huge_ or anything, but I'm pretty sure that you could spot them rather well on a foggy day. However, in TPT, my breasts– _any_ breasts, really–are made to look rather like my bum in The Proper Trousers–perfect. And blokes, they like that. Perfect breasts, I mean. So TPT is often times pulled out only in the company of a rather fine looking bloke like, let's say, Amos Diggory.

Now me, I have three Perfect Tops. That's right, three.

Top #1) a green, wool jumper that is both slimming and enhancing in all the proper places

Top #2) a blue, silk camisole, both very sexy and very useful

Top #3) a simple, white top with a bit of lace at the top. Very causal, yet _very_ good.

Now the only trouble is actually choosing one of these Perfect Tops.

Hm... well, let's just see, shall we?

Top #1 is, while very perfect, a jumper, and would probably be more appropriate for a trip to Hogsmeade in chilly weather rather than a late-night study session in the library. I mean, I sweat enough as it is already when I’m around Amos, I really don't need a heat-containing jumper to add anymore to that. And Top #2, while also very perfect, is actually a bit on the–how do I put this–er... slaggish side. That's more like a seventh-date sort of top than a second-study-session type. My mum always says that a true woman always leaves a bit of mystery when concerning a bloke, and Top #2...well, let's just say that it doesn't leave much to the imagination. And I certainly don't want Amos to think I'm loose or anything like that, so that pretty much takes care of Top #2 as well.

This leaves Top #3–simple, yet stunning. It gives just enough support with just enough slimmage in all the right places. And possibly most brilliant of all, it goes absolutely perfectly with the chosen Perfect Trousers.

 

TPT Search: Complete.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Step Three) Height or Comfort? The Search for the Perfect Shoe

 

There are two types of shoes in the world. The first type contains those shoes that are made supremely for your comfort. Under this category, you have your trainers, your sandals, your slippers and your low, comfortable flats. The second type of shoes are those shoes which are created merely to enhance your appearance without any consideration whatsoever of the damage they may cause your feet. This category includes your heels, your strappy sandals, and pretty much any other shoe that after only a half-hour of wearage, creates large, bleeding blisters that burn and fester for days and days after you wear them. However, usually these blisters are more than worth the pain, because category two shoes are guaranteed to give you a height, a poise and a sophistication that you just can’t get with a pair of ratty old trainers.

 

However, I myself have never really been a huge fan of category two shoes. Grace is, and she has about a million in thousands and thousands of different colours, but I'm a rather big baby when it comes to dealing with pain, so festering blisters just don't do it for me. 

 

Plus, who wears heels to the library? I want to look brilliant, not mad.

 

So I suppose I'll just be going with my everyday trainers. I'll save the heels (and the pain) for an actual date.

 

Shoe Selection: Complete

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Step Four) Robes: To Wear or Not to Wear?

 

Robes are commonly worn both in and out of classes at this fine establishment we like to call Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They are the wizarding equivalent of an everyday jumper for Muggles. If I _don't_ wear them, I'll probably look rather odd and out of place, but if I _do_ wear them, they might cover up a bit of my spectacular outfit. However, that wouldn’t be all bad, I suppose. I mean, I don't want to look like I tried too hard, anyway, now do I? I want to radiate causal beauty and cool confidence, not desperation and far too much effort. It would not do for me to look ridiculous. Therefore, robes are a must. My thin black ones will go nicely with the ensemble, I think.

 

Robes Decision: Complete.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Step Five) Put It All Together and Analyze Yourself

Perfect Trousers: Check.  
TPT: Check.  
Comfortable Shoes: Check.  
Casual Robes: Check  
Overall Appearance: Brilliant.

 

_________________________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 108**

****

Observation #108) When one looks as amazingly spiffy as I do right now, it's easy to say that they don't have any sort of inferiority complex.

 

Now, off to see my love!

 

_________________________________

**Just Before Amos Study Session, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 109**

****

You know, I'm not as nervous about this whole thing as I was last week. Seriously, I'm not. I mean, okay, there’s still a bit of palm sweatage going on, but other than that, I'm pretty much fine. This may be because:

 

A) Amos insisted he's "looking forward to it"

B) Last time went off wonderfully. Even when I'd say something entirely stupid and extremely Lily-ish, nothing went wrong. Amos is just so perfect that it doesn't matter.

C) I look _so_ good.

D) Even though he compliments me, and flirts with me, and possibly aches for me as he tries to fall asleep at night, for now, all is well in Jamesville. And when I say 'all is well', I really mean that he's not cross with me. We always seem to be cross with one another for some reason. However, presently, we're not. Which is good. Even if, like I said, he could be currently suffering from heartbreak at my firm attachment to Mr. Diggory. Not that I'm saying he is, because he's probably not–is _most likely_ not–but he _could_ be. If he still fancies me and all. Which I don't think he does.

 

So everything is rather brilliant. In fact, things are going _so_ brilliantly that I know something really bad is going to have to happen really soon. My horrible karma would never let this good luck go on much further. My luck has officially reached its limit. After this, everything is pretty much going to go downhill. And now I'm going to meet Amos.

 

I'm going to fall flat on my face on my way to the table. 

 

I'm going to get sick and vomit all over him. 

 

I'm going to forget everything, tell Amos all the wrong answers, and cause us both to fail.

 

_Something_ is going to go wrong. I can feel it in my bones. Things are just going too well right now.

 

But, you know what? Everything will be okay, because now I'm prepared for the inevitable burst of something bad. Totally and completely prepared.

 

Bad karma, bring it on.

 

_________________________________

**Just Before Tutoring, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 111**

****

By the time I was eleven years old, I had pretty much given up hope of ever being a normal, everyday girl. And really, who could blame me? I had stopped believing that it was 'just a coincidence' when things suddenly broke when I got angry (which, surprise surprise, was rather often) and when my neighbor, Billy Rodness's, hair would continuously change colour whenever he picked me last during our neighborhood football matches. I mean, no one could ever really pinpoint the incidents to me, but when Billy always picked pretty (but useless) Sadie Foster over me towards the end of the football drafts, and I began calling him a bloody rotten blueberry in my head, it hardly seemed an accident when Billy's hair suddenly took on an odd, bluish hue. Then there were the times when my completely unfair teacher in school would purposely give me the most difficult questions, and just moments later, right before I was due to answer, his chalk would abruptly explode right in his face. Once again, no one could possibly blame me–after all, I had been sitting at my desk the entire time! But I _knew–_ just knew–that somehow, someway, it _was_ me. It had to be.

 

As July of my eleventh year rolled around, I was preparing for another grueling term at our local school where it seemed especially hard to keep my abnormalities under wraps. It was on one bright summer morning while I was seated with my family at our kitchen table eating breakfast that we first heard it.

 

"Now what on _earth_ was that?"

 

This came from my mum, who had suddenly stopped eating her porridge, the spoon paused halfway to her mouth, as she turned her head curiously towards the open kitchen windows. Following her lead, the rest of us shifted our gazes in that direction as well.

 

_Hoot. Hoot._

__

Automatically, we all leaned closer to the window. Petunia sat up rigidly, dropping her toast down onto her plate, her eyes blinking curiously.

 

"Why, that sounded like...like an _owl_!"

 

Yes, an owl. That's exactly what it had sounded like. But it couldn't be an _owl_. What on earth would an owl be doing flying about the Evans' Household? We had to be hearing things. It was most definitely _not_ an owl.

 

That's what we'd all decided, anyway, until a few seconds later...

 

"Oh...my..."

 

Slowly, Mum lifted her finger towards the window. One by one, the rest of us turned to see what she was pointing at. Petunia screamed. Dad was silent. My eyes widened to the size of saucers. 

 

Perched right there on our kitchen windowsill, sat a large, tawny, brown owl.

 

I think it was safe to say that no one was breathing properly at that time.

 

"Look there!" Petunia gasped, gesturing frantically towards the owl's foot once the initial shock had worn off. "It's got...it's got a _letter_ , Mum! A _letter_!"

 

All eyes instantly fell down to the small letter that had indeed been carefully tied onto the bird's left claw. My mouth fell open. My dad put down his paper. No one moved from the table.

 

"Should we...get the letter, Jon?"

 

My mum looked at a total loss as she glanced uncertainly at my father, obviously hoping that he would come up with some sort of explanation. My dad is like that–very intelligent and all. If anyone could come up with a reason why an unidentified owl with a letter attached to its foot was currently sitting on our windowsill, it was Jon Evans. But even my bright and brilliant dad looked as lost and confused as the rest of us.

 

"I don't know, Caroline." Dad fumbled with the glasses sitting atop his nose, a nervous habit he has when he's thinking. "Maybe we should ring round the bobbies? A lost owl flying around Surrey can't mean anything good..."

 

As my parents continued to argue about whether or not to call the authorities, and my sister proceeded to eye the large owl with obvious fright and uneasiness, I found myself oddly compelled to the strange bird–the soft, strong feathers; the kind, yet calculating eyes; the mysterious letter with the peculiar emerald ink...

 

Before I even knew what I was doing, I had risen from my seat and was carefully making my way over to where the owl was perched. All lost in their own thoughts and conversations, my family hadn't even noticed that I'd gotten up until I had reached close enough to the bird to enter my sister's line of vision.

 

"Lily! Lily, what are you _doing_?"

 

I stopped, but only for a moment. My parents started in as well, their voices panicked, but I kept walking. I couldn't stop. That _letter_...

 

"Lily Christine Evans, you stay _away_ from that bird!"

 

"Don't move, Lily! Just stop and slowly start to walk back! _Slowly_!"

 

"Oh, _please_ don't die, Lily! I'd just _hate_ for you to die!"

 

I zoned in closer to the windowsill, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, drowning out the screams and warnings from my family behind me. When I stood just a meter away from the owl, I suddenly jumped back, startled, as the bird amazingly extended the leg containing the letter towards me. A sudden thrill shot through my stomach as I once again came close enough to the owl to untie the letter from its foot. Slowly, yet carefully, and with my family's whispered words of worry going off behind me, I grabbed the letter.

 

"What does it say, Lily? Who is it for?"

 

I stared at the emerald writing on the front of the envelope, completely mystified. It took me a few seconds to even acknowledge Petunia's question.

 

"I...it's...it's for _me_."

 

As soon as the shock finally wore off, I rushed back over to where my family was sitting, hardly able to keep the thrill and excitement out of my voice as I happily waved the letter in front of my parents. "Look!" I cried, giving the envelope to my father. "Look at this, Dad! _'Miss Lily Evans, First Bedroom on the Right, 422 Glytthingham Place'_. Isn't that the most peculiar address you've ever seen? First bedroom on the right?"

 

My father fumbled with his glasses once more, looking very uncomfortable with the address on the front of the letter. "But who is it _from_?"

 

Obviously curious about that as well, I flipped the envelope over to the back, where a crescent shield served as the seal for the letter.

 

_Hogwarts_ _School_ _of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.

 

"Hogwarts School of _what_?"

 

I pulled my finger through the seal, ripping the letter open. With shaking hands, I slowly pulled out the several pieces of parchment that were included in the envelope.

 

_Dear Miss Evans,_ the first one began,

__

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..._

__

And the rest, as they say, is history.

 

It was the greatest moment of my entire life.

 

Until now.

 

HE ASKED ME OUT!!!!!

 

AMOS DIGGORY ASKED ME OUT!!

 

Hogwarts letter, shmogwarts letter, I am now set to go ON A _DATE_ TO _HOGSMEADE_ WITH MY FUTURE HUSBAND!! HOW BRILLIANTLY FABULOUS IS THAT?!

 

Oh, Merlin, I don't think I'm breathing properly. Seriously. Two seconds from now, all this celebrating will be for nothing because I'm just going to keel over and die of a happiness overdose. Or a heart attack. Or an extreme lack of oxygen into my lungs. Whichever comes first.

 

My heart is beating so fast it feels like it's going to jump right out of my chest. And my hands... well, let's just put it this way: I now have enough sweat to build my own private moat. But you know what? Every little sweat drop was worth it. Every single one of them, because I am now THE HAPPIEST GIRL IN ALL OF ENGLAND–no!–IN ALL THE _WORLD_!!!

 

Today is, without a doubt the best, most brilliant, most bloody fantastic night of my _ENTIRE LIFE!_

__

And just think, when the night started off, I was absolutely certain that the bloke wanted nothing to do with me! Seriously, I did! I mean, I know he said he was looking forward to it and all, but when he first came in, I thought for a second that perhaps I had perceived that whole thing the wrong way. I thought, 'maybe he'd said it sarcastically? Was that it?'. I mean, what was I _supposed_ to think when Amos came in, completely ignoring the immense amount of effort I'd put into my perfect appearance, sat down in the seat next to me and very casually said:

 

"Listen, do you think we could move a bit quickly tonight? The only time I could book the pitch was at 7:25, and the team really needs the workout. You don't mind, right?"

 

Yeah. That was it.

 

No, "Hello," no "how are you," no "great to be here, you look really nice." I mean, I wasn't expecting a marriage proposal or anything, but is it so much to hope for a greeting? _Any_ sort of greeting? Even if it's just a quick, 'hiya'? I really don't think it is. But instead, all I got was excuses. And _Quidditch_ excuses, nonetheless.

 

And I tried not to be bitter about it, really I did. I mean, I smiled and I nodded and did the whole, "yeah, of course, no problem," bit with a perfectly serene disposition, but it's hard to ignore the fact that your future husband had just chose Quidditch over spending time with you. What's with that anyway? Blokes and Quidditch, I mean? Do they not balance out the perks properly or something? Are they aware that, no, you cannot take Quidditch into a remote broom closet and thoroughly snog it for a good half-hour? You could spend a good half hour snogging the _ground_ when you fall off your brooms during Quidditch, but that's about just all action you'd be getting. Now, with _me_ on the other hand...

 

Are blokes really that oblivious?

 

Playing Quidditch...or snogging Lily...playing Quidditch...snogging Lily...

 

The decision should not be a hard one.

 

So anyway, you could probably understand my immense concern and depression at that point. The evening hadn't even started and already all looked grim! I didn't see how it was possible.

 

But you know what they say...when life gives you lemons...

 

So I put on a smile and got down to work.

 

I was relieved to find Amos and I filtering back into the comfortable and easy working environment that we'd had last week. We worked, we laughed, I made a fool out of myself a few times and we laughed again...really, it was quite lovely. It was easy to pretend that Amos wasn't possibly counting down the minutes until 7:25 when he could leave while we were getting along so well. In the back of my mind, I saw him looking at his watch, seeing the time and then casually shrugging it off with a "who needs Quidditch, anyway?", but I knew that wasn't going to happen. But still, my smile remained and we worked hard to finish up the project in time.

 

And do you know something else? Really, Amos is _so_ lucky he has me. Seriously, he is. The boy is just terribly inept at Ancient Runes. Thank Merlin I hadn't pushed the issue about doing a harder translation, because I don't think Amos could've handled it. He tries, really he does, but I just don't think he got the genes for it or something. Not that that makes me love him any less–I love him for his faults, as all true wives would. Faults are what make us human, after all. I would be terribly worried if Amos didn't have at least a few. Merlin knows that I have more than I can count.

 

The minutes continued to tick by far too quickly for my liking, and I found myself doing problems wrong in hopes that perhaps Amos would choose to stay if we hadn't finished, but by a stroke of unfortunate luck, my stalling was to no avail. Instead, we ended up finishing five minutes before Amos had to leave. I tried to hide my incredible disappointment.

 

"So that's it, then? We're done?"

 

Amos smiled as he finished up with the last translation. I grinned back miserably. "Looks like it," I said, holding back the sigh that threatened to come out. My stomach sank as I began to realise that perhaps I _had_ gotten all of this wrong. Amos was never looking forward to coming here tonight. Not the way I was looking forward to it, anyway. He was, however, looking forward to Quidditch, and was fumbling with his papers in his haste to get there.

 

"We make a good team," Amos commented, looking up at me when he'd finally gotten his papers in order. I nodded and forced out another smile, too upset and disappointed to actually respond. Of course we make a good team, Amos. We make a _great_ team, the perfect pair–boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, mother and father...

 

"Lily?"

 

My head snapped up, my eyes moving from the spot on the table where I'd been determined to keep them while I put away my books for the last few minutes, desperate to look anywhere but at the boy who had just crushed all my hopes and dreams. "Hm?" I answered softly, not trusting myself to say more than that. Amos cleared his throat awkwardly, and for a second, I feared that perhaps I hadn't been hiding my disappointment as well as I had thought.

 

"Can I ask you a question?" Amos finally asked.

 

"About the project?"

 

Amos let out an uncomfortable laugh and shook his head. Instantly, I began to panic at the thought of him questioning me about my odd behavior and my curious disappointment. The number one rule when facing rejection is never let them know they've gotten to you! You can't. You just can't. However, from the way Amos was standing there, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, I knew that my blatant disappointment had succeeded in breaking that rule. Somehow, I knew I had to correct my mistake. So with all the willpower I possessed, I pushed aside all the disappointment and dread that was cursing through my body and forced out my best smile.

 

"What about then?" I asked, my face almost straining from the effort it took to keep my smile in place.

 

"What are you doing on the 18th, Lily?"

 

"18th?"

 

"Yeah, the 18th."

 

"Erm, I don't know," I answered slowly, trying to hide my confusion at the odd question. "What's that, a Friday or something?"

 

A small smile crept up along Amos's face. "It's a Saturday," he corrected lightly. He stared pointedly at me and added, "It's Hogsmeade."

 

Hogsmeade.

 

The word sent a shiver down my spine. Just thinking about the day made me feel like crying. What did he want? Did he honestly expect me to drop out on Hogsmeade in order to help him with something? Did he figure, 'Oh, Lily Evans, she's got a brain and would have absolutely nothing to do on a Hogsmeade weekend. Let's see if I can get her to do this and that for me'?

 

Well, Amos my dear, I may not have a life and you may not seem to love me like you're supposed to, but _I don't have to take this kind of abuse_!

 

"Well, I suppose I'll be in Hogsmeade, then, won't I?" I answered flippantly, my head poised high and defiant, just daring him to contradict me.

 

But he didn't. Try to contradict me, I mean. He just gave me this rather odd look and went, "So you have plans, then? To go with someone?"

 

I wondered why he was pressing the issue. Had he not heard me? Did it matter whether or not I was going with someone? Whether or not I really had plans? I mean, the truth of the matter was, I wasn't talking to Emma (though even if I were, she'd probably be off snogging Mac somewhere) and who knows if Grace had planned a date for that Saturday, so I could've very well ended up going alone, or at the very least, not at all. That did not mean, however, that I was available for whatever work or tutoring Amos was asking for–I love him and all, but not at the expense of my very valuable Hogsmeade time.

 

I was very tempted to go on and lie to Amos, telling him about the smart, attractive bloke who had all but begged me on his hands and knees to go to Hogsmeade with him, but stopped just as the story sat on the tip of my tongue. I knew the lie would just end up coming back to bite me in the arse somehow, and I couldn’t risk it.

 

So instead, I went with the cool, evasive reply. Not a lie exactly, but not the truth, either.

 

"Well, nothing's set in stone yet or anything, but yeah, I suppose I have some plans. Why do you ask?"

 

The second the question left my mouth, I instantly regretted asking it. I shouldn't have asked why. I knew for sure that if he looked at me with those big blue eyes and disappointingly mentioned about how his mate's cousin's uncle's daughter's boyfriend needed help with his Charms and Amos had figured I was perfect for the job, I would surely melt and submit to him. All thoughts of my defiant attitude would be whisked away with just one look. How is a girl supposed to say no to the man she loves? How could she even think about going to Hogsmeade when her love was in even the smallest bit of pain?

 

I couldn't. I wouldn't. I hated it, but that’s they way life went sometimes.

But as it turned out, I didn't have to, because it wasn't Amos's mate's cousin's uncle's daughter's boyfriend who wanted my company the day of the 18th.

 

It was Amos himself.

 

"Well, I can hardly ask you to come with me if you've already got plans, now can I?"

 

_...ask you to come with me..._

__

It was then that my heart stopped dead and silent in my chest. Not because, as one have thought, Amos had just technically asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him, or because I had just realised that my every dream and fantasy was about to come true, but because as soon as the words left Amos's mouth, only one thought came to mind.

 

Oh my god, I've started to hallucinate.

 

That was it. The second I heard the hidden proposal, I had to hold back a groan as the realisation struck–I was really officially mad. I can't even tell you what my face must have looked like at that point, but internally, I was in a complete and utter panic. I was absolutely convinced that I had finally crossed that fragile line between just sort of mad and really, literally, white walls, straightjacket, 'let's just take your pills now, shall we?' barking mad. I was seeing things. I had driven myself to the absolute brink of insanity that I was now creating real life images in my head. I was _hallucinating_. I couldn't believe I was actually _hallucinating_. What was I going to do now that–

 

"Lily?"

 

I snapped out of my reverie at the sound of Amos's voice. He was looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for an answer to something. It was then that I realised that while mad Lily was off being her mad, hallucinating self, Amos must have actually been talking.

 

Oh, double bloody fucking shit.

 

"I'm sorry," I apologised immediately, shaking my head and hopefully, shaking off some of my insanity as well. "I missed that. What did you say?"

 

"Well, I really asked more than I said," Amos corrected, shooting me a grin. My heart thumped wildly at the mention of the word ‘ask’.

 

"Asked what?" I croaked out, pinching myself hard underneath the table, just to make sure this wasn't another figment of my imagination.

 

"About Hogsmeade," Amos repeated. "If your plans aren't too solidly set, I hoped you'd consider going with me."

 

_I hoped you'd consider going with me._

__

It hadn't been a hallucination. I wasn't mad (or that mad, anyway). Amos Diggory had really just asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him.

 

AMOS DIGGORY HAD JUST ASKED ME TO GO TO HOGSMEADE!!!!

 

HE LOVED ME! HE REALLY REALLY LOVED ME!!!

 

...or he was getting there anyway. Blokes are awfully thick about such things. Very oblivious to all the things going on in their hearts, you know. But he'll realise it eventually. He loves me more than life itself. He just doesn't know it yet.

 

"You want me to go to Hogsmeade with you?" was the first thing I managed to get out and was amazed at how calm my voice had sounded, even when inside, everything was going haywire.

 

"I know it's a bit late," Amos answered with a nod, "but I figured if your plans weren't set–"

 

"They're not," I interrupted quickly, a smile breaking out on my face, not caring that my rushed answer had sounded more than a little bit desperate. "They're not set at all, actually. Very flexible plans. Yes, very tenuous indeed."

 

"Tenuous?" Amos repeated slowly. "So is that a yes?"

 

Was that a yes? WAS THAT A YES? Was this bloke actually _serious_? Did he think I would possibly say _no_? Did he think I _could_? OF COURSE IT WAS A YES!!!

 

"Yes," I answered aloud, the word falling from my lips with the biggest and best smile I could muster without actually breaking out into a devilish mirth of loud and unseemly laughter, flinging myself into his arms and snogging him senseless right there on the library floor. "I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you, Amos."

 

And much to my complete and utter delight, Amos smiled back at me as well, and I thought that perhaps, for a second, maybe he already knew he loved me. Oblivious as the male gender is, Amos is, after all, rather perfect. "Good," he said, his blue eyes gleaming as he rose from his seat. "I'm glad."

 

But not possibly as glad as I am, my adorable, oblivious love. Not possibly as much as I.

 

I could've stood there all day, reveling in the look of Amos as he stood there in front of me, smiling and shining as if I'd just bestowed a great gift upon him. However, despite what I wanted to do, I knew it would only be matter of time before my long suppressed happiness and excitement succeeded in boiling over and I just started jumping up and down in complete and utter bliss. So in order to avoid such an embarrassing (albeit, absolutely necessary) display of public affection, I casually glanced towards the clock that was hanging on the wall, smiling as the hands read 7:30.

 

"Don't you have practice?"

 

Amos's head swiveled over to the clock at my question. Letting out a slight groan as he saw the time, Amos swore. "I'm late," he sighed, grabbing his books off of the table.

 

"I'm sorry for making you late," I said with a wince, though really, I was anything but. I mean, honestly, if Amos and I are going to join and share our lives together as man and wife, the bloke is going to have to learn to put me before Quidditch. This relationship will just not function otherwise.

 

"It's fine," Amos shrugged, waving off my pseudo-apology. "It was worth it."

 

See? Do you see that? Perfect! He's _perfect_!

 

I didn't know what to say, but I could feel the strong burning of a blush on my cheeks and I figured that was response enough. Amos laughed as I stood, just as he was departing to leave.

 

"So the 18th?" he confirmed, eyebrows raised.

 

I nodded slowly, still red. "The 18th," I repeated.

 

Amos nodded back, shifted his books in his arms and glanced once more at the clock behind him. "Damn," he swore again, frowning at the time. "I've got to go." He turned back to me with a sigh. "But I'll talk to you in class about Hogsmeade, all right?"

 

"Sure, of course."

 

"Good. Great." He grinned once more over his shoulder, and with a small wave of his hand, I silently watched him leave the library, a light sigh escaping my mouth as he disappeared beyond the library doors.

 

A few seconds after he left, I completely abandoned my books and belongings at the table, and going as quickly as my feet could possibly carry me, made my way to the farthest, most remote spot in the very back of the dusty old library.

 

And there, I silently began my celebratory jig.

 

This said jig included much jumping, hopping, shaking, quiet clapping and a large abundance of silent screaming and laughing. With this jig, I was finally able to let out my previously suppressed enthralled and overly joyous feelings.

 

Amos Diggory had asked _me_ out.

 

HE HAD ASKED ME OUT!!

 

HE HAD FINALLY GOTTEN IT THROUGH HIS SILLY LITTLE HEAD THAT I WAS THE PERFECT GIRL FOR HIM!! FINALLY!!

 

I don't think there's a single thing that can upset me now. I am officially insane with glee and happiness. I am...I am...

 

HE ASKED ME OUT!!

 

_YES_!!!!!!

 

Oh, I can't wait to tell everyone! Grace and Emm…er…oh, what the hell! Happy people forgive others–Emma, too! They'll all be completely shocked, I'm sure. Them, and Sirius and Peter, who think I'm a prude, and James who–

 

Oh my god. Oh my _god_.

 

Double bloody fucking shit.

 

_James._

__

I had forgotten all about James! My new mate who could possibly be hiding a whole slew of strong unrequited feelings for me! I'd forgotten all about him!

 

Of course, that's only a _could_. Hiding possible romantically inclined feelings, I mean. This is only a _possibility_. He‘s probably not. He probably won't even care. He'll most likely just be all, "Oh, that's great, Lil. I'm glad you're so happy," because that's the sort of things mates do. And James and I, we're mates. _Just_ mates. And that's all he ever wants to be. There's no way he’d ever want to be something more, regardless of the way he felt before. That was all a fluke, a fake. He didn't really know me then, and now that he does, he would want nothing to do with me romantically. I'm mad as a hatter and apparently have some sort of rather large inferiority complex. I'm lucky the bloke even wants to be my _mate_! He would never ever want more. He just wouldn't.

 

Oh, but what if he _does_?

 

James has been nothing but nice to me all term (well, minus the whole green glob thing. And the getting-cross-and-then-causing-large-scenes-in-the-Arthimacy-corridor thing. And he does yell at me quite a bit, even though I usually deserve most of it. But other than that). He tutors me and helps me, he comes to find me when my mates are being prats, he let's me cry on his comfortable shirts when my hormones fall off balance–and how do I repay him for all his kindness and friendship?

 

By dating his rival Quidditch captain, that's how.

 

Oh, Merlin, the poor bloke! If he _is_ hiding some sort of unnecessary feelings, he'll be devastated when he hears the news. If not, he probably won't care, but if he _is_...

 

What am I supposed to _do_?

 

Maybe I just shouldn't tell him. Maybe I should just hide my excitement as best as I possibly can and not tell him.

 

No, that wouldn't work. He'd find out anyway. It's not like these things stay secret for very long around here. I'm sure half of Hogwarts already knows about the impending date one way or another. Someone's bound to tell him, even if I don't, and I suppose it would be worse if he found out from someone other than me. So I have to tell him. I don't have a choice.

 

But I really, _really_ don't want to.

 

And possibly worst of all is that I know that I’ll be able to tell right away from his reaction what's going through his head. James is rather demonstrative that way. I'll know the second he hears the news about how he feels about me and then–

 

Hey, wait...

 

Know how he feels...

 

That's _it_!

 

This is it! I'll finally be able to tell once and for all how James really feels! The greatest mystery of them all can finally be put to rest! If he does...have _feelings_ for me, knowing James he'd probably throw a gasket at the news. He'd go on and on about how Amos is such a prat and how I was stupid to even be considering going with him. He'd probably be rather hurt as well, but I hardly think he'd show that. James has more pride than that. It's the macho male and emotions conflict. If you show any sign of feeling other than normal male anger, you're suddenly a pansy in Bloke World. It's a rather mixed up concept, but boys will be boys, I suppose.

 

On the other hand, if his feelings are–as I think them to be–strictly platonic, then he'll probably just smile and say some dumb, witty jibe about how I shouldn't shag on the first date or something.

 

And it's not like I'm doing this maliciously or anything. It's not as if I am purposely trying to make him mad or upset, even though the outcome of this little experiment might very well result in that. It's inevitable that I have to tell him, and he's going to react whether I'm there noticing it or not, so it's not like any of this is deliberate. I'm not a bad person or anything...even though I have an uneasy feeling about all this in my stomach. It's inevitable...it really is...he doesn't fancy me, anyway, so it's not as if he's going to get upset...

 

This will simply be, in a way, a test. A slightly more complicated form of the traditional, pedal-picking, 'He loves me, he loves me not". It's harmless. Completely and totally harmless.

 

But either way, this is one test I'm _sincerely_ hoping that James Potter fails.

 

_________________________________

**Extremely Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 16**   
**Total Observations: 115**

****

My heart was thumping wildly in my chest when I spotted James walking through the library doors a worry-filled half-hour after Amos had left. He casually strode towards me, Transfiguration books in hand and a small smile on his face. Even though I was still panicked beyond all possible belief about the outcome of this self-acclaimed test, I knew what I had to do, and it wasn't exactly difficult to give the show-stopping grin that the test required. James problems aside, I was still going to Hogsmeade with Amos Diggory.

 

"Hey," James greeted, sliding into the seat across from me. He gave an uneasy glance at my overly bright smile. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're that excited about Transfiguration, Lily Evans. Not without a couple of glasses of Firewhiskey in you, at any rate."

 

"Oh, ha, ha, ha," I responded dryly, though my smile only faded a bit. "I'll have you know that I can now stomach Transfiguration with only _one_ glass of strong alcohol, James Potter. I have improved a great deal in the past few weeks."

 

James laughed and wiggled his eyebrows. "No doubt because of my _brilliant_ tutoring, yeah?"

 

"Oh, absolutely."

 

James laughed again, shaking his head as he began flipping through his textbook, looking for tonight's desired lesson. "But either way," he continued, eyebrows raised, "seeing that you haven't–to my knowledge, anyway–consumed any sort of strong alcohol yet, what's got you in such a good mood?"

 

"Am I in a good mood?"

 

Yes, I was stalling. I couldn't help it. My stomach was clenched so tight it hurt.

 

James cocked another brow. "With that blinding smile, Evans? I'd like to see what a _real_ good day looks like for you if this one is just normal." Finally finding the proper page, he stopped flipping through his book and focused all his attention on me. "Well?"

 

"Well...are you sure you want to know?"

 

Yes, still stalling. I would've broken out into song and an offbeat tap dance if I thought it would've given me a few more seconds.

 

"I don't know," James answered with a grin. "You didn't kill anyone did you?"

 

I snorted. "Since when does killing people put you in a _good_ mood?"

 

"Oh, you know, it's like that natural serial killer high," James responded matter-of-factly. "Why do you think so many lunatic murders sit there and smile?"

 

I rolled my eyes. "And you know this all from personal experience, of course?"

 

"Naturally," James agreed. "My best days come after a good kill the night before."

 

I laughed, the knot in my stomach slowly unraveling as I fell back into my normal comfort zone. This was James Potter–my new mate who joked about killing sprees. He was going to fail this stupid test. He definitely was.

 

"So would a good kill satisfy your curiosity about my good mood?"

 

"Depends," James responded simply.

 

"On what?"

 

"On whether or not you did it properly, of course. As your new and most experienced mate in such things, I have to make sure to guide you in your murdering ways."

 

"There's a _wrong_ way to murder someone?" I laughed, shaking my head at James's mischievous grin.

 

"Oh, how very naive you are," James sighed, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. "I sure hope you managed to dispose of the body properly. That's one thing that's sure to get you caught."

 

"No need to worry about that," I reassured him with a grin. "I stuck it with Moaning Myrtle. No one will ever trace it back to me."

 

"With _who_?" James laughed.

 

"Moaning Myrtle," I repeated, taking silent pride in the fact that I knew something about Hogwarts that one of the notorious Marauders did not. Even if this said something happened to live in the second floor girls' lavatory, and I would be a bit worried if James _did_ know of such things. "The moaning, whining ghost that lives in the girls' lavatory. Very emotional one. Not exactly friendly. Girls avoid her stalls like the plague."

 

"Interesting," James commented. "Very clever, Evans."

 

"So does that mean I pass your experienced judgment, Mr. Potter?"

 

James pretended to think about this, stroking his chin in a very thoughtful manner. "You'll do," he finally decided with a nod.

 

We both broke out laughing.

 

Madame Pince told us to shut it (or more or less, anyway).

 

With our laughter now stifled as a result of Madame Pince's threatening glares, I glanced at James with mirth-filled eyes, watching as his own amusement shone through the frames of his glasses.

 

"So?"

 

I arched an eyebrow at James's unfinished prompt. "So what?" I asked.

 

"So what's got you in such a good mood, that's what!"

 

I cracker another grin, trying to avoid the inevitable with another joke. "You mean you don't believe my murdering tale?"

 

James snorted and shook his head. "As much as I wish I could have had such a negative influence on you, Evans, it's just not happening. So spit it out. What's the truth? You finally make up with Emma?"

 

My heart sunk at his words, for once not because of his mention of Emma, but because I knew what was coming next. James Potter would be taking his test, one he was neither prepared nor even aware of. I swallowed down the panic that was threatening to come up and hid my worries behind my Amos-filled smile.

 

"I...no, it's not Emma," was the only thing I could manage to get out for the moment.

 

"Not Emma?" James asked curiously. "Then what?"

 

I knew that if I didn't just spit it out right then and there, I would have chickened out. Already images of James's crestfallen features haunted my mind, making it nearly impossible to force the words out. It was probably all for nothing, I kept telling myself. James couldn't possibly still fancy me. None of this would even matter. But I still couldn't ignore the screaming voice in the back of my head that said he would care.

 

Before I lost my nerve, I kicked my smile back up a notch and pushed the words from my mouth.

 

"Amos Diggory asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him."

 

My eyes stayed focused on James even as I quickly spoke the unavoidable words. My heart was beating so hard it was ringing in my ears, but I ignored the sound. With halted breath, I waited for James's reaction–waited for the grade that I would be forced to give him, and the consequences that would come along with it.

 

"Wait, what?"

 

His face was impossible to read and his voice gave no inclination of his thoughts as James forced me to repeat myself.

 

"Just before," I explained further, my voice calm even though I was not. "We'd just finished with our Ancient Runes project and then he asked me to go with him. And I said yes."

 

In the mere second that I awaited James's reaction to the news, it was as if time had stopped. It was only me, sitting there at the table, my insides in a jumble and my mind trying to come to terms with the fact that I may have possibly just tarnished a friendship that had barely even begun. The way James reacted would forever change the course of our relationship, because I knew that if he did for some incomprehensible reason, still fancy me, things would be impossibly tense and awkward, and neither of us would be able to deal with it.

 

And so, in those few seconds between question and reality, I prayed. I prayed to every god and person I knew that I hadn't just royally blotched up everything. I wished and I hoped and I prayed so hard that nothing else really mattered.

 

And then...

 

James smiled.

 

And subsequently, much to my eternal relief, failed my test.

 

"He finally caught on then, did he?" James teased me with a grin, completely unaware of the fact that he had just salvaged our friendship.

 

With a laugh that held more exhilarated relief than it did humor, I nodded my head. "Yeah, I suppose."

 

"Well, good," James said, nodding back. "I mean, I think the bloke's a complete prat, but you like him well enough and that's what really matters, yeah?"

 

I laughed and nodded again, so far past speaking at that point.

 

He didn't fancy me. He couldn't. If he did, surely he wouldn't have been taking the news like this. He would've yelled and screamed, or at the very least given me some sort of dirty look that conveyed his extreme displeasure. But he hadn't. He didn't do anything like that. Instead, he'd laughed and poked fun like a normal mate would.

 

He doesn't fancy me.

 

JAMES POTTER DOESN'T FANCY ME!! _YES_!!!!

 

"Just one question," James said, interrupting me from my mental celebration of happiness and relief.

 

"What?" I asked, pretty much ready for anything at that point.

 

James grinned and narrowed his eyes accusingly. "This doesn't mean you'll be cheering for Hufflepuff in the first match, does it?"

 

I laughed again, shaking my head at his humorous expression. "And betray Gryffindor?" I asked with mock-shock. "I would never even dream of it!"

 

James laughed then as well, and with a slight mischievous grin from me, I couldn't help but add, "Besides, now that I know what you're capable of, I'd never risk cheering against you. I'd surely be dead and disposed of properly by morning."

 

"Damn right you would be."

 

And with that slightly unusual ending, we began our session, and I threw myself completely into Transfiguration with a happiness that I never thought possible.

 

Amos has asked me out, James doesn't fancy me...

 

I'd say it was a generally productive day, no?

 

_Yes_!!!!!!

 

_________________________________

**Thursday, October 2nd, Divination**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 116**

****

As a result of an incredibly dirty dream concerning Amos, me, various items of food and a variety of interesting surfaces, I woke up extremely late this morning and completely missed breakfast. Grace had been off at another early morning practice, so she wasn't there to wake me up. She wasn't there when I'd returned to the dormitory last night after my tutoring session either, so I hadn't gotten the chance to tell her about the big news. When I finally met up with her in Divination and went to share the news with her, I found out somehow she already knew.

 

"Wait, how did you find out?" I asked, rather put out by this strange turn of events as I slid down onto the cushion that served as a chair after Grace had just informed me that she already knew about Amos and me.

 

"The crystal ball told me," Grace joked, moving her hands mysteriously over the ball sitting on the table before her. I rolled my eyes.

 

"Be serious, will you? How did you find out?"

 

Grace shrugged her shoulders. "Tammy Turner told me."

 

"Tammy Turner?" I scoffed. "How the bloody hell did _she_ find out?"

 

"From Carrie Lloyd," Grace explained matter-of-factly, "who apparently heard it from Evie Patil, who heard it from a Hufflepuff third-year who saw the whole thing go down."

 

I groaned, shaking my head. "We weren't even _loud_ ," I muttered miserably, cursing the idiot third-year who had already succeeded in spreading the news to every living, breathing thing that she could.

 

"You know those Hufflepuffs," Grace said lightly. "A right chattery bunch the whole lot of them are. But what does it matter, Lil? I thought you'd want the world to know that you've finally caught yourself a Diggory."

 

"It's not that I don't want people to know," I protested with a sigh. "It's just...I don't know. I hate when everyone is getting into my business. They have nothing to do with it."

 

"Well, you'd better get used to all of that," Grace pointed out honestly. "Amos Diggory basks in the glory of public attention. He's right self-centered about things like this, Lil. Don't you remember when he was dating Dorcas Meadowes? The second they did anything, everyone else knew about it. The night she finally let him up her shirt, half of Hogwarts knew practically before she did.”�

 

I opened my mouth to defend Amos, but couldn’t argue with the facts. Amos and Dorcas’s relationship had indeed been quite the public spectacle, and I knew Amos didn’t mind it like that. It’s not that I’m a very private person, really, it’s just that I’d hate to see my relationship up on a public podium for everyone to look and gawk at. I mean, who wants everyone to know that they’d let their boyfriend up their shirt? Some things are supposed to be kept personal.

 

“This school is just too bloody small,”� I grumbled miserably, hating the situation. “No one has anything better to do but talk about other people. It’s sick. It’s ridiculous. It’s– _Grace_! What did you do to your hand?”�

 

I stopped mid-rant, looking down in horror at the large purple welt that was spread across the back of Grace’s right hand. Grace glared at the offending injury venomously.

 

“It was my stupid bloody _captain_ ,”� she bit out.

 

My eyebrows furrowed. “James?”�

 

Grace nodded with a frown. “He’s absolutely mad,”� she insisted, rubbing the bruise with her left hand. “Drove us all into the bloody ground this morning. Just because he’s having a bad day, he figures he can take it out on all of us. And who has practice that bloody early, anyway? We’re in top form. We don’t need any more bloody practices.”� Grace shook her head before muttering, “James and McGonagall are both out of their minds.”�

 

“But why was he in a bad mood?”� I asked, trying to figure out what could have possibly happened between the time I’d seen him laughing and happy last night, and when Grace and seen him in an obviously dreadful mood this morning.

 

“Does it matter?”� Grace asked, her voice still bitter. “He still doesn’t have a right to take it out on all of us. _We_ didn’t do anything to him.”�

 

“Of course you didn't," I agreed. "I'm just wondering what could've set him off so much. He was perfectly normal last night."

 

"Yeah, I know," Grace grumbled, glaring at me now for some reason. "Why don't _you_ ask him why he's trying to kill off his players, Lily?"

 

"Me? Why can't you?"

 

"Because I can't promise that he'll make it out of the conversation alive, that's why."

 

I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. "Yeah, I'll ask him," I promised, biting my lip in thought. Grace nodded and then class began.

 

_________________________________

**Later, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 116**

****

I was digging through my rucksack just before, looking around for my misplaced Defence essay (which was hidden in my Herbology textbook, which had somehow suddenly made its way back into my bag), when I found this stuffed between some of my books:

 

_Emmeline gets out at 4:00 today. I just thought I would let you know in case you wanted to do something with the information. -Mac_

__

Many things about this disturbed me, including:

 

a) Just _when_ did Mac have time to put this note in my rucksack?

b) _How_ did Mac manage to put this note in my rucksack?

c) He always calls her Emmeline. Why does he do that? Everyone else just calls her Emma.

d) For such a supposedly brilliant bloke, the boy really does have just the most horrendous penmanship. When ‘out’ starts to resemble ‘cot’ and ‘wanted’ is clearly able to read ‘wunteol’ as well, you have yourself a problem.

e) Regardless of what it still may seem like, I DO NOT CARE WHAT TIME EMMA GETS OUT OF THE HOSPITAL WING. Generally, people who are very very cross with other people don’t care about the whereabouts of this said other person. Even if the instant knots in their stomach at the mere thought of 4:00 suggest otherwise. I truly don’t care. I don’t.

 

Mac is a prat. He’s a big, stupid, messy-writing, pickpocket skilled prat. I hate him. I hate him like…like…I just _do_!

 

Hmph!

 

_________________________________

**Later, Charms**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 117**

****

No good kills last night? —LE

 

**What? —JP**

****

Well, rumor has it that your disposition this morning is something to be feared, so I just figured that your latest murder attempt must have been a failure.

 

**Yeah, I guess you can call it that.**

****

So what’s wrong?

 

**Nothing’s wrong.**

****

I beg to differ, my friend. The large bruise on the back of Grace's hand objects as well. _She_ insists you drove her to injury this morning with your awful mood, Mr. Captain.

 

**Grace should learn to pay more attention to the Bludgers. It has nothing to do with me.**

****

It does when you’re the one that sends six Bludgers out for her to fend off!

 

**It was practice. I was preparing her.**

****

For what? Her quick and untimely death? It was insanity. You were taking your anger out on your team.

 

**I was _not_. There is no anger to take out! What do you know, anyway? You weren’t even there!**

****

I didn’t need to be there. You’ve been scowling at everyone all morning!

 

**I decided I don’t scowl enough. I’m simply making up for it.**

****

Would you please just tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help.

 

**You can’t. You wouldn’t want to, anyway.**

****

I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t want to help, James.

 

**Just drop it, Lily.**

****

Why? What is it that has you so cross?

 

**Just… _everything_ , all right? It’s just an off day. We weren’t all just asked out by our selected prattish life partners, you know.**

****

Hey, that’s not fair!

 

**Life never is.**

****

I was only trying to help, James! You don’t have to be such an arse!

 

**I’m not being an arse!**

****

Yes, you are!

 

**I…I know. I’m sorry. Look, I told you, it’s an off day. Things just keep going wrong. I’ll be fine by tomorrow. Sorry for snapping at you.**

****

It’s fine. Just…are you sure you’re all right? There’s nothing I can do to help? It wouldn’t hurt just to ask, you know, even if you think I’ll say no.

 

**No. There’s nothing.**

****

Positive?

 

**Yes.**

****

Well, all right, then, I suppose. Let me know if you think of something, though.

 

**All right.**

****

And get some ice cream to cheer yourself up. Or some rice. Rice always cheers me up.

 

**Yes, I know.**

****

Though not together. The rice and the ice cream, I mean. I don’t think that will produce the proper endorphin reaction.

 

**Proper endorphin reaction?**

 

Yeah, to make you happy.

 

See? Already just the thought of rice is making you laugh!

 

**_You_ make me laugh.**

****

See? I can help in my own, mad sort of way. Lunatics are quite good at amusing people, you know. We’re very easy to laugh at.

 

**No one laughs at you, Lily.**

****

Oh, yes they do. And rightfully so. I’m completely out of my mind.

 

**No arguments there.**

****

Oh, that’s nice, Potter. Here I am, trying in vain to cheer you up, and you’re insulting me! Shouldn’t you be telling me how perfectly sane I am? Isn’t that the proper mately thing to do? Shouldn’t you be all, “Oh, please, Lil, you’re not mad. You’re perfectly normal!”�?

 

**You want me to lie to you?**

****

A small white lie to make a mate feel better about herself is never a bad thing, James. You are definitely not helping my inferiority complex.

 

**Oh, so you admit you have one now?**

****

No, I was just telling a little white lie to make my mate feel better about himself.

 

Listen, I'm all for your happiness returning and all, but can you please stop laughing so loud? Flitwick looks ready to pounce.

 

**You just don't want to get in trouble.**

You're right, I don't, and there's nothing wrong with that. Now shut it.

 

**All right, all right, you wimp. I won't ruin your perfect Head Girl image by getting you in trouble.**

****

Thank you.

 

**You're welcome.**

****

James?

 

**Lily?**

****

I'm glad you're feeling better.

 

**Who says I am?**

****

I'm glad you're feeling better, James.

 

**Yeah, me too.**

****

_________________________________

**Even Later, History of Magic**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 117**

 

At lunch, I conveyed the results of Project: Cross James to Grace as we sat eating our sandwiches.

 

"He insists nothing's wrong," I informed her quietly, taking care not to speak too loudly, as two out of the four Marauders–Peter and Remus, to be exact–were seated not too far down the table from us. "He says it's just an off day."

 

"Off day my arse," Grace sneered, ripping a bite off her sandwich. "Did you happen to ask him _why_ it was such an off day, Lily?"

 

I shrugged. "He just said everything was going wrong. You know those days, Gracie. Cut the bloke some slack."

 

Grace let out a huff of disgust. "He _injured_ me, Lily! Do you even care that I am now in a constant state of pain because of him and his off mood?"

 

"You said it didn't hurt," I reminded her flatly.

 

"Yeah, well, now it does!"

 

I rolled my eyes at Grace's dramatics. "It does not, you baby. Just leave him alone, will you? He'll be back to his normal cheerful self by tomorrow and you and your hand will be free of his wrath."

 

Grace snorted loudly, shooting me a pointed look. "Somehow, I just don't think he will, Lily."

 

I rolled my eyes again, ignoring Grace's meaningful look. I didn’t know why she seemed to think that James's mood would remain forever. It wasn’t going to. It couldn’t. I mean, he was feeling better already–he told me he was. Thinking that if nothing else, James’s own declaration would be a convincing point, I pulled the notes from Charms out of my bag and showed them to Grace.

 

“See?”� I said, motioning towards the last few. “He even said himself he’s feeling better.”�

 

Grace grunted in response, ignoring me as her eyes began to stray over to the other parts of the notes. I went to grab them back, but she just shifted to her left, moving the parchment out of my grasp as her eyes continued to skim the paper.

 

“Wait a second,”� she said, throwing me a curious look over her shoulder as I glared and attempted to snatch the parchment back again. “What’s all this?”�

 

As Grace brought the parchment back over so I could see what she was pointing out, I took advantage of the opportunity and seized the notes back from her, giving her a good dirty look as I glanced down to see what she was pointing at.

 

"Oh, that," I responded testily, shrugging my shoulders. "It's nothing. James _insists_ I have some sort of 'inferiority complex' or something."

 

"Inferiority complex?" Grace snorted. "It's more like an inferiority _lifestyle_."

 

"I know, he's totally mad–wait, _what_?"

 

Grace instantly broke out into laughter at the sight of my shocked and appalled face. I glared furiously at her. What did she mean lifestyle? It wasn't a lifestyle! It wasn't even a complex! It wasn't _anything_. I'm perfectly confident in everything I do!

 

...Well, most of the time anyway.

 

Nevertheless, I DO NOT HAVE AN INFERIORITY COMPLEX!

 

"I do _not_ have any type of inferiority complex, Grace Reynolds!"

 

Paying absolutely no mind to either my loud and ferocious denials or my furious glares, Grace just began to laugh harder. 

 

"It's not funny!" I cried, crossing my arms angrily across my chest, still glaring at Grace's giggling form. "Stop laughing!"

 

Through her bursts of completely inappropriate loud chuckles, Grace efficiently disregarded my request that she shut her trap, but managed to weakly choke out a few sentences. "No...not funny at all," she muttered, her voice heaving from the giggles that were still tumbling out. A few seconds later, it seemed as if she'd finally composed herself. She looked up at me and my glaring face...and then proceeded to burst out laughing again.

 

" _Grace_!" I groaned, giving up on my useless glaring, moving on to pouting instead. "Will you just quit it, you stupid prat?"

 

"I'm sorry," Grace apologised, the glee and laughter just barely fading from her lips. "But, come _on_ , Lily, let's be serious here. You're inferior like it's your _job,_ for Merlin's sake."

 

Like it's my job? LIKE IT'S MY JOB? Was she kidding? She had to be kidding. I am not inferior! I'm not! I don't know what's wrong with all these people. I mean, yes, I may be a little hard on myself sometimes about _some_ things, but that's how _everyone_ is! You're always your own worst critic! It's human nature! I'm no different from anyone else! I huffed indignantly, resuming my glares as a few more chuckles escaped from Grace.

 

"It's _not_ my job, it's _not_ a complex," I began to argue. "I'm not inferior at all!"

 

“Or so you say _now_ ,”� Grace responded flatly.

 

“Or so I say _always_!”�

 

Grace sighed dramatically. “You’re being silly, Lil. You’re in denial–or you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not a complex. But either way, you have an extremely-modest-bordering-on-self-deprecating sort of personality, Lily Evans, and you know it.”�

 

Again, I let out a grunt of disagreement, shooting Grace a nasty face. I was about to begin arguing once more about the normalness of self-deprecation in seventeen-year-old females and the fact that really, I was quite normal on that account, when my rant was suddenly cut off by the sudden pounding of the Great Hall doors being thrown loudly and violently open. All heads–including Grace’s and mine–flew to the noise.

 

And who would of course be the one striding through the doors at that very moment, but the initiator of this entire madness himself, Mr. James Potter.

 

An extremely _angry looking_ James Potter.

 

An extremely angry looking James Potter, who didn’t even bother to stop off and say hello as he passed. He just stomped furiously down through the rows of tables, his face red and his jaw clenched, and slammed right outside the front doors in an equally loud and attention-drawing fashion, never looking back.

 

As the doors closed shut behind him, the Great Hall was silent.

 

“Oh, yeah,”� Grace muttered dryly. “I’d say he’s feeling _much_ better now.”�

 

Ignoring the jibe, I shot Grace another sour look before turning back around to face Sirius, who had quietly–and a lot more calmly–followed James into the Great Hall. He was shaking his head at his mates, who were all looking at him curiously.

 

"Well," he said, a bitter smirk planted on his face. "I don't think we'll be seeing Prongs at afternoon lessons."

 

Both Remus and Peter cracked a grin at this, but no one moved or showed any sign that they had just watched one of their best mates storm out of the Great Hall in a fiery rage. I regarded the trio quizzically.

 

“What happened?”� I asked Sirius, motioning my head towards the door James had just all but knocked down in his anger.

 

Sirius lifted his lips in a small smile. “Bad day,”� was all he said.

 

“Well, _obviously_ ,”� I responded sarcastically. “I meant what was _that_? He was perfectly fine just last class!”�

 

“Was he?" Sirius questioned, looking terribly confused. "Well, he, er…”� Sirius paused, scratching his head absently as he turned his head towards where James had just left the castle. “He, er…oh hell, Evans, I don’t know! Just let him alone, all right? He’s on the verge of murder.”�

 

Ignoring the irony of Sirius's comment and James’s and my conversation last night, I narrowed my eyes questioningly at the boys.

 

“But shouldn’t someone go after him?”� I asked, gesturing helplessly with my hands towards the doors. Why was everyone just sitting there? Why weren't they–why wasn't _I_ –doing something? I mean, James could’ve possibly burnt down half of the Forbidden Forest by now, or attempted to take down the Giant Squid, or at the very least tripped and fallen over a rock in the midst of his blinding rage. Weren't any of them going to go talk to him? Should I?

 

Peter snorted from his seat down the table. “Are you _mad_? When he’s like _that_?”�

 

I was about to argue that he wouldn’t _be_ like that if _someone_ would just help him, when Sirius interrupted.

 

“What Pete’s _trying_ to say,”� Sirius broke in, shooting a look at Peter, “is that it’d be no use, Evans. He’s not in any kind of mood to talk right now. Prongs needs to fume alone.”�

 

“But fume about _what_?”� I questioned again, still not getting any answers out of anyone. “What on earth got him so riled up again?"

 

What got him riled up in the first place, for that matter?

 

“Let’s just say he had an unfortunate run-in in the corridor,”� Sirius answered smoothly, still evading the question. He shook his head and then finally took his seat at the table, sighing gently as he quietly warned me, “Leave it alone, Lily. There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”� Then he turned away as he began filling up his plate, his head moving closer to that of his two mates' as they began whispering rapidly to one another. 

 

I wanted to fight back, wanted to insist that at least one of them go out to talk to him, but found that it really was just no use. It wouldn't do anything anyhow. No one was paying any sort of attention to me.

 

"They know what they're talking about, Lily," Grace told me quietly, pulling my attention away from the still whispering trio. "You've been mates with James for seven days– _they've_ had seven _years_. I think they know how to handle the situation best, yeah?"

 

I nodded my head absently, muttering my agreements to Grace as we both turned back to our previously abandoned lunches. But all the while, I was thinking of James. James and his public display of anger, his murderous mood, and the fact that he'd obviously lied to me when he said he was feeling better in Charms.

 

But why? Why would he lie?

 

I almost wish I could go out there and ask.

_________________________________

**Even Later, In the Stands of the Quidditch Pitch**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 118**

****

Observation #118) Things can only go so well for so long before something goes wrong.

 

I'm starting to think that that's become my life's motto or something. It's really almost silly how completely my life seems to revolve around it. I mean, here I was, all blissfully happy and perfectly content–currently not failing Transfiguration, no new mates in love with me, my potential husband potentially in love with me–and then something would have to go wrong. Naturally.

 

And I suppose I should have expected it, really. I mean, things can only go so smoothly for so long when you've lived your dharma as rottenly as I have. That's just the way my life works. Just when it seems like things are finally starting to get back on track, something had to come along and blotch it all up. 

 

_I_ had to come along and blotch it all up. 

 

_Fate_ had to come along and blotch it all up.

 

They all have it out for me. Everyone. Everything. Even forces of nature are out to get me. I'm starting to see now that I must have been someone pretty dreadful in my previous lives in order to be living the way I am now. I mean, how many sweets do you have to steal from harmless little babies in order to deserve luck like mine? How many banks do you have to rob? How many people do you have to kill? How many nights do you have to spend in your metal chains and leather, mugging elderly women in dark alleyways? HOW MANY?

 

Perhaps I was Grindelwald in a previous life. Or maybe I was Hitler. Or that bloke who went on that head-chopping spree during the French Revolution–Robes-something or another–perhaps I was him. I had to be one of them. Or maybe I was all _three_. It sure would explain a few things.

 

For today, my dreadful karma has once more succeeded in ruining my life–this time with the useful aid of my traitor-of-mouth.

 

When your rubbish bad luck begins teaming up with your rebellious body parts, that's the point when you know that you pretty much have to just throw in the towel. The world is officially working against you. The best thing for you to do is just let it go and accept it. You could move to Guam, that might help, but unless you’re good with coconuts, chances are you aren’t going to have a much better life there than you did in England. You just have to accept your fate, I suppose. You're life here on earth will be utter hell. Learn to love it.

 

_Ugh_.

 

As Sirius had predicted, James was not present for any of our classes for the remainder of the afternoon. I tried to ignore the sense of defeat that was burning in my stomach every time I thought about how furious James had looked as he'd stormed through the Great Hall at lunch. I'd honestly thought that our talk had made him feel better, even if it was only a little bit. I mean, he'd been laughing– _laughing_! Angry people don't laugh! And especially not as loudly as James had been doing it in Charms. I mean, I had to tell him to shut it he was being so loud! He _had_ to have felt better. He _had_ to.

 

But where had all of that gone? What could've possibly made him so upset again? I didn't know, but it had me severely worried about him. I mentioned to Remus once more about someone going after him when James failed to show up for the second class of the afternoon, but like Sirius, Remus just said to let James fume alone. I didn't see the value in that, but adhering to Grace's advice about the Marauders obviously knowing James the best, I had no other choice but to listen to what the three of them were saying, as much as I didn't like it.

 

Classes went by incredibly slowly after that, and I really wasn't paying any particular attention in any of them. Instead, I just sat there worrying about James and his bad mood, Emma and her upcoming release from the Hospital Wing, and Amos and his unfounded desire to date me. On a day that really should have been filled with nothing but slaggy dreams of Amos and perfect visions of our impending date together, I was instead filled with this uncomfortable sense of constant dread. It was a rather awkward feeling, really, and I didn't like it one bit. 

 

When the bell finally rang signaling the end of the final class of the day, all I could think about was running straight up to my dormitory and going to bed. My rampage of worry-filled thoughts had just become too much. They were seriously starting to wear me out.

 

"Are you all right?" Grace asked, nudging my shoulder as we met up outside the Potions classroom. "You've nearly lost your Amos glow, you know."

 

I shrugged tiredly. “It’s been a long day."

 

Grace didn’t respond, and when I turned to look at her, I saw she was biting her lip uncomfortably and averting her gaze from mine. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “What?”�

 

“Er, listen, Lil,”� she started slowly, her eyes hesitantly moving up to mine. “I’m not sure if you remember, but, er…Emma…she…”�

 

“Gets out of the Hospital Wing today,”� I finished, remembering the fact all too well. “Yeah, I know.”�

 

“Yeah. Right,”� Grace nodded, running a hand nervously through her hair. From the way she was still fidgeting, I knew that wasn't all she had to say, but she seemed hesitant to continue. I gazed at her expectantly, waiting for whatever came next, knowing that she'd get around to it eventually. “And well," she finally continued a few moments later, her smile wavering slightly, "I sort of promised I’d go meet up with her when she got out…erm, now. Like right now. In fact, I’m a bit late.”�

 

I didn't know why I was surprised to hear it, but I was. Of course Grace would be going to fetch Emma. _She_ wasn't the one currently not on speaking terms with her, _I_ was. It was natural that she'd be going to get her. In fact, it'd been quite odd if she didn't.

 

Sighing slightly, I looked down at my watch, seeing that it was indeed 4:09. Nine minutes exactly since Emma had been let out of her confinement. Grace was nine minutes late.

 

“Then I suppose you should be getting a move on it then?”� I asked, giving Grace both the reassurance and the permission she needed to leave. Grace nodded instantly, but hesitated before she went off in the opposite direction towards the Hospital Wing.

 

“And you’re sure you’re all right?”� she asked again, still looking worriedly at me. “You really don’t look well, Lil.”�

 

I waved off her worries with a slight brandishing of my hand. “Yeah, I’m fine,”� I assured her once more. “I’m just going to go back to the dormitory and sleep. I think that's all I really need–some rest.”� 

 

“Yeah, all right,”� Grace agreed, though I could tell she wasn’t too happy about leaving me alone when I apparently looked so sickly. “Curl up with one of my trashy books. They’re a sure fire way to get you in a better mood, I swear.”�

 

I snorted and shook my head. “I wouldn’t make it through a single _page_ of that rubbish,”� I teased, smiling faintly. Grace smiled as well, but was still reluctant to leave. With another stifled giggle, I sent her off on her way with another wave of my hand. “Go!”� I laughed, flicking my wrist. “Emma’s going to be waiting!”�

 

Grace nodded at my wave, slowly turning around. She threw me once last smile over her shoulder before dashing down the corridor in the direction of the Hospital Wing. When she disappeared around the corner, I let out a small, wistful sigh.

 

I wasn’t cross with her for going to get Emma. As much as it may have seemed like I would be, I really wasn’t. Truth be told, I knew deep inside that it should’ve been me. _I_ should’ve been the one going up to get her this afternoon. I should’ve ended this thing ages ago instead of getting as angry as I had. I mean, yes, Emma had messed up. She’d thought the wrong thing and done the wrong thing and that’s not going to change. But that’s a part of life, isn’t it? Aren’t mates supposed to forgive one another? Aren’t they supposed to stick by each other through thick and thin? And she _had_ tried to apologise in her own slightly off, irrational sort of way. Now I suppose it was my turn. She'd taken the first step last time, now I had to.

 

And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s because of Mac that I am.

 

I know, I know, I'm a complete and utter liar. I kept saying that his stupid planned intervention had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever, but I think it was rather obvious that it had. I _tried_ not to care, tried to ignore what he was saying and the way he was looking at me–so determined and yet so helpless–but it was no use. The clever little bastard knew exactly how to manipulate me–I am unfortunately very easily manipulated. He pushed all the right buttons. 

 

He was good. _Really_ good.

 

But I suppose he’s not really such a bad bloke, that Mac. Even if he _does_ have an unnervingly dirty talent for manipulation. And he's not exactly the greatest of blokes when he’s glaring at you from across the Great Hall, either. But he obviously cares enough about Emma to come talk to someone he supposedly hates, and that has to count for something, doesn't it? And he's smart, and a prefect. Those are some majorly attractive qualities right there. He can't lose points from that. And all right, so he doesn't eat bread. I can get over that. Really, I can. I mean, it's his own prerogative what he sticks in his mouth, isn't it? It's none of my business. It's sort of like James and his disgusting eggs–James likes them, I despise them. I like bread, Mac despises it. We all have our own tastes. Mac's just happen to be a bit odd.

 

That's not saying that I _like_ him or anything. Mac, I mean. I don't. He's the one who caused this whole thing in the first place, after all. But I suppose I don't _hate_ him anymore. For Emma's sake, I can't. And perhaps for Mac's sake as well, considering the way he had mentioned that he and Emma were not exactly speaking right now. I can only imagine that the riff in the relationship has something to do with this. But like I told Mac, I know they'll be fine. Emma fancies him far too much to just let it all end over something as silly as an insignificant fight with a mate. She wouldn't have kept the relationship from Grace and me for so long if she weren't completely serious. Emma's just like that.

 

Thinking about Emma and the whole completely out-of-hand situation just succeeded in giving me a bigger headache than the one I had before. I knew what I had to do, but that didn't mean I was looking forward to it. I figured that I could just hold off on the whole apologising thing until later on tonight, after Emma had a chance to settle back in and I had a chance to sleep off my awkward mood. I could just imagine the sort of apology I would spawn in my current state. I imagine it would probably go about as well as Emma's had.

 

Slouching my way back to Gryffindor Tower, I tried to ignore the sudden pounding of my head and the strong urge to just plop myself down on the floor and go to bed right then and there in the middle of the corridor. I've been having a lot of these random jet lags recently. Perhaps it's from me getting up so early now or something? But it's not like I go to bed late or anything–not usually, anyway–so shouldn't that balance out? I think I'm sick. I must have some sort of sudden-bursts-of-lethargy disease. Very rare and ridiculously annoying. Probably the work of my karma. All bad things always are.

 

Wanting to run up the stairs, but not having the energy to, I plodded slowly one step at a time up the girls' staircase until I reached the platform that led off to the 7th-Years' dormitory.

 

"Lily Evans? Absolutely not!"

 

I stopped frozen on the threshold of the dormitory doorway, my ears perking up at the sound of my name and the very familiar voice that had said it. 

 

Suddenly, not surprisingly, I wasn't so tired any more.

 

"What do you mean 'absolutely not'? Have you _seen_ the two of them recently?"

 

"Did you see _him_ this afternoon?"

 

The door was mostly shut, but was obviously accidentally left open just a crack through which the voices and sounds traveled outside. Through the slight crevice, I could see inside the dormitory. Leaning over silently, holding my breath as to not make a sound, I peeked through the small hole, hardly surprised at what I found.

 

I had run right smack dab in the middle of an official Butterflies Meeting.

 

Butterflies as in social butterflies. Butterflies as in Elisabeth Saunders and her various mates, clones and cronies from several different years. Butterflies as in the many people I strive to avoid on a daily basis, whatever the cost.

 

Yet there they all were, sitting in my dormitory, lounging on my floors, sipping butterbeers and talking about me.

 

Life's funny like that, isn't it?

 

I shouldn't have listened. I know I shouldn't have. Nothing they had to say would be something that I wanted to hear. I should have just left right then and there, abandoning my hopes of sleep and just crashing on a couch in the Common Room, but I didn't. It was almost as if I couldn't. I was like the fly drawn to the deadly flame. It was like waving a bowl of rice in front of my face and then telling me to walk in the opposite direction. As much as I knew I shouldn't, I pressed myself closer to the door, taking care not to push it open any farther than it already was, and getting a better look inside.

 

The group consisted of four girls: Saunders, Carrie Lloyd, June Mackey and Laurie Shacklebolt, a gossipy sixth-year crony who gets along mighty fine with the likes of the three others. It was hard to imagine how so much bad energy could possibly be fit into such a small room, but there you have it, it did. And what were they talking about, anyway? The pair of who? Did they see who this afternoon? And what did it all have to do with me?

 

"It's just a rumor," Saunders scoffed, drawing my full attention into the room. She was sitting on her bed, Carrie Lloyd lounging next to her, the look on her face showing that she was anything but pleased. "He told me himself that it was just a rumor."

 

"Then he was lying," June insisted, flipping a strand of her long hair carelessly over her shoulder. "Everyone knows it's true. It's so obvious. They don't even bother hiding it."

 

Saunders glared at June. "He wasn't lying," she snapped, her face turning red. "He doesn't lie to me, all right? You're all mental."

 

"Whatever you say, Liz," Carrie sighed, showing that she obviously thought Elisabeth's denial stupid. "But they eat _breakfast_ together _early in the morning_. Do you honestly think all they're doing is _eating_?"

 

My heart suddenly stopped pounding in my chest. Breakfast...rumors...me and...

 

They _couldn't_.

 

"For the last bloody time, James Potter is _not_ dating Lily Evans!"

 

Oh, shit. 

 

Oh, fuck. 

 

They could.

 

My blasting headache from just minutes before increased tenfold as the reality of what the group was talking about finally settled in.

 

They thought James and I were dating. Just like Grace and Sirius had. Just like, apparently, everyone else had. But we _weren't_. We were so far from dating it was almost funny! How was it that everyone kept getting the wrong idea? What is it about James and me that suddenly screams, 'Oy! Look! Snogging couple walking by!' to all that see us?

 

WHERE ARE THESE IDIOTS GETTING THESE STUPID IDEAS?!

 

"Maybe Liz is right," Laurie Shacklebolt spoke up, drawing my attention to her and back to the scene inside. "What about Hogsmeade?"

 

Hogsmeade?

 

"That's right!" Saunders huffed triumphantly, sending a smug look towards both June and Carrie. "Explain Hogsmeade, then, would you? Evans is going with Amos Diggory! Why would she be going off with him if she were already dating James?"

 

I had to force back my cries of agreement as they all contemplated Saunders's question, half of them still trying to come up with excuses to prove her wrong. 

 

They're damn well right I'm going with Amos! Why don't they figure that one out, eh? Why indeed would I be going with Amos if I were dating James? Elisabeth Saunders may be the biggest, prattish, most annoying little pain in the arse I've ever met, but her brain cells were obviously working a fair more than the lot she was hanging around with!

 

"She's obviously just trying to make him jealous," June explained, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about. "Perhaps they were on the outs when my idiot cousin asked Evans last night. From the way James's been stomping about all day, I'd imagine they've yet to discuss the matter."

 

I held back a loud groan of frustration. No, no, _no_! They have it all _wrong_! James's bad mood has nothing to do with _me_. It's just an off day! Everyone has off days! He's fine with me dating Amos. He's _happy_ for me. That's what mates _do_ for each other–they support the other in their romantic interludes! And I wasn't trying to make anyone _jealous_. I _want_ to go with Amos. I've _always_ wanted to go with Amos. I thought June of all people would know that, considering she _bribed_ me with him.

 

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THESE GIRLS?

 

Oh, how did I get myself into this? Why does Hogwarts have to work like a bloody electrical track, gossip traveling at the speed of light? What right do any of these people have to be making assumptions about James and my relationship? What right to they have to know about Amos and me– _how_ did they know about Amos and me? That bloody Hufflepuff very well must have told just about every single bloody person she knew or passed!

 

Bloody rumors...

 

"They were passing notes all through Charms," Elisabeth countered, giving June a pointed look. "They've obviously talked. James has better things to do than to be cross with Lily bloody Evans about her frolickings with your cousin, June."

 

I didn't know whether to be greatly satisfied or greatly offended by Elisabeth's answer.

 

And Amos and I don't _frolic_.

 

"Then maybe they talked it out and now Evans refuses to cancel her date with Diggory," Carrie suggested, she too completely off the mark. "That would get any bloke brassed off, wouldn't it?"

 

No, we didn't talk it out! No, that's not why he's brassed off! 

 

JAMES POTTER DOES NOT FANCY ME!! WE ARE NOT DATING!! THEY'VE GOT THIS ALL WRONG!!!

 

"That's _not what happened!_ " Saunders bit out, glaring daggers at Carrie now, obviously tremendously put out about the fact that her clones and cronies were for once not hanging on her every word and whim.

 

"I don't like it any better than you do, Liz," June said, taking a sip of her butterbeer. "But the facts are the facts. I mean, the girl switched back her rounds so that she could be with James instead of Amos. She's obviously not as interested in my cousin as she lets on."

 

Well, now wait just a gosh-darned second there! _I_ didn't do that, _Amos and James_ did! I was just the one nodding along! It wasn't me! I had nothing to do with it! The bloody girl was just bitter because James couldn't stand to be near her for even the duration of a few hours!

 

"You'd never know by the way she goes on about him," Carrie added, rolling her eyes. "I thought she was head over heels for the bloke the way she's always chattering about him with Reynolds and Vance."

 

I _am_ head over heels for him! I'm going to marry _him_ , NOT JAMES!!

 

When I found myself fuming and the words and contradictions so close to coming out I had to keep my lips pressed tight together just to keep them in, I realised I had to get out of there. I was sick of all their stupid assumptions and bloody rotten lies and rumors. If I heard any more, I was going to have no other choice but to just burst in there and let them all have it. How dare they sit there and share lies about who I am or aren't dating? I do not want to be one of their _topics of gossip_!

 

However, just as I turned to go, I discovered I was obviously not the only one that had finally reached the end of her rope. With a sound of sudden springs from the bed, I heard Elisabeth Saunders's voice shout loud and clear through the crack in the doorway. In fact, I'm sure the girls down in the Slytherin Common Room heard as well, she was yapping so bloody loud.

 

"You're all mad!" she cried with such venom, I stopped in my tracks. "It doesn't matter whether or not Evans fancies Diggory! _James doesn't fancy her!_ She's a vile, nasty, selfish, _stupid_ little slag and James is so far above her, it's almost comical! I wouldn't be surprised if he's merely hanging about her out of _pity_!"

 

My mouth fell open in complete disgust. Vile? Nasty? Stupid and selfish? A _slag_? 

 

_PITY_?

 

Before I even realised what was happening, my feet had begun to move back towards the door.

 

"But he fancied her something awful in fifth and sixth year," Carrie was arguing as I reached the threshold of the doorway once more. Elisabeth's voice rang out again, and I barely registered it, so consumed by my own anger.

 

"So? That's rubbish now. He doesn't fancy her anymore. He _told_ me he didn't. He–"

__

"–can make up his own mind about who to date with or without your consent and approval, can he not?"

 

All eyes flew to doorway as I entered the room, pushing open the door with a small, suave smile. I forced myself to keep my exterior calm and collected, not showing even a wisp of the anger and disgust I was feeling inside. I hid my delight as I took in Saunders’s shock expression, Carrie's obvious astonishment, and June Mackey's gaping mouth. Laurie Shacklebolt had started choking on her butterbeer. No one spoke.

 

Recovering from her shock with an uncomfortable cough, Elisabeth's wide-eyed expression easily turned to that of a glare. "Eavesdropping, were you, Evans?" she asked haughtily.

 

I shrugged my shoulders carelessly, stepping farther into the dormitory as I slid my rucksack upon my four-poster bed, ignoring the gazes that followed my every movement. I could feel the suaveness that periodically made its presence known inside of me return once more as I turned back around to face the startled and disoriented foursome.

 

"Didn't your mothers ever teach you not to gossip?" I countered, cocking an eyebrow. When no one said anything in response, I let out a soft, knowing laugh, clicking my tongue disapprovingly. "You get _all_ the wrong information that way, you know."

 

"All the wrong information?" I could practically see Laurie Shacklebolt's gossip-prone ears instantly perk up at my quip. "What sort of wrong information have we got then, Lily? Care to share?"

 

It occurred to me then that I was no longer in control of what was coming out of my mouth. My suaveness combined with my stupid, lying, traitor-of-a-mouth had completely taken over, and was spouting out things that I knew would somehow get me in trouble. But I was too far gone to come out, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't enjoyed the reactions my completely too-suave-to-be-true comments were getting from the dastardly Butterflies I would've gladly enjoyed murdering but moments before.

 

"What do you want to know?" I answered evasively, knowing Laurie would not hold back on anything.

 

Just as expected, Laurie clapped her hands greedily, thriving on my response. "Are you and James Potter really dating?" was the first thing she asked. "And what about Amos Diggory? Don't tell me you're snogging them both at the same time? I didn't think you had it in you!"

 

I let out another light laugh, giving Laurie a small shrug. "Oh, Amos is a darling," I responded truthfully, a pointed look headed in June Mackey's direction. She shifted uncomfortably under my gaze. "I'm going to Hogsmeade with him next week."

 

"And James?" Laurie asked, not missing a beat.

 

"James," I repeated, a small smile on my lips. "Well, what's there to say about him, hm? He's smart and he's funny and–well, I'm sure I'm not the first to say that he makes my heart beat a little faster, right?" Laurie nodded furiously, anticipating more dirt and good gossip. She had no way of knowing that this was not even me speaking, but my mouth, who had a complete mind of its own and thoroughly enjoyed lying to people for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I shook my head regrettably, taking silent pride in Elisabeth's stunned expression as I continued, "I don't know why it took me this long to notice it–Merlin knows he was desperate for date with me a few years back. However–luckily–now he–"

 

"–wouldn't waste his time with a stupid slag like you even if you _paid_ him," came Elisabeth's scathing interruption, her eyes narrowing dangerously on me, her stunned expression now gone and replaced with one of pure hatred. Her comment stung, as they always seemed to, but this time I didn't let it faze me. With a sudden burst of anger inside, I glared back at her, letting the temper I'd been keeping dormant inside flare externally for the first time in the conversation. "Isn't that right, Evans?" she continued softly, her voice holding an obvious tone of condescension, thinking she'd caught me in my lies. She turned back to her mates, giving off a careless laugh as if my presence and words hadn't just completely thrown her off moments before. "The stupid Mudblood wouldn't be able to keep anyone's attention–much less _James Potter's–_ for even a second. _"_ She faced me once more, her look showing the superiority she obviously felt. "He may have fancied you once, Evans," she whispered venomously, "but that's all over now, isn't it?"

 

My head was saying yes, screaming that she was right. James may have fancied me at one point, but he didn't anymore. I knew he didn't. He had failed the test. I had _wanted_ him to fail the test. However, staring at Saunders, watching her lips curl into that self-satisfied smile of hers, the words that tumbled out next were not what they should've been.

 

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," I shot back with such force and benediction that Saunders's recoiled back for a slight moment. "You know what they say don't you?" I continued, my voice now taking on the superior tone that hers had held but moments before. I paused, my gaze boring into hers as I quietly punctuated each of my next four words, "Old habits die _hard_."

 

Elisabeth's mouth fell open.

 

"Or in this case," I blurted out, unable to stop myself, "I suppose it'd be old _loves_ die hard, wouldn't it?"

 

My last taunt earned an instant squeal out of the gossip-mad Laurie Shacklebolt, as Elisabeth continued to hold my gaze, her confidence and superiority faltering with every second. It took me a few moments to even realise myself what I had just said. Old habits die hard? Old _loves_ die hard? Did I just...?

 

Oh my _god_.

 

Oh, fuck, I had.

 

Or more truthfully, my traitor-of-a-mouth had.

 

But really, either way you looked at it, I had just publicly announced what I had been struggling to _denounce_ for the last week and a half.

 

I had just told Elisabeth Saunders I was dating James Potter.

 

"You're lying," Saunders snapped, her voice low and deadly. "He said you weren't dating. _You're_ with Diggory. He's not–"

 

"You sure about that?" I said, even as I began to internally panic about what my mouth was for some reason trying to enforce into these girls' heads. Elisabeth wouldn't answer my retort, but her glares became so fierce that she didn't have to. I could tell merely from her expression that she was eating up all of my lies.

 

I wasn't sure whether to feel happy or terrified by that.

 

"So you are?" Laurie asked excitedly from the behind Saunders, twitching sporadically with the thrill of it all. "You and James Potter are dating?"

 

If I had let my bloody rotten mouth do as it pleased, what would've came out of my mouth next probably would've been something along the lines of a 'But of course," or a "You thought otherwise?" or perhaps even a bit more hostile, "You're damn well right!" All of which would be complete and utter lies, but would somehow all be perfectly acceptable according to my lying, traitorous, goes-on-by-itself-with-absolutely-no-thought-to-the-truth-and-validity-of-what-it’s-going-on-about mouth.

 

So exercising perhaps the only small amount of restrain I had against my independent mouth, I forced myself to shrug. "I suppose you can form your own conclusions, can't you, Laurie?"

 

Laurie seemed about as disappointed as my mouth by my noncommittal answer. Slightly put off that she hadn't received a straight-out confession, but not completely discouraged, Laurie smiled widely, looking towards Carrie and June for confirmation on what she'd just heard. Carrie was staring at me, her eyes as wide as saucers, while June was looking anywhere but, drinking her butterbeer as a sort of diversion. Their nonexistent consent seemed to be enough for Laurie, and her smile only grew.

 

"Interesting," she said with a grin, her eyebrows wiggling.

 

Obviously having about enough, Elisabeth smacked Laurie in the back of the head, her glare switching back and forth between Laurie and me. "She's lying, you twit!" she cried, her arms folding angrily across her chest. “You don’t honestly believe all of these lies, do you?”� She turned her full attention back on me, the hatred burning through me as she glowered. “You're a bloody _liar_. You had better quit trying to make your bloody Mudblood self into something you're not, because anyone with _half_ a brain can see _right through_ your facade." Her feet moved with every word she said, stepping closer and closer to where I was standing. She stopped only when she stood directly in front of me. Elisabeth's voice lowered dangerously. "You have no idea what you’re up against, Evans."

 

_What? A bitter, self-absorbed drunk?_

 

The words were there on the tip of my tongue, dying to come out, but were shoved back in before they had a chance to break the surface. Not even my traitor-of-a-mouth had the guts or the nerve to go there. As angry as I was at Elisabeth and her stupid, pretentious self, there were just some things you don't say in the heat of the moment–especially in front of other people. Not that Saunders's supposed drinking problem was probably a secret from her mates–James seemed to know an awful bit about it anyway–but it was really the principle of the thing. I couldn't–wouldn't–sink that low. Not only would I have to deal with Saunders's wrath, but I don't think James would be too pleased with me either, and considering the fact that I'd already just falsely claimed him to be my boyfriend, I don't think it'd be intelligent to toy with any more of my new mate's thin patience. So while my mouth usually hardly cared about saying things it shouldn't, it seemed that this was a case of its own. My mouth remained clamped together, the words dying on my lips.

 

Sometimes I really hate having a conscience.

 

"Believe what you want, Saunders," I said instead a few moments later, my voice holding that sort of challenge that I knew would drive her mad. I began backing away towards the door, my eyes never leaving Elisabeth's, but my heart pulsing frantically in my chest. When I finally pulled my gaze away from her hate-filled stare, I didn't look towards any of the other girls in the room as I turned. I didn't speak again as I pulled open the dormitory door, silently stepped out, and closed it tightly behind me.

 

Once outside the room, my hand dropped from the doorknob slowly. I stood frozen in the shadows of the girls' staircase. Gradually, the realisation of what I had just done–what I had just professed–hit me harder than it had when it had first blurted out of my mouth

 

I suddenly felt terminally ill.

 

And almost directly after my sudden burst of illness hit, I knew more surely than I did anything else that I needed to get out of there.

 

I needed to find James.

 

I needed to find James and tell him that I'd just informed his ex-girlfriend and her mates that we were dating.

 

With a shot of panic propelling me forward, I began to run down the stairs…

 

...and straight into someone coming up, almost knocking them over and sending them to a sure and sudden death in my rush to get away.

 

It was _just_ what I need right about then.

 

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I was–"

 

"Lily?"

 

My eyes shot up to the person I had all but knocked down the staircase, my heart pounding even harder when I caught sight of who I had just very nearly killed.

 

_Emmeline_.

 

I held back a groan.

 

Oh, yeah. This was _really_ just what I needed.

 

Emma was blinking owlishly up at me, her eyes filled with shock and her face slightly pale, though whether that was because of her recent illness or the fact that I had nearly just killed her, I couldn't be sure.

 

"Lily?" she repeated, her voice oddly raspy. "Is everything all right? What's the matter?"

 

I almost laughed at the question. What was the matter? What was the _matter_? What _wasn't_ the matter? I had just told my arch nemesis and her mates that I was dating my new, currently extremely angry mate, and I had just nearly knocked my former best mate down the stairs!

 

But things were fine. Everything was just peachy-keen.

 

I'd never wanted to kill myself as much as I did right about then.

 

"Lily?" Emma asked again, stepping up a few more stairs when I still failed to answer, and merely stared. "Lily, what's wrong? Is it–"

 

I began shaking my head frantically, already beginning to continue down the stairs, pushing past Emma in my haste to get away. I just couldn't deal with all of it right then. I could only handle one life-altering dramatic problem at a time. Emma would have to take her place on line. I'd call her number when I was done dealing with James.

 

"I have to...I have to go," I muttered as I continued on down the stairs, trying to ignore the hurt expression on Emma's face as I rushed past her. "I'm sorry."

 

"Lily, wait–"

 

But I ignored her pleas and just continued down the stairs, my legs moving faster than they ever did before. When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I had to hold back another large groan as I was met with another pestering adversary.

 

I needed to find James.

 

But where _was_ James?

 

I hadn't seen him since he'd stalked off outside during lunch, but Merlin only knew where the bloke was now. He could be anywhere. He could be halfway to Guam by now. And if he was, he was very inconsiderate not to haven taken me with him.

 

Scanning the Common Room, not exactly sure what I was looking for, but having no clue what else to do, I looked around for any sort of idea or inclination or epiphany...and then I found it.

 

"Sirius! Sirius Black!"

 

Tucked away in the corner, sitting at one of the many tables located in the Common Room, Sirius was sitting along side Remus and Peter, who appeared to be engaged in a rather intense chess match. Sirius seemed to be trying to psych out whichever one of his mates whose turn it was to move.

 

"I know what you're thinking, Moony," Sirius was saying to Remus as I rushed over to where the group was sitting. "And trust me, just don't do it. It's not a good move. You're going to regret it."

 

"Shut _up_ , Padfoot."

 

"But he's right," Peter insisted, leaning back in his chair as he grinned smugly at Remus. "You can't beat me, Moony. Just throw in the towel. Don't even bother. I'm _unstoppable_."

 

"Er, I wouldn't be too sure about that, Pete," Sirius informed Peter slowly, now singing an entirely different tune. "I just saw what Remus is thinking _now_ , and let me tell you, it's _good_ –"

 

"Sirius, where's James?"

 

The bloke in question paused in his troublemaking and turned to face me with a look of surprise.

 

"'Lo, Lily," Peter greeted, giving me a light wave from his still laidback position.

 

"Hi," I said quickly, shooting Peter back a small smile. "Do any of you know where he is?"

 

"Is something wrong?" Remus asked, looking at me oddly. I must have looked a lot more panicked than I previously thought.

 

"Er, not yet," I answered with a slight wince, so not up for any more lying. The three Marauders exchanged curious looks.

 

Sirius glanced over at me, his face hard to read. "Look, Evans," he said slowly, a small sigh escaping his lips. "I know you birds are all for the 'let's talk it out and make it feel better' codswallop, but that's not going to cut it for us blokes."

 

"I'm not trying–"

 

"Just let him cool off for a day, all right? If it makes you feel better, I went to go check on him before."

 

"And?"

 

"And he threw a Quaffle at my head," Sirius responded dryly.

 

I cringed. "Er, and when exactly was this?"

 

"Twenty minutes ago."

 

I sighed heavily, rubbing at my eyes tiredly. I considered for a second putting the entire thing off. I mean, this could wait until tomorrow, couldn't it? James was in no condition to hear what I had to say tonight. He wasn't in any condition to do _anything_ , really. Sirius was lucky, he had reflexes. Had a Quaffle been thrown at me, I very highly doubt I would come out unscathed. My reflexes are all but nonexistent. I could hold off on my embarrassing confession for one day. Nothing was going to happen in the short term of a few hours. I'd just tell him tomorrow when he was feeling more like himself and was less likely to murder me with his broomstick or with a Bludger or something.

 

I'd just made up my mind to do just that when a sudden familiar giggle let off behind me. I turned my head towards the girls’ staircase. Climbing down the stairs, giggling furiously as she whispered rapidly behind her hand to another girl, was Laurie Shacklebolt. When she looked up and saw me staring, she smiled widely and then began whispering even more quickly to her mate. Her mate looked up, saw me staring, and then grinned as well.

 

That's when I knew there was no putting this off.

 

I turned back to Sirius, the headache that had slowly been forgotten from earlier before returning now in full force. "The Quidditch Pitch, then?" I asked him quickly.

 

Sirius nodded. "But Evans– _Evans_!"

 

I ignored the calls of Sirius behind me, thinking only of getting to James before someone else could. I ran out of the portrait hole, very nearly knocking over a helpless first-year in my haste to get out. I called a quick apology behind my shoulder, but didn't stop– _couldn't_ stop. The image of Laurie Shacklebolt whispering and giggling as she and her mate looked me over caused an uncharacteristic sob to escape my lips. The last thing I needed was some extended part of the Hogwarts gossip mill letting a still cross James know that I had accidentally informed his ex-girlfriend and her gossipy mates that we were dating. I could just imagine how that would go. You thought James was in a mood _before_...

 

Sirius had gotten a Quaffle. I was probably going to get a knife.

 

Or maybe not a knife. Maybe James would think it too much effort to conjure something. Maybe he'd just sort of jump off his broom, land directly on top of me and just start strangling me until I was dead.

 

Yeah, that sounds about right.

 

And you know what? I wouldn't even blame him.

 

Rushing through the corridors, ignoring the strange looks I was receiving from the people who I ran by and the calls to slow down from Professor McGonagall as I whipped past her, the image of James strangling me in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch played in my head. 

 

It wasn't exactly the prettiest image to have constantly running through your mind.

 

I tried not to wince as I pushed out of the front doors, the cold air sweeping through me as I realised I didn't bring along my cloak. My robes, however useful inside, didn't stand a chance out in the bitter cold. It would just figure that I would have to be outside on an abnormally freezing day.

 

Bloody karma...gets me into all of these stupid messes...

 

By the time I reached the Quidditch Pitch, I was completely freezing, utterly panicked and more than a little bit out of breath. I leaned my back against one of the stands, closing my eyes and breathing deeply, contenting myself with the fact that I had made it here before anyone else possibly could. Pausing for a moment, waiting for my heart rate to return back to a normal state, I tiredly pushed off of the stands, my legs feeling like jelly. Walking around the large stand, holding on with one hand for support, I glanced up into the sky, watching as a small blur in the sky flew about.

 

Or in all actuality, perhaps it was more graceful and insane falling than it was flying.

 

Anyone who ever said James Potter didn't have a talent for flying was obviously out of their minds.

 

As I watched him up in the air, I had to hold back a scream as I saw what he was doing. I mean, I know he was angry and everything, and that the little tricks he was pulling were probably just child's play for him, but honestly, was he _trying_ to kill himself? Who would willingly fly like that? Who? Is he _mad_? He must be. He had to be. Anyone would think so. I mean, when you see someone plunging straight for the ground and then pulling back up right before they're smashed into little bits and pieces, wouldn't you think them a little off? Especially when, just after they succeeded in skirting death by broom, they fly right back up and _do it again_? Is that necessary? Was he _trying_ to give me a heart attack? Was he trying to give _himself_ a heart attack?

 

This just further proves my point that Quidditch and flying permanently mess with the brain.

 

Seriously. You no longer think logically or safely. It's a drug disguised as a sport, and everyone is peer pressured into doing it. It's one of those, "Oh, come on, Lily, let's go play Quidditch. Everyone's doing it." type of things where you just have to step back and say, "No, thank you. I'd rather live to see tomorrow."

 

Because let me tell you, Quidditch kills.

 

And when James smacks into the ground and cracks his head open, he's going to realise that. But by then, I'm afraid it will be too late. 

 

Such are the trials and tribulations of an addict’s life.

 

So as I stood there watching him, wincing every time he came a little too close to the ground for my liking, I considered yelling up to him to let him know I was there. But when James came hurtling down for the fifth or sixth time and I saw the tenseness in his jaw and that blank sort of expression on his face, I thought it perhaps wiser to wait until he had a few more near-death experiences to calm him down. 

 

Maybe if he valued his life enough, he wouldn't be so quick to take mine.

 

So now here I am, sitting up in the Gryffindor stands, watching James attempt to kill himself (now he's doing these completely unnecessary loops and spins as he plunges to the ground. Bloody moron...), waiting for him to decide he's had enough. I suppose it doesn't matter if I don't tell him straight away now, as long as he's within my eyesight and I can make sure no gossipy prat gets any ideas to tell him what I've done before I can. I figure that if I let him cool off enough, maybe it'll just sort of be one of those things we can look back on and laugh at, you know? No hard feelings, no anger, no murder–

 

Wait, what is he doing?

 

Is he...

 

He can't be done already! He can't _leave_.

 

WAIT, YOU STUPID PRAT!!

 

_________________________________

**Later, Still In the Quidditch Stands**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 118**

****

"James! James Potter!"

 

I was screaming his name off the top of my lungs, running with every bit of energy I had left to catch up with him before he entered the locker room where I would no longer be able to keep an eye on him, and it still took him ages to realise that I was there. He just continued stalking off towards the locker room in much the same fashion that he had stalked off during lunch this afternoon, completely ignoring my urgent cries and frantically waving hands.

 

Was he _deaf_?

 

"JAMES POTTER! WILL YOU JUST WAIT ONE BLOODY MINUTE PLEASE?!"

 

My last call seemed to be enough to wake the living dead–or in this case, James–and he finally turned around just outside the locker room door. I quickly caught up to him, coughing and wheezing as I stopped just before him, completely knackered and more than a bit annoyed. 

 

"Are you...trying...to _kill_ me?" I heaved, grabbing his shoulder for support as I leaned over and continued to pant. "Are you...absolutely... _deaf_ or something?"

 

"What are you doing out here, Lily?" he asked curtly, choosing to completely ignore my wheezing accusations. I rose slowly from my crouched position, fixing him with a good glare as I continued to breathe heavily.

 

"I needed to talk to you," I told him irritably, so not up for his 'I'm so cross' nonsense when I had just sprinted across the entire Quidditch pitch, yelling and screaming like a bloody maniac, being completely ignored by him. He wanted to talk anger? How about the immensely painful, utterly annoying _cramp_ in my side I now had because of him? I could be angry as well, you know! "Just...give me a second, all right? I have to make sure I can...recover properly from that _kilometer long_ _sprint_ I just ran."

 

James rolled his eyes and started taking a few steps towards the locker room. "Listen, Lily, I'm really not in the mood. This can wait–"

 

"No, it _can't_!" I snapped, trying to stop him from leaving while also trying to stop the oncoming heart attack I could feel beginning in my chest. I seriously need to start exercising more.

 

"Then what?" James demanded, his eyes narrowing on me. "Say what you have to say and be done with it, all right? I need to shower."

 

I glowered at him once more, not about to argue with that fact. He was a complete mess from all the flying, his hair reaching a new point of disarray, his face and hands covered in dirt smudges. There was even a small cut on his forehead, probably from one of the several times he hadn't managed to pull up quickly enough from his dives. Plus, he smelled something horrid.

 

But as I went to open my mouth, ready to just let him have it, not even caring if he got even more cross with me or if he attempted to kill me or anything like that, I found that nothing was coming out. Not because I didn't _want_ anything to come out, mind you, but because I didn't know what to say.

 

How do you tell someone that you had just publicly announced you were dating?

 

Suddenly, I found my anger seeping out and my panic beginning to seep back in. James continued to glare, unaware of the major feeling switch that had just occurred inside of me.

 

" _Well_?"

 

"I...it's..." I struggled with the words, trying to force them out, knowing I had to, but _really_ not wanting to. 

 

_I made a mistake._

__

_I lied something wretched._

__

_Elisabeth Saunders thinks we're dating._

__

I could've said anything, could've just sat him down and explained the entire thing to him, calmly and rationally. I could've done that, but I didn't. I was far too much of a chicken to actually say it straight out. As much as I wanted to tell him everything, my mouth seemed to have a different idea, and instead what came out was, "Do you know when you say something, and it maybe comes out in a way you didn't exactly want it to?"

 

Or in my case, exactly the way I had wanted it to, but no longer want it to anymore?

 

James stared at me blankly. "What?"

 

"When you say something, but it comes out wrong," I told him again, really not making any more sense than I had the first time. "But then you say it, and people hear it, and perhaps they make certain assumptions that _really_ aren't true at all–and you _know_ they aren't true and you don't _want_ them to be true, really you don't!–but they still make them anyway, and then–"

 

"Lily!" James held up his hand to stop my rambling. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

 

I sighed, wondering exactly the same thing.

 

"Look," I said, shaking my head and trying to shake off my insanity for just one moment so I could let this make sense. "I...when you go back inside, you might hear...er... _something_."

 

"Something?"

 

"Yeah, something. But don't believe it–I mean, you probably wouldn't anyway, just with it being so silly and all, but you know how rumors start and things get a bit out of hand–and really, the whole thing was just taken completely out of context, so..."

 

I trailed off, getting a good look at James's confused face and just stopping while I was ahead. I really am just rubbish with words. I sighed, massaging my temples and throwing James a helpless look. "Just...ignore whatever you hear, all right?"

 

James paused, then nodded. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

 

I had to wonder why everyone seemed to be asking that. Was anything _ever_ right? Of course not. Nothing ever is. And with my luck, nothing ever will be.

 

"Er...yeah, everything's fine," I lied, scratching the back of my head and looking away, not able to take lying to everyone anymore.

 

James didn't look convinced, and for the first time all afternoon, he wasn't scowling at me either. "You sure?" he asked again.

 

I nodded. "Yeah. Fine. Fabulous. Just...remember to ignore anything you may hear, all right? Because it's not true."

 

James nodded back. "Right. Not true. I got that."

 

"And even if someone tells you that _I_ said it was true–"

 

"You didn't," James finished.

 

I looked away again. "Er, well, actually, I sort of did. But it was just..."

 

"Taken out of context?" James tried again. I let out small smile and nodded.

 

"Yeah. Context."

 

We stood there in silence for a few moments.

 

"Lily?”�

 

"Hm?"

 

"I'm not entirely sure what you just told me, but can I go shower now? My own stench is starting to get to me."

 

Snapping back to life, I laughed lightly, nodding my head and waving James off into the locker room with my hand. "Yeah, of course. You do sort of smell."

 

"Thanks," he replied flatly.

 

I grinned at him as he began to turn. "See you later then," I called, sending him what I hoped was a supporting smile. "And don't forget to–"

 

"Ignore what I hear. Yeah, I know."

 

Then he disappeared through the doors.

 

_________________________________

**Later, Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 118**

****

I know to the average observer, it probably seems like I live in here or something, considering I almost never leave, but if they only really sat down to hear the truth, they'd realise that I totally have valid reasons for being in here so much. It's not that I love Madame Pince (she enjoys screeching at me in French. Do I speak French, Madame Pince? No, I don't. I don't understand what you're saying, so please just stop talking to me), I don't really enjoy the books ( _1001 Ways to Grow a Frutis Plant_ by Timothy Rightly... _exactly_ what I look for in quality reading) and it's not because I enjoy doing my homework either. The reason is actually rather simple: there's no other place in the whole of Hogwarts where people are forced to be quiet. 

 

Yeah, that's it. That's all I want right now. Quiet.

 

Because in the library, even though people may be whispering about you–and believe me, they _are_ –I can't _hear_ them do it. And if I can't _hear_ them do it, I can pretend they're not. Moreover, if I can pretend they're not talking about me, I can almost pretend that I didn't tell Elisabeth Saunders and her rubbish mates that I was dating James Potter earlier this afternoon. I can also start to pretend that I don't know that Emma is currently waiting up in our dormitory, totally deserving a rather good apology from me for being such a prat, but not going to receive one on account of I haven’t called her number yet. And all this pretending, it can't be done anywhere but the library.

 

So here I am. 

 

And I don't expect to be leaving anytime soon.

 

So if anyone feels the need to just set up a bed in here for me, all I have to say is, more power to them. Go ahead. I really wouldn't object. The section all the way to the left seems like a nice spot–very roomy and right smack dab in the middle of the Charms section. I really like Charms. I really like beds too. Why not put them together, right?

 

Yes, that wouldn't be so bad...

 

_________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 118**

 

I was still in the library, searching for a book that would help me with my Potions assignment in the hidden shelves towards the back of the room when he found me.

 

"What _exactly_ are you trying to do, Lily Evans?"

 

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the familiar, whispering voice, wincing when I realised just who it belonged to. He was so close to me, I could feel his breath playing at my ear, but I didn't dare turn around to face him. I couldn't stand to look at him right then. My face was so red I could practically see the color reflecting in front of me. How could he have possibly found out so quickly? Who the bloody hell had told him? And maybe most importantly, how long was it going to be before he started strangling me?

 

I was _so_ dead.

 

"Listen, James..."

 

"Old habits die hard? Old habits die _hard_ , Lily?"

 

At the sound of the familiar words, my head whipped around, my eyes wide with shock and confusion, not because of what he'd said, but because of the _way_ he'd said it...

 

He was laughing.

 

_Laughing_!

 

"I...it...wait, _what_?"

 

James continued to laugh, completely ignoring the stunned expression on my face as he shook his head at me in mock-disappointment. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already?"

 

"No, no, I remember that," I told him quickly. "But why are you _laughing_? _How_ are laughing? Do you not realise what I've _done_?"

 

James smiled widely. "I realise exactly what you've done, you big fat liar."

 

He was trying to turn this all into a joke and I didn’t know why. He should have been angry–I had _expected_ him to be angry. He would have had every right to just come over here, knock me hard over the head and deposit my body back here somewhere where no one would ever find it. And with the mood he had been in all day...but he was _laughing._

__

_Laughing!_

__

I didn't get it. What had I missed?

 

"Um, I don't think you do, James," I said slowly, looking cautiously upon his wide smile. "I mean, not that I'm not extremely glad that you're looking at this with humor–go with that feeling. Really. Please–but I'm not sure you really understand–"

 

"Understand what?" he asked. "That you told Elisabeth and her mates that we were dating?"

 

"I didn't _tell_ them," I protested automatically. "It just sort of...slipped out."

 

"Slipped out?" James snorted. "That's not exactly the way I hear it, Evans."

 

"Oh and how do you hear it?"

 

James wiggled his eyebrows, raising his voice to that ever-familiar high-pitched sound that I suppose was supposed to resemble me. _"Oh, that James Potter, he's so smart and so funny, and oh, he makes my heart beat a little faster–_ Hey! Ow! Don't _hit_ me!"

 

I glared furiously at him. "What? Did they give you the bloody play-by-play or something?"

 

James grinned, rubbing the spot on his arm where I had just punched him what I hoped was rather hard. "Yeah, well, I ran into Laurie Shacklebolt and a few of her mates," he said as way of explanation. I groaned aloud.

 

"What did you say?" I asked.

 

"What was I _supposed_ to say?"

 

"Well, you..."

 

I stopped.

 

Wait a second.

 

What _was_ he supposed to say? 

 

What was _I_ supposed to say for that matter?

 

I mean, if we told everyone the truth–that James and I were in fact, only mates, I'd never get Elisabeth off my back. She'd strut around, throwing in her biting insults and reminders of the time I had tried to fool them all by saying James Potter would actually look twice at me. I'd never live it down. And then all of Hogwarts would know that their Head Girl is nothing but a stupid, lying twit. And maybe I deserve it, maybe I shouldn't have lied about it in the first place, but _honestly_ , that's like a lifelong punishment. That would hardly be fair, would it?

 

And there was no way I could actually _go along_ with what I had said, either. That would mean I would somehow have to be dating James–which I'm not, and won't–because then Amos–

 

Oh, Merlin, _Amos!_

__

Had they gotten to him as well? Did he know what was going on? Oh, of course he did! I bet that stupid prattish ninny Laurie hopped right from James and straight to Amos, her bloody tongue wagging like mad. Oh, Merlin, what is he going to think? I mean, you don't just go and accept a date from one bloke on one day and then announce to the public that you're dating someone else the very next day! But I _did_. I did and now Amos is probably going to hate me forever.

 

No. He won't hate me. He can't hate me. I'll just calmly go explain to him the situation...

 

Oh, _what_ situation? The one where I freely and openly confessed to Elisabeth Saunders and her mates that I was dating James Potter? _That_ situation? Oh, yeah, _that_ would go over well. "Sorry about all this, Amos. I didn't really _mean_ to say that–well, I mean, I _did_ , but I didn't really _mean it, mean it._ It isn't true. I was just lying. I tend to do that...a lot."

 

Oh, god...what am I going to _do_...just when he was beginning to love me, I had to go and ruin it all, didn't I? I couldn't keep everything good and wonderful for even a few moments? I couldn't even last a _day_! One bloody _day_! 

 

This is horrible. This is dreadful. This is so much worse than I thought it was going to be–

 

"Lily? Lily, are you all right?"

 

"No, I'm _not_ all right!" I snapped, taking my anger at the situation out on James. He looked startled at my outburst, but thankfully didn't respond with his own bout of anger. His pity filled looks only made me feel even more dreadful. "I don't know what to _do_ ," I moaned, burying my face in my hands.

 

"Look, it's not that big of a deal, just–"

 

"It _is_ that big of a deal!" I told him, my voice no longer angry, but desperate. "You have no idea how _long_ I've been waiting for Amos Diggory to ask me out, James. It's almost pathetic, really. And now that he finally _has_ , I had to go and _ruin_ it all because _Elisabeth Saunders_ said a few nasty things about me–"

 

"You didn't ruin anything," James sighed, shaking his head. "Diggory isn't going to give up dating you just because of some stupid rumors."

 

"And how do you know that?"

 

"Because...because I just know he won't, all right?" James sighed again, looking away from me. "Just...let's get out of here."

 

I stared at him curiously. "Why?"

 

"Because I'm sick of whispering, that's why. Now come on."

 

James grabbed my hand and I let him pull me, not having the strength to fight off his request after having gotten myself so upset. He pulled me through the rows of bookshelves silently. It was only when we had nearly reached the doors when I spoke up as I remembered my abandoned things left at the table over by Madame Pince.

 

"My stuff," I told him weakly, motioning over to where my books and bag now laid abandoned. "It's over there at that table. I can't leave it here. I have to go get it."

 

James sighed heavily, looking at me pointedly, and then looking over towards where my things were located. "Then we're going to have to cross through the middle," he told me.

 

"The middle of what?" I asked.

 

"The middle of the library."

 

It took me a few seconds to realise what he was saying. Up until that point, we had made our way to the front doors through the rows of bookshelves, hidden from view by the tall cases. However, crossing through the middle meant stepping out into clear view. Crossing the middle meant making the whole 'let's pretend no one's whispering about you,' thing all pretty worthless, because once you crossed, there was no way they _weren't_ talking about you. Crossing through the middle meant pretty much giving the gossip mill another story to stretch and skew to their liking.

 

We'd be walking straight into the battlefield, hand and hand.

 

Literally.

 

I took a deep breath, throwing James a small smile as I tugged my hand from his, but motioned for him to follow me. "Let's go."

 

And so we did. Crossing the library wasn't half as bad as it really could've been, I suppose, considering Madame Pince had luckily chose that precise moment to loudly tell off a group of second years for–as I could tell from her yelling–'talking and dillydallying in her library'. The distraction that the librarian caused diverted the attention of most of the students in the room. Only a selected few noticed as James and I walked to my table and began quickly gathering up my things. Those few, of course, then began loudly whispering to each other, quite able to do so as their voices were drowned out by the sound of Madame Pince's bellows, but James and I ignored them rather well, grabbed my books and hightailed it out of there, even before Madame Pince had finished her rant.

 

Once out in the corridor, I let out a breath of relief.

 

"Well, that wasn't so bad," I said, shoving a few of my books that I'd had to carry because of the rush into my rucksack. James nodded.

 

"I never thought I'd actually enjoy hearing that old bag yell."

 

I laughed a bit and nodded back. We walked down the corridor in mostly silence, me lost in my own thoughts of Amos and Saunders and possibly strangling Laurie Shacklebolt, who has perhaps an even worse mouth than I do, and James lost in this own thoughts about...I don't know. Whatever it is that James Potter thinks about.

 

Until suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, James burst out laughing.

 

Again.

 

That was really getting old.

 

"What?" I asked, obviously thinking I had missed something.

 

James shook his head, unable to speak through all his laughter. "I...it's just..." He then began laughing again, possibly even harder than he had before. I threw him a strange look, waiting for him to shut up long enough to tell me what could possibly be so funny. "It's...that..."

 

"Yes?" I prodded

 

"You...you're such a _liar_!"

 

Then he began cracking up again.

 

I groaned aloud, rolling my eyes and giving James a good shove in his side as he completely ignored me and continued to laugh. "It's not _funny_ ," I muttered, glaring.

 

James didn't respond for a few moments, still somehow finding the entire situation even more hilarious as the seconds wore on and powerless to speak because of it. When he'd finally seem to calm down, he would look over at me, his face would remain straight for but a moment, and then he'd start up all over again. I fought back the urge to hit him again.

 

"I'm sorry," he was finally able to sputter out. "But come on, Lily, you have to admit the entire thing is a bit on the funny side."

 

Funny? _Funny_? Was he _mad_? Of course, it wasn't funny! It was so far from funny that I couldn't even conceive how he could possibly be laughing. I mean, I know he said he understood what was going on, but he so obviously didn't. He couldn't. If he did, he definitely wouldn't be laughing.

 

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said when I refused to respond to his 'funny' remark and just continued to stare moodily at him. "Look," he continued, a small smile on his face. "Just see it from my perspective, all right?"

 

"I _am_ ," I told him testily. "And with all due respect to your obviously nonexistent sanity, it looks even _worse_ from your side."

 

James shook his head. "Don't think about the details," he told me. "Think about the whole _picture_ here."

 

I stared at him blankly. Whole picture? Details? What the bloody hell was he on about now?

 

"Ever since fourth year," James started to explain, when I obviously failed to grasp the humorous concept of 'the whole picture', "I've had you up on a sort of pedestal, you know?"

 

"Pedestal?" I asked.

 

"Yeah," James nodded. "I mean, you...you're _Lily Evans_. You're perfect. You're smart, you're nice, you're beautiful, you're confident and clever, the professors adore you– _everyone_ loves you–you were a prefect, you always followed the rules, never did wrong..."

 

I blushed furiously, ignoring the self-conscious flutter in my stomach as he went on and on about my supposed perfection. However utterly and completely wrong he was about mostly everything he was saying, I'm not going to lie and pretend I didn't enjoy hearing him say it anyway. I'm only human, after all.

 

"You," he continued pointedly, throwing me a small smile as I began to resemble a tomato more and more, "were the _Infallible_ Lily Evans."

 

"Infallible?" I choked out. "Hardly!"

 

James grinned again. "Yes, well, now I see your _true_ colours..."

 

"My true colours?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

 

"Oh, yeah," James nodded, still grinning as he began counting things out on his fingers. "You bribe people with chocolate when they're cross with you, you lie–quite often actually, almost pathologically. Perhaps you should get that checked out, there, Lil–you defy your professors by telling them their assignments are rubbish–"

 

"Because you _told_ me to!"

 

"–you're quite the tease, having a boyfriend on one side and accepting dates from some other bloke as well–"

 

"Hey! That's not–"

 

"–you're the biggest pain in the arse sometimes, it's almost funny; you have a _major_ inferiority complex, though really, Merlin only knows why–"

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Are you nearly done yet?"

 

"–nearly–and maybe, most importantly, you're almost absolutely nothing like I ever imagined you were."

 

James stopped talking then, dropping the hand he'd been counting off his list on to his side. I stared at him blankly.

 

"You done tearing me to shreds, then?" I asked.

 

"I wasn't tearing you to shreds," he insisted. "I never said any of those things were _bad_ qualities."

 

"Oh, you didn't?" I asked with a snort of disbelief. James shook his head.

 

"Not at all. Quite the opposite actually." He shrugged his shoulders, sending me a sideways glance. "Imperfection is perhaps the best perfection. All I'm saying is that contrary to what I thought–the humorous part of this really–is that as it turns out, the Infallible Lily Evans...she...er..."

 

"Falls?" I offered.

 

James nodded. "Yeah. Falls."

 

"A lot," I added flatly.

 

James laughed. "No more than anyone else," he responded.

 

I really almost laughed at that. Oh if only he knew...

 

"Well, you know," I said, nudging James in the shoulder as we continued walking down the corridor. "You're not exactly what I expected either."

 

James groaned with a laugh. "Oh, brilliant, _here_ it comes..."

 

"Firstly," I started, taking silent glee in turning the tables, "you're completely incorrigible–perhaps not as much as I previously thought, but still completely unbearable sometimes. You can be the biggest arse I know and for some reason, need to have a response to absolutely _everything_. Then there's the mood swings–oh, the _mood swings_! I've never met someone who's so up one moment and so down in the next in my entire life. Like today! First, you're abusing players with your bad mood, then you're laughing so loud I have to tell you to shut up, _then_ you're stomping through the Great Hall like you're on a murder path and now you're just laughing it up like no other! What's up with that there, Potter? Please tell me you’re bipolar or something, because that's really the only explanation I can think of."

 

James scratched the back of his head, throwing me a small grin. "I suppose things were just put into perspective all of a sudden," he told me.

 

"Oh, really?" I asked. "How is that?"

 

"Well," he started, "there I was, standing there listening to Laurie Shacklebolt tell a rather miraculously thorough retelling of your conversation earlier this afternoon, when suddenly I realised, you know what, James? Things could be worse."

 

"How?""

 

"Well," James answered, a foolish grin on his lips. "I could _actually_ be dating you."

 

"Hey!" I cried, socking him in the shoulder. James laughed and threw me a look.

 

"That's another thing," he said. "I never expected you to be so bloody _violent_."

 

"And I never expected you to _make me_ so violent," I shot back, and then altered my comment. "Wait, actually, you know what? I did. You were always making me want to _pull my hair out_!"

 

James didn't seem to find this the least bit offending and just began to laugh again, much to my displeasure. I threw him another bitter look.

 

"You really are incorrigible," I told him again with a sigh, when all he continued to do was laugh at my dirty faces.

 

"But you obviously still have some hidden desire to date me anyway, don't you, Infallible Lily Evans?"

 

I shook my head and shot a glare his way. "You're an arse."

 

James grinned. "You sure do say that often. A term of endearment, perhaps?"

 

"Do you _want_ me to hit you again?"

 

Just as James was putting up his hands in front of his body as a way of protecting himself, we reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. I hadn't even really been aware of where we were heading until we had actually gotten there. It was slightly disconcerting, I have to say.

 

"Well, this is where I leave you," James told me, motioning towards the Tower. I stared him curiously.

 

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Aren't you coming in? It's rather late, actually."

 

James shook his head. "I've got to go find Sirius. I, er, sort of hit him with a Quaffle this morning."

 

"I heard."

 

"Yeah, well, I suppose I should apologise then, shouldn't I? He's down in the kitchens, I think. I figure it's best I corner him when there's a lot of food present. Less of a chance he'll hex me."

 

I rolled my eyes. "You blokes and your food."

 

James grinned and shrugged helplessly. "So, I'll... see you around?" he asked, taking a few steps away from the portrait hole.

 

"Yeah," I nodded. "I suppose I'll just go...pretend to sleep or something."

 

"Pretend to sleep?" James questioned. "Why?"

 

"Emma got out of the Hospital Wing this afternoon," I started to explain. "Now she's upstairs and I–"

 

"Say no more," James interrupted, holding up his hands. "I get it. Another ever so special quality of the Infallible Lily Evans: when things get awkward, avoid and ignore."

 

I blushed. "That's not...oh, sod off, will you?"

 

James laughed, continuing to take a few more steps away. Before he could leave, though, I stopped him.

 

"James?" I called.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I just wanted to...well, I'm sorry. For everything. I didn't mean to drag you into all of this–well, I mean, I did, but I..." I sighed, stopping before the rambling began again. "You get what I'm saying."

 

"Yeah," James said again, nodding his head. "Don't worry about it, Lily. Like I said, things could be worse."

 

"You could actually be dating me," I reminded him with a smirk.

 

"Or I could be dead," he added with a grin.

 

I snorted. "I'm almost afraid to ask which one you'd prefer."

 

James laughed again, intelligently choosing not to respond to my last comment. A few moments later, he started slowly down the corridor again, and with a slight wave to me, smiled as he said, "'Night, Infallible Lily Evans."

 

I threw him a look as I called down the corridor, "I'm not infallible anymore, remember? I fall!"

 

James shook his head. "Nah," he said softly. "You'll always be infallible."

 

Then he disappeared around the corner.

 

_________________________________

**As Late As You Can Get, Pretending to Sleep**   
**Observant Lily: Day 17**   
**Total Observations: 119**

Infallible? Me? Come _on_. He had to be kidding. Only someone clearly off their rocker would put the likes of _me_ up on a pedestal. As he said, I fall. I fall more than any normal person has the right to. And I'm not just saying that because of the supposed inferiority complex everyone in the world seems to think I have, but because it's the truth. I mean, smart? I'm _failing_ Transfiguration. He's my _tutor_ for god sakes! Nice? Um, hardly. Everyone loves me? Hello, is the reason we're in this situation right now not because of the shared hatred between Elisabeth Saunders and I? _Beautiful_? No. Just...no.

 

He's mad. He really is.

 

Infallible... _me_...

 

Psh.

 

_________________________________

**Friday, October 3rd, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 18**   
**Total Observations: 120**

****

** From the Mad Mind of Lily Evans: My Dream from Last Night  **

 

Amos and I were in the library, fishing. There was a stream and everything, right there in between the restricted section and Madame Pince's desk. We sat on the tables, fishing rods out, jabbering away in what seemed to be rather fluent German. I asked Amos if he would shag me, and he said, no, that he was too sleepy to shag me just then. I began to cry. Amos continued fishing. Suddenly, he got a bite, except what came out wasn't a fish, it was James. I said hello to James as Amos went back to fishing. James said hello back. I told James that Amos wouldn't shag me. James said he'd do it, if I wanted. I told him that was very nice, but maybe later, as I had to finish my Ancient Runes assignment. James said he did too, so we went off to finish our assignments together, even though James doesn’t take Ancient Runes. When we were done, James asked if I wanted him to shag me then. I told him no, that I was too hungry. Then we planted vegetables together. Amos joined us a few moments later. We sang 'Deck the Halls' as we dug through the soil.

 

Observation #120) If dreams are, as my Divination professor insists, an outlook into the day that lies ahead of us, I'm not really sure if I want to get up.


	12. October 3rd: Mending and Meddling and All In-Between

A/N: Finally back with chapter twelve! This chapter is unfortunately one that hasn’t been extensively beta read because I posted it before I left for England over the summer and never got a chance to hand it over to my beta readers. So please try to ignore the excessive mistakes. I tried my best to fix all the ones I knew of. Thanks for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy! =)

 

 

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“I think a pillow should be the peace symbol, not the dove. The pillow has more feathers than the dove, and it doesn't have a beak to peck you with.”� -Jack Handey

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

_________________

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**   
**Observant Lily: Day 18**   
**Total Observations: 121**   
****

                Did you ever get that feeling that everyone is staring at you?

                I've never really considered myself to be a very vain person. What I have, I flaunt, but I don't have much, so there's not much to flaunt. When I walk into the room, no one looks up. Eyes do not follow me as I make my way to my seat–unless maybe I have a stain on my clothes or something. Then people might look, but only if it was a really big stain and only if there wasn't anything better to be looking at at the time–that's just the way I am. That's just the way _people_ are. That's just the way _life_ is. So suffice to say, that whole 'all eyes on me' feeling? A rather foreign one for me. I didn't even think I'd recognise it if it did happen, it's so foreign. Because _no one looks at me_.

                Everyone was staring at me this morning.

                There were approximately twenty students and professors in the Great Hall when I got up to eat breakfast this morning (which I was doing even earlier than usual by the way, on account of the fact that after my dream, every time I tried to close my eyes to go back to sleep, images of Amos 'fa-la-la'ing in the dirt and James continuously asking whether or not it was time to shag yet kept rolling through my head. Needless to say, there wasn't much sleep after that). Seventeen out of twenty of these people had their eyes focused on me the second I walked into the room. The exceptions were two students having an early morning snog over at the Hufflepuff table and Mr. Filch, who was telling off a sixth-year girl (who, by the by, wasn't even paying _attention_ to what Filch was saying because she was too busy looking at me).

                I've never felt more uncomfortably conspicuous in all my life.

                But it's not really the staring that's driving me so mad. It's the _whispering_ they're doing _while_ they're staring. Because as I've mentioned before, us Hogwarts kids, we're just not that brilliant at whispering. In fact, I don't believe our whispers even have the dignity to call themselves whispers, on account of the fact that there's really only one difference between Hogwarts Whispers and Hogwarts Talking, and that's the presence of someone's hand being held up to the side of their face so that they can conceal their mouths while they speak. There are, however, two slight problems with this form of whispering:

                1) I can't read lips anyway. The hands are unnecessary.  
                2) I can still hear what they're saying. I'm not deaf.

                No one seems to understand either of these two things, though. They just continue on with their "whispering" as if there is nothing at all wrong. 

                Bloody imbeciles, every last one of them.

                And I'm trying not to be bitter about all of this, really I am. I'm trying to just ignore them and pretend they're not there, staring and whispering. I remember what my mum always used to tell me when my classmates in my Muggle school used to do the very same thing. "Lily," she'd say, giving me one of her very firm, maternal looks, "they are only doing it for your attention. You have to just ignore them and not let it bother you. Once they see you're not taking the rise, they'll stop, I promise."

                But I'm coming to find that while my mother's advice may have worked on Little Tony Smith who would constantly whisper to his mates about how my finger paintings were ugly when I was five, the same advice doesn't exactly mesh well with my current seventeen-year-old situation. My mother obviously isn't aware that the Hogwarts Gossip Mill _thrives_ on being ignored. Her advice is unfortunately as useful as a rubber duck for me now.

                Ugh.

                But still, I try. I mean, it's not like I wasn't _expecting_ all of this. Like an idiot, I told _Laurie Shacklebolt_ of all people my juicy piece of absolute rubbish. I knew that by morning everyone in the entire school–students, teachers, pets and inanimate objects alike–were all going to be aware of the fact that I had accidentally implied that James Potter and I were dating yesterday. It was a forgone conclusion. There was no stopping it. I had dug my own grave with that one. But I somehow was not expecting this. I really, truly wasn't.

                I wish Marley and James were here instead of at stupid Quidditch practice. What's with that anyway? Why do they have to keep practicing this early? Don't they care about the fact that their very good mate Lily Evans is currently being brutally harassed by the Hogwarts population and their sad, sorry excuses for whispering? Do they care that even _Professor Dumbledore_ seems to be looking at me as if he's heard the rumors too, and is currently contemplating whether or not I'll go to Hogsmeade with Amos, my fancy, or James, my boyfriend? Do they have any idea what kind of torment I'm currently going through?

                "I hear she's got more than just Potter and Diggory! I hear she's got a _harem_ of blokes at her beck and call all the time!"

                "Well, you don't say!"

                "I _do_ say! She's a one-woman-shag-fair, that Lily Evans! She's my new idol!"

                See? DO YOU SEE? They're not even _trying_ to be quiet! It's like they _want_ me to hear every dirty, nasty (and, okay, this one's not as bad as the others, considering this madwoman seems to think having a harem full of blokes is idol-worthy, but that's besides the point) word they're saying! WHO DOES THAT? WHO?

                Infallible Lily Evans, my arse. No one with a title like 'infallible' in front of their name is going to be called a one-woman-shag-fair, now are they? 

                No, I just don't believe they would.

                Oh, Merlin. And to think, the day has only just begun.

                I might as well just off myself now. A nice trip off the Astronomy Tower sounds like just the ticket. Or perhaps a little breath-holding in the Great Lake. Either will do.

                _Ugh_.

 

_________________

**Even Later, Before History of Magic**   
**Observant Lily: Day 18**   
**Total Observations: 121**

 

Things to Do:  
1) Get to class.  
2) Don't trip over own two feet in haste to quickly get to class.  
3) Don't bump into anyone.  
4) Stop looking down at the floor as to avoid bumping into anyone.  
5) Continue to ignore all and every person currently staring and/or talking/whispering while walking through the corridors. They are all insects and I am a foot. I will crush them if I ignore them. Unless of course they're poisonous insects, in which case they bite me and I die.  
6) Find Amos and assure him I still want to have his children.  
7) Find James and inform him some more of the not-so-humorous reality of our current situation. He doesn't seem to understand that it's not a joke.  
8) Also inform James that under no circumstances do I ever want to, or plan to, shag him, just in case he was for some reason considering such a thing.   
9) It also might be best if Amos was informed of his rather off-key voice and my resentment of all things musical and all things to do with vegetable gardens.  
10) Find Grace and let her know what's happening before she gets cross with me for keeping her out of the loop.  
11) Find Emma and apologise for being a prat.  
12) Breathe.

 

_________________

**Still Even Later, Before History of Magic**   
**Observant Lily: Day 18**   
**Total Observation: 122**

****  
****  
Observation #122) While there are definitely a large, _large_ number of downsides to proclaiming James Potter your boyfriend, even when he is not, one major upside is the fact that Elisabeth Saunders now avoids you at all costs, as is demonstrated when she scampered off down the corridor like a deer in headlights at the mere sight of me.

                Ahh, glory.

 

_________________

**Later, History of Magic**   
**Observant Lily: Day 18**   
**Total Observation: 123**

****

****  
**An interesting piece of gossip caught my attention this morning, Miss Evans. -GR**  
 ****  
I imagine it did. -LE

                **Have anything to share with me, then?**  
Not that I can presently think of, actually.

                **No? Nothing at all?**

I got top marks on the assignment we just got back.

                **I wasn't talking about bloody school, Lily.**

No?

                **No.**

Hm.

                **_Hm_? Is that honestly all you have to say to me?**

You were expecting something else?

                **_Yes_!**

Yes? Hm...

                **Oh, for the love of all that's magical, will you quit with your laughing and just tell me what's going on?!**

I'm sure that I have no idea what you're talking about, Gracie.

                **Are you dating James?**

My, aren't we blunt?

                **Well there's obviously no beating around the bush with you, is there? Now answer the question!**

No.

                **No? No, you’re not answering the question, or no, you’re not dating James?**

I’m not dating James.

**You’re not?**

                I’m not.

                **Care to elaborate on that one?**

There was...a misunderstanding.

                **I figured as much.**

It was a rather big one.

                **Obviously.**

You weren't in the dormitory when I went to bed last night or else I would've explained it all to you then.

                **Yeah, what was with that anyway? It was a little early to be going to bed when you did, wasn't it?**

I had a headache.

                **Liar.**

Do you want to hear what happened or not?

                **I already know what happened.**

What? How? Who...Laurie Shacklebolt?

                **The one and only.**

I swear, that girl has a mouth on her like I've never imagined.

                **A mouth that tells the truth?**

A mouth that _thinks_ it's telling the truth.

                **You mean you actually told her you were dating James? Why the bloody hell would you do that? What about darling Amos, Lil?**

It wasn't like that! It's...it's a rather long story.

                **It's a rather long class.**

I don't want to write it all _down_!

                **Fine, then start to have a coughing fit and Binns will send you to the Hospital Wing. I'll naturally have to go along with you, as you'll currently be unable to breathe.**

I'm _not_ going to fake a coughing fit. That is so second year, Gracie.

                **Then sharpen that quill, Evans. You'll be writing for a while.**

                I’m not…ugh, _fine_. It's not as if we're paying much attention anyway.

                **That's it, Lil. Beat off those Head Girl instincts. Bend the rules! Go mad!**

If we get in trouble–

                **We won't. Now start coughing and make it look believable. Think _pale_.**

Since when do I have to think it? I'm _always_ pale.

                **Fair point, mate-o-mine. My plan is infallible.**

Infa...where did that come from?

                **James. He's been saying it all morning. You should have heard him at practice. 'Infallible Chasers! You're infallible!' 'Infallible Keeper!' 'Infallible day and infallible everything!'. Your boyfriend's a loon, Lil. S'ppse it's rubbed off a bit.**

I'm going to kill him.

                **Erm, okay. But that can wait, can't it? I believe you have some coughing to do.**

Yeah, yeah, I'm coughing.

 

_________________

**Later, Defense**   
**Observant Lily: Day 18**   
**Total Observation: 123**

                

                There are some pretty nifty advantages to being a wrongly-chosen Head Girl, I'm coming to find. Like gaining a perfect hideaway spot when skipping class. Not everyone's got something like that, but the Head Girl, she certainly does.

                Very very brilliant stuff. No wonder it's such a coveted position.

                We dashed off to the Prefect's lavatory because that seemed like the most convenient, seeing as we were skiving off classes and needed a proper place to tuck ourselves away in unnoticeably for awhile. The lavatory's password protected and is only used by the sort of students who would never dream of missing–much less _skipping_ –class (besides me, it seems. And probably James as well. And maybe June Mackey, if there was shagging involved), so really, it was quite the ideal plan when you thought about it. 

                Grace and I took a bit of a scenic route to get to our destination, trying to avoid passing any of the major classrooms on our way to the lavatory. After all, every one knows (or Grace assures me that everyone knows, anyway. Being a skiving virgin and all, I really wasn't aware of the rules and regulations that go along with such a thing before today) that the number one rule of skipping class is undoubtedly avoiding all potential possibilities at getting caught–hence, the avoidance of all major classrooms. The last thing we needed was to be caught by McGonagall as we were wandering around the fifth floor, supposedly on our way to the Hospital Wing. Somehow I just don't think she'd quite buy my fake coughing bit, despite my unbelievable faux-coughing talents. 

                Our scenic route ended up turning into a bit of a personal Hogwarts tour in our desperate attempts to avoid capture, however. You never really notice just how many ruddy classrooms this bleeding school has until you're trying to avoid them all. They're _everywhere._ No kidding. I'm serious. _Everywhere_. And it's not even a fun task, trying to figure out whether or not the classroom is currently occupied or whether you can actually pass. It's not at all the cool, adventurous spy work it should be–well, maybe it sort of was in the _beginning_. I did get a bit of a kick out of it then, but sometime after about the twenty-seventh classroom, it just got rather bothersome.

                "I'm never skipping class again," I muttered to Grace, ducking behind another wall as we leaned over to check if the classroom across the corridor was presently in use. The Prefect's lavatory was just down the corridor and to the left, and thank _Merlin_ for that because I didn't know how many more classrooms I could possibly dodge. My karma hadn't found it appropriate to get me caught just yet, but being found out only meters away from our final destination seemed like just the sort of sadistic thing my bad karma would find incredibly hilarious. Thankfully though, the room across from us was empty, and without the option of my karma letting us get caught just then, Grace and I dashed down the corridor to the lavatory door.

                "Butterscotch," I said quickly, jiggling the handle on the door, waiting for it to recognise the password and let us in. From behind me, I heard Grace snort.

                "Nice password," she snickered. I shot her a glare as the door finally swung open.

                "I happen to _like_ butterscotch," I huffed, entering the lavatory as I defended the password that I myself had chosen. That's another interesting perk of being a wrongly-chosen Head Girl: you get to set the passwords for all the locked doors around the castle. And unlike, say, dashing around the school avoiding classrooms, it's a rather fun responsibility. Much more fun than running pointless Prefect's meetings, anyway (Note to self: The new month is here. Must eventually get around to holding another Prefect's meeting. Discuss with James later). Well, at least it's fun until you run out of decent words to use. Then I suppose I'll just have to start making them up or something. I'm pretty rubbish at things like that, though. Making up words, I mean. I'm not creative enough for something like that. I figure I'll let James take over the password business when I reach that point. He seems like the sort of bloke that would be good at making up words. 

                Though Merlin only knows I'd turn around for a second and every single password would be set to 'infallible'. 

                Stupid bloody prat.

                He just thinks he's _so_ funny, doesn't he?

                "Oh, Holy _Merlin_ ," Grace breathed, letting out a whistle as we entered the lavatory. "Will you look at this place? That tub's the size of the lake!"

                Oh, brother. Stupid mates.

                "It's a _lavatory_ , Grace," I responded flatly, following behind her.

                "A bloody _brilliant_ lavatory," Grace corrected, her eyes still scanning the room like a child who'd just been let loose in Honeydukes for the very first time. Lavatories, Honeydukes...same thing, really. "Can we sit in it?"

                "Sit in what?"

                "The tub."

                "Why the bloody hell would we sit in the tub?"

                "It’s a _lavatory_ , Lily," Grace mocked. "Where else are we supposed to sit?"

                "There's a couch over past the showers," I shot back smugly, pointing towards where the big red sofa was peeking out from behind the water closets. "Now, I may not be the most intelligent pick of the bunch, but I'm fairly certain that the couch isn't there for any sort of bathing or relieving purposes."

                Grace scowled. "You're trying to ruin this for me, aren't you?"

                "Grace, it's a _bathtub_!"

                "It's a _large_ bathtub," she answered stubbornly, her mad mind somehow translating that fact into a decent reason to be sitting in it. I let out an exasperated sigh and started for the sofa. Grace strode purposely in the opposite direction towards the tub. I let out another groan of frustration. "Grace, come _on_!" I complained. "I don't want to sit in the tub!"  
       
           From over my shoulder I saw Grace shrug carelessly. "Fine, sit on your couch, then." She was already climbing over the rim of the tub. "But I sure hope you're prepared to _shout_ your story across the room. It'll be awfully hard to hear you from all the way over there."

                At this declaration, I scowled, glaring at Grace as she disappeared into the deep pit. Sighing heavily, I considered my options. Sit on the nice, comfy couch...yelling...or sit in the hard, uncomfortable bathtub...not yelling. These walls echoed, didn't they? And I'm not exactly the quietest of girls to begin with. Any sort of yelling would get us caught for sure...and Grace knew that. 

                The bloody girl had me trapped.

                Bugger.

                Bloody worthless, that's what she is. Why is it that all my mates have to be completely mad? Is it a qualification or something? I mean, one is a complete madwoman with a sudden affinity for rather dramatic glaring, uncontrollable bursts of sobbing and unfounded jealousy; one has an unhealthy obsession with the word infallible; and another likes to lounge about in bathtubs! It's really no wonder why I'm not the sanest of sorts–look at the head cases I surround myself with!

                I think I need new mates.

                Whatever happened to those rocks I was considering? Might have to go back to that plan.

                Lord only knows _rocks_ would never make me sit in any bathtubs.

                "We're putting some ridiculously strong Cushioning Charms on that thing," I grumbled bitterly, shooting one last longing glance over at the big, comfy couch before finding my feet moving in the opposite direction. So close, yet _so_ far.

                "I don't think we'll need them," Grace responded as I shimmied myself over the edge of the tub and climbed down to take my place next to her. "Look." She bounced around a bit. "Very comfy already."

                Um, yeah. 

                About as comfy as sitting on a _porcupine_.

                I shot Grace a pointed look and waved my wand. " _Mansuetus_."

                I wish I could say it was a grand improvement, but it wasn't. I was sitting in a bathtub. Cushioning Charm or no Cushioning Charm, there wasn't much you could improve on.

                "You know, Miss Lily," Grace started with a smirk, smugly laughing at my scowl as I miserably shifted my bum around, trying to get comfortable, "for a girl who has suddenly gained herself not one, but _two_ dishy male friends, you seem awfully bitter to me."

                "I did not _gain_ anyone," I seethed. "James and I are _not_ dating."

                "Yes, I remember quite a dramatic scene occurring not a week or so ago to that account," Grace responded flatly. "You were rather adamantly denying it then. What's with the sudden turnabout? What in the bleeding name of all that's magical would provoke you to lie to Laurie Shacklebolt and June Mackey about _that_?"

                I sighed heavily. Not _what_ , Gracie, but _who_. _Who_ in the bleeding name of all that's magical would provoke me to lie to Laurie Shacklebolt and June Mackey about dating James Potter.

                You know your life is in a pretty sad and pathetic shape when all your stupid decisions revolve around a twit like Elisabeth Saunders.

                Sad and pathetic. 

                The story of my life.

                So then–even though I was still ticked off with her about the whole sitting-in-the-tub thing and really should have withheld all information until she agreed to move the whole conversation over to the more appropriate couch–I opened my mouth and began to relate the whole story to Grace, in all of its mortifying and humiliating glory. Grace for her part listened intently, her only reactions a slight lift of the eyebrows or a small grin from time to time. From what I could tell, she seemed to regard the entire thing as some sort of show on the telly that she was fortunate enough to get an inside look at. However, this unfortunately isn't a scripted show–it's my life. You can't make this sort of stuff up. Really, you can't.

                "So let me get this straight," Grace said slowly, after I'd finally finished my story, ending rather quickly with a brief retelling of my conversation with James last night, omitting much of what was said other than the fact that he seemed to find the whole thing extremely humorous, regardless of his dreadful mood earlier that day. "You go up to the dormitory, hear the lot of them talking about James and you–completely misinformed, of course, because regardless of what everyone believed, the pair of you are _not_ dating–lose your cool a bit when Saunders says some choice words about you, and then in order to get her back for it, indirectly imply that James and you _are_ dating?"

                Er...

                Yeah.

                I do believe that just boosted me up to a completely new level of pathetic.

                "More or less," I replied with a wince.

                "And then you went to talk to James," Gracie continued, her face still holding that glint of ever-present amusement, "and he yells at you a bit on account of the fact that he's not having such a good day, but then later on when he finds you in the library, he's all right and laughing about it again?"

                "Erm, yes..."

                "But now you're rather panicked because even though James finds it funny, it's not really, because you currently have one bloke you _don't_ fancy unofficially proclaimed as your boyfriend, and another bloke you _do_ fancy probably watching from the sidelines, scratching his head and trying to figure out what in the hell he did wrong?"

                Oh, Merlin. 

                It's even worse when it's put into words.

                "That's the gist of it," I muttered painfully. Grace seemed to be absorbing this information with some quick nods of her head, and I could almost see the wheels in her head turning. Then suddenly, she stopped. And when she looked over at me again, she was grinning.

                "Why, Lily Evans," she said, as if she'd suddenly had an epiphany of some sort, "you're just a right-damned tart, aren't you?"

                Oh, brother.

                "You know what, Gracie," I replied with a hefty sigh. "You're probably right. I am a right-damned tart. A right-damned tart with prudish tendencies." I buried my face in my hands. "What am I going to _do_?"

                "Oh, come on, Lil, it's not that–"

                Grace shut her mouth, her words frozen as the sound of the lavatory's door opening reverberated throughout the echoing room. My eyes darted to Grace and hers to mine and instinctively we both hunched down, even though it was virtually impossible for whoever had just walked in to have seen us from our positions deep inside the bathtub unless they came round and looked directly in. As the soft footsteps pattering closer, I held my breath. 

                I _knew_ something like this would happen. I _knew_ it. I knew I could never actually cut class and then make it out alive. I _knew_ I'd get caught. I mean, this is Lily Evans we're talking about! Do you _know_ what her karma does to her? Do you? I never even stood a chance!

                And so I sat there with Grace, crouched over and defeated, resigned to my fate as the worst skivier in the whole of England, and waited for the Prefect who had just entered to find the Head Girl and her mate hiding inside the bathtub and for what was left of my dreadfully fucked up life to just officially come to an end. It was over. I accepted it. I may have had some close-calls before, but this time it was _really_ over. I had an appointment with the Astronomy Tower that I just wasn't going to miss.

                It was _over_.

                Really, truly over…

                …or at least, I _thought_ it was over...

…until the intruder spoke.

                "Hello? Are you in here? Grace? Lily?"

                In the span of about 3.2 seconds, Grace and I had both popped our heads over the rim of the bathtub. I think I choked on my own spit, I was so stunned.

_"Emma?"_

There she was. Emma. Former mate and obviously a fellow skivier. She was standing a ways off over by the showers and the big red couch, searching that area for any sight of the pair of us (which, of course, she would have found if Grace hadn't forced me into this bathtub). When she saw Grace and I pop our heads over the edge of the tub, she looked relieved. _I_ was shocked. Not because she was there–for that there was a whole lot of relief, seeing as I had just escaped my life officially coming to an end and really, what in the world could be as relieving as that?–but because when I looked at her...I felt nothing.

                _Nothing_.

                Well, not _nothing_ per say, but I didn't feel _angry_. There was still a twinge of hurt there (after all, let's not push the limits here. The girl did believe I was a malicious, backstabbing mate for a rather long period of time), but I wasn't angry. Not cross at all. Seriously.

                Hm. 

                Good to know.

                "Oh good, you're here! I couldn't find you before and I..." Emma trailed off, her relieved expression fading as her face scrunched up in confusion. "Er, I'm sorry," she started, shaking her head, "but is there any particular reason why the both of you are sitting in the bathtub?"

                Oh, bugger it.

                "Ask the prat over here," I muttered, cocking a finger towards Grace. The girl in question let out an insulted huff.

                "No one _forced_ you into the tub, Lily," she insisted, though obviously that just wasn't the case. I totally was forced. I was worse than forced. I was _blackmailed_. I was _trapped_. There had been no alternate option for me. "It's really quite comfortable," Grace continued on, ignoring the glares I sent her way for her last untrue comment. She motioned Emma over with her hand. "Come see.”�

                Emma looked more than a bit unsure about that. She eyed the tub–and me–quite warily, not moving to do Grace's bidding. I knew then that it was my turn to speak up. I had, after all, added 'apologise to Emma for being a prat' onto my To Do list this morning. And while I can't exactly say I had envisioned our inevitable confrontation in these sort of circumstances–in the middle of History of Magic, inside the Prefects' lavatory, sitting inside a ridiculously uncomfortable bathtub–I suppose you take what you can get. 

                This thing had dragged on long enough.

                So then, even though I really would've rather done this somewhere else–say, like on the big comfortable couch on the other side of the room, perhaps?–I threw Emma my biggest oh-look-I'm-not-cross-with-you-anymore-now-let's-be-mates-again smile and waved her over as well. 

                "Well, don't just stand there," I said, perhaps a bit over-cheerfully, but hey, I was a girl on a mission! "Get in here!"

                At my rather perky call, Emma's gaze flickered back over to me, her eyes wide and obviously startled at my invitation. When she once again failed to move from her spot, I tried again with the grin, but it was still to no avail. Instead of immediately moving towards the tub like I'd quite imagined she might, Emma stayed rooted where she was, gawking at me as if I'd grown another head.

                It was rather awkward actually, now that I'm thinking about it. Not exactly the most comfortable moment of my life. Not at all.

                I was about to prod her some more, call her name or something to perhaps break her out of the one-sided staring contest she seemed to be determined to have with me, when out of the blue, she finally spoke. The wince on her face was nothing compared to the wince in her voice.  "Are...are you sure?"

                Oh, bloody hell. 

                I'd gone and got her all teary-eyed again. 

                Bugger it all.

                "Emmeline–"

                "Because if you're not," she continued quickly, ignoring my obviously rather weak attempt at an interrupting protest, "if you're just saying that because you're you and...and...well, you're you and you're just like that, I'll leave, I swear it. I wasn't expecting anything by coming here. It's just Binns noticed that Grace hadn't come back to class and–"

                Whoah, there.

                Professor _Binns_? Noticing?

                _What_??

                "Wait a second," I said, this time successfully interrupting Emma's tirade. "Professor _Binns_ noticed Grace was still missing from class? Since when does that man notice _anything_?"

                Seriously. The bloke's worse than I am on the observant scale. And as I think we've already proven several times over, that's pretty rotten. I mean, if I hadn't been coughing like a madwoman and practically falling on the floor in stunning convulsions while Grace frantically proclaimed rather loudly that I wasn't looking too bright, I doubt Binns would've even glanced over at us. He's _that_ oblivious. 

                This _reeks_ of bad karma.

                "Of course not," Emma answered, waving off the ludicrous idea with her hand. "But Elisabeth Saunders did and naturally had to go and say something about it–"

                Elisabeth Saunders. 

                Bloody bratty, pratty, git-of-a-girl.

                 "–and the class is almost over so I just thought I'd better go find you two before you got in trouble...I'm sorry. I'll just–"

                "Will you quit that?" I snapped, throwing Emma an annoyed look. Frankly, the girl was getting on my nerves with all her uncertainness. I mean, honestly, if I _say_ to get in the tub, I _mean_ to get into the tub. I wouldn't have said it otherwise! Why was she making this whole ‘apologising for being a prat’ thing so difficult? It wasn't. It didn't need to be. _Merlin_. "You're not going anywhere, Emmeline Vance. If I have to stay here and suffer through sitting in this bloody horrific piece of rubbish, I'm not doing it alone! Now quit questioning me and act like my mate and get in here!"

                I don't know whether it was Emma finally snapping back into her own and returning back to her normal self, or the fact that I have a tendency to get a bit frightening when I get cross, but whatever it was, Emma wasted no time listening to me as she hurried over to the bathing tool Grace and I were currently residing in and shimmed herself over the edge as we had done a half-hour or so before. She unceremoniously plopped herself down on the hard floor next to me. And wiggled.

                "Er, Grace." More wiggling. "This isn't comfortable at all."

                Psh. 

                Well, _obviously_. 

                Didn't I already say that? Why doesn't anyone listen to me? I have a rather annoying tendency to be right about these things, you know.

                Grace crossed her arms indignantly and glared at the lot of us as Emma and I started cracking up like a right pair of loons, even though it really wasn't all that funny. I think it was all the nervous tension floating around. Nervous tension definitely has the ability to make things so much funnier than they actually are. Seriously. It does. "I don't have to take this kind of abuse," Grace muttered with a scowl, rising to her feet.

                "Where are you going?" I asked.

                "Back to class," she answered, climbing over the rim to where Emma had just come from.

                Back to _class_? 

                The idea had me cracking up all over again.

                "You don't have to do that, Gracie," Emma said, trying to be serious, but failing miserably as she was still laughing just like me, though perhaps not as hard considering she's not as mad as I am. "Really. We'll be nice. I love the tub. Honestly. It's very comfortable. More so than even my bed."

                "We could fall asleep right here," I added in, watching as Grace strode purposely towards the door. When she didn't turn around and come back, ending the joking indignation she had just put on, Emma and I finally stopped laughing and shared a confused look. "Grace?" I called, popping my head over the rim of the tub to watch her. "Gracie, come on, where are you going?"

                "I told you, back to class."

                "But you don't–"

                She turned from her position at the door, flashing Emma and I a reassuring grin. "James will positively _murder_ me if I get detention and miss practice tonight," she explained quickly, shrugging her shoulders. "Besides, it's probably best to leave the lot of you alone for a bit, yeah? Let you deck it out on your own?" And with that last comment, she shot us another grin and left the lavatory. 

                Leaving us alone. 

                In the Prefect's lavatory. 

                In a bathtub.

                To deck it out.

                Which I'm supposing didn't really mean 'decking it out' in the fighting, physical sense like it usually implies, seeing how neither Emma nor I are really the violent, boxing sort of types. Or rather, _Emma_ isn't really the violent, boxing type. I must admit, I'm sometimes rather prone to having violent tendencies. But usually only with James. Which is understandable, of course. The boy needs a good socking every once and a while, after all.

                But, you know, that's not the point.

                The point was that this 'decking out' was verbal. Which meant Emma and I were actually going to have to speak to each other...something we haven't done properly and without tears in quite a while. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly the easiest sort of thing to just get on with. So for several moments after Grace had left, Emma and I just sort of sat there together, in the tub, twiddling our thumbs and picking invisible lint off our robes, letting the awkwardness hang heavy in the air. And then, as girls like us are prone to do, we both started talking at the same time.

                "Lily–"

                "Emma–"

                "No," Emma cut in forcefully, "let me get this out. Please." She took a deep breath, managing to pull her gaze away from the bathtub floor and over to me for the first time in several minutes. She wasn't crying like I rather expected she may be (and thank _Merlin_ for that!), but instead had this stony, determined look on her face. In contrast, her voice was slightly shaky when she spoke. "I'm sorry, Lily," she said quietly. "I'm _so_ sorry. I know I said it before, but then everything...fell apart again. And I don't know if you can forgive me. I know what I did–what I thought–was wrong. I'm just asking you not to hate me."

                Hate her? Is _that_ what she thought? Oh, bloody hell...

                "I don't hate you, Em," I told her with a light sigh, shaking my head. "I never hated you. I was angry and I was...well, I was–"

                "Hurt," Emma filled in brokenly, her voice wavering even more. "I hurt you. I know. But I didn't mean to, Lil, you have to believe that! It's just that Mac said...and then there's you... and I couldn't stop myself from thinking..." Her eyes flickered down to the ground for a moment before turning back to me. "It was wrong. It was _so_ wrong. _I_ was wrong. And I just wanted you to know that...well, I suppose the fact that I thought you were dating James really was what finally kicked some sense into me, but I always knew I was wrong. I was just so cross with everything..." She trailed off again, her emotions finally getting the better of her. Forgetting the fact that the last time we did this I was rather uncomfortable with all the waterworks, I placed a comforting hand on Emma's shoulder. I know it wasn't much, but I suppose it was enough, because her eyes really started to fill then. When she finally was able to speak again, her voice was little above a whisper, and her statement shocking. "I think I may love him, Lily."

                My head snapped back in shock. 

                She didn't have to say who 'him' was. I already knew. 

Mac. 

She was talking about Mac. 

                Emma fancied herself in love with Mr. Fulton McDonough. 

                But love? _Love_? As in Romeo and Juliet, let's-kill-ourselves-to-be-together sort of love, love? Like 'Here's looking at you, kid,' _Casablanca_ kind of love? _That_ kind of love?

                "Em," I started slowly, "Love's a rather strong word, you know–"

                "Well, it's a rather strong emotion," Emma shot back, rather defensive all of a sudden. "I know it sounds stupid, Lil. I _know_. But he...I just...I can't...he makes me think irrationally, Lily. I'm _never_ irrational."

                "You're the most rational person I know," I agreed honestly, for she had been, before this little mad stint. 

                "Do you see, then, Lil? But it's so much more than that! He makes me feel...I can't describe it. It's just...you know that sort of feeling you get when you've been away from home for a long time and you finally get to return? That rush? Like you never want to leave again? Every time he walks into the room, every time I'm with him...oh, it's just so much better than that, Lily! You couldn't even imagine! It's...it's..."

                _Love._

Holy Merlin on a butter stick.

                Emma was in love!

                In _love_!

                I was rather speechless then. I mean, what was I supposed to say after a confession like that? My best mate had just declared her undying love for a bloke who had–albeit accidentally, and he did come back and try to fix it afterwards–caused a huge rift between us mates. But I wasn't so much speechless over the fact that it was Mac whom she was in love with–I suppose I can _almost_ admit that I don't totally hate the bloke anymore–but just the fact that she _was_. I mean, I guess I really should have realised it was rather serious when Emmeline chose to keep it from Grace and I for so long, but I never thought...I never would have imagined...

 

                "Love." The world fell out of my mouth along with a grin that Emma seemed incapable of reciprocating. And despite the fact that Mac and I were anything but friends, and Emma and he currently seemed to be on the outs–not to mention the fact that Emma and I were still technically on the outs–I began giggling like mad. "Em! You're in love! In _love_!"

 

                But instead of getting entirely overexcited about this fact like I did, my exclamation just seemed to depress Emma even further. She looked back down at the floor of the tub and refused to look up. The ultimate killjoy, I stopped with my happy giggling and frowned down at Emma.

 

                "Em?"

 

                "I thought love was supposed to be a good thing," she muttered to the floor. My eyebrows shot up.

 

                "It _is_ a good thing, Em! It's a _great_ thing!"

 

                Emma's eyes lifted once more. "Not if it makes me lose my best mates," she murmured remorsefully. 

 

                With that broken down look on her face and that dejected tone in her voice, I think it was safe to say I melted and caved in right then and there on the spot. 

 

                On the outs? I think not.

 

                How was I supposed to be anything but sorry when she was looking like that?

 

                "You haven't lost me, you silly girl," I scoffed, moving over closer to her and placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You know how I get sometimes. I was just angry and hurt. Mostly hurt, I think. I just couldn't believe you would think those things...you know I would never do anything like that, don't you, Emma?"

 

                "Of course I know you wouldn't," she answered quickly, nodding her head furiously. "It was the irrational side coming out. I couldn't think clearly any more. All I saw was Mac and you and...I just sort of went a bit mad, I guess."

 

                "But it was some small insignificant crush, Emmeline! And it was _ages_ ago. Didn't you realise any of that? Mac grew out of it; I changed into a less-than-appealing new form–"

 

                "Less than appealing?" Emma let out a choked laugh. "Oh, honestly, Lily, where do you come up with these things? Why can't you see what everyone else sees? You always seem to think you're not as pretty as you are and not as smart as you are and–"

 

                "Yeah, I know," I muttered dryly, rolling my eyes. "The inferiority complex. I'm working on it."

 

                For the first time in a quite a while, Emma let out a laugh. Naturally it would have to be at my expense. Psh. "That's a good way of putting it," she giggled.

 

                "James Potter's a prat," was what I deemed an appropriate response to that.

 

                At the mention of one James Potter's name, Emma's smile grew wider as she cocked an accusing eyebrow at me. I knew what was coming even before she said it.

 

                "A prat, eh?" The eyebrows continued to tease me. "Is that some sort of pet name now?"

 

                "Emma," I said, for what seemed to be the seventeen-thousandth time that day, even though it was really only like, the second. "James and I are not dating."

 

                "No?" The eyebrows did not cease their wiggling. She didn't believe me. "Because that's not what I hear. Not what I hear at all. In fact, what I heard was that–"

 

                "I told Laurie Shacklebolt and Elisabeth Saunders that I was?"

 

                Emma nodded smugly.

 

                I held back the reflex to gag.

 

                Boy, my life is drama-filled.

 

                So then, partly because if I didn't tell her what actually happened, those damned overly-expressive eyebrows of hers wouldn't stop rising and falling in that annoying sort of way, and partly because telling her the story would be just one more step in solidifying our tender mate-ship from it's on-the-rocks position, I added yet another Cushioning Charm onto the bathtub floor, and for the second time that morning, shared the details of what had actually transpired in the seventh-year girls' dormitory the afternoon before and the several tense hours that followed afterwards.

 

                I'm getting awfully sick of that story.

 

                "–and he thinks it's all just one big joke," I was finishing up a good twenty minutes or so later, speaking of course of my supposed boyfriend and his extreme lack of seriousness in regards to our current situation. The bell signaling the end of History of Magic and the beginning of Charms had rung several minutes earlier, but neither Emma nor I cared as I went on with my story. "I mean, I explained it all to him. _Laurie Shacklebolt_ had told him all about it, for Merlin's sake, and you know she's not one to leave out any details! And yet despite it all, he's still laughing it off as if it's nothing! What kind of bloke does that, hm? What kind?"

 

                "Maybe he was just trying to calm you down," Emma suggested, her logical self once more. "Think about it, Lily. James is a smart bloke. He knows that if he started panicking about it as well, you would just get ten-times more stressed over it than you already were."

 

                Hm. 

 

                Fair point.

 

                "Or maybe not," she continued, shrugging her shoulders in a thoughtful manner. "Maybe he's right about it, Lil. When you think about it rationally, the whole thing isn't really that big of a deal."

 

                Not a big deal? 

 

                Not a big _deal_?

 

                WHY DOES EVERYONE CONTINUALLY INSIST THAT THIS IS NOT A BIG DEAL?

 

                "What do you mean it's not that big of a deal?" I cried hysterically. "Emma, you do realise that Amos Diggory–the love of my _life_ –is now wandering around the halls of Hogwarts, shamed beyond all recall because I had to go and lie to save face, correct? The whole school will know I'm just this big, stupid, lying Head Girl! And you do realise that once Elisabeth Saunders finds out that I _lied_ about James and me, I'm never _ever_ going to live it down? How is that _not_ a big deal?!"

 

                Emma didn't look even remotely fazed by my frantic rant. Instead, she smiled at me in a way one's mother might smile down at her small child. "Well, it's all quite simple really," was her calm response.

 

                "Oh, yeah?" I huffed, folding my arms across my chest. "How's that?"

 

                Emma shook her head at me. "Simple," she said again. "All you have to do is tell everyone that while, yes, you and James were seriously _considering_ getting involved–which you can say, of course, because you never actually told anyone that you were dating, just implied that the general consensus was there–you both decided that now was just not the right time, considering you have Amos and would like to see where that relationship will take you before getting involved with James."

 

                Not the right time...

 

                Hm.

 

                Hm. Hm.

 

                So simple... _too_ simple...

 

                "James will never agree to that," I protested. "I mean, how would that make him look? Everyone will think I tossed him over for Amos. They'll laugh at him behind his back. I can't do that to him."

 

                Which was so true when you thought about it. I mean, James was the innocent one in all of this. _I'm_ the one who dragged him in. If anyone's going to get bit by the burn of the fire, it's got to be me. Regardless of his occasional prattiness and his affinity to profess the word 'infallible' to the entire school, James doesn't deserve that kind of abuse. He's been such a good sport about the whole thing. It'd be entirely evil of me to toss him aside like that. I just can't do it. He'll hate me. I can't.

 

                Emma waved off my argument with a click of her tongue and a flick of her hand. "Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, throwing me a look. "James doesn't care what people think about him. Besides, you've been rejecting the poor boy's pleas for a date since fifth-year. No one thought anything of it then, they won't think anything of it now. And even if that wasn't the case, he'd still do it. James adores the bum off you, Lily. He'd go to the moon and back for you and you know it."

 

                Er...um...what?

 

                "Er, Emma..." I was blushing. Why was I blushing? I totally shouldn't have been blushing. "James and I aren't like that. We're strictly platonic. Obviously. Otherwise this whole thing wouldn't be a problem, would it?"

 

                We aren't. He doesn't. He failed the test. He totally and completely failed the test. He wasn't cross at all. I mean, maybe he adores the bum off me in the way that I adore the bum off Grace or Emma, but not in a...er... _romantic_ sort of adores the bum off me. Really. No joke. He doesn't.

 

                And I never _rejected_ him...exactly. I thought he was kidding! It can't count as rejection if I thought he was kidding! Not that I would have said yes if I knew he'd been serious, but that's not the point.

 

                He doesn't.

 

                Instead of instantly realising her mistake and being all apologetic and contrite, Emma rolled her eyes at me and went, "Lily, I love you to bits and pieces, but sometimes you are entirely too oblivious for your own good." I opened my mouth to start arguing again, to perhaps fill her in on the results to my 'does he fancy me?' test that was conducted not so long ago, when Emma stopped me by going, "I meant in the platonic sense, of course. But do you see now? It's not that big of a deal at all. If you're honestly worried about James not liking the plan, ask him about it. I'm telling you, he'll think it's brilliant. I promise."

 

                Even though I wasn't entirely sure about that, and even though I was a bit insulted by the whole 'entirely too oblivious for your own good' comment (because the truth often tends to be what hurts the most), I muttered a "fine, I'll ask him," to Emma, earning a grin from her. I wasn't entirely sure Emma's too-simple-to-work plan was actually going to pull off as nicely as she predicted, but it was the only plausible option I could see. Besides hiding myself in a closet for all eternity, I mean. That's always an option.

 

                One problem solved, I decided to bring up another, recently forgotten dilemma, that suddenly came to mind while Emma was sitting there grinning at me. "Hey, Em?" I said, cocking my head to the side slightly.

 

                "Hm?"

 

                "Are you and Mac talking yet?"

 

                The broad grin that had been adorning Emma's face just seconds before suddenly dropped into a frown at the mention of Mr. Fulton. Clearing her throat awkwardly, Emma's gaze shifted to the floor as she gently shook her head.

 

                "Well, why not?" I asked. "I mean, if you think you love the bloke and all, shouldn't you try–"

 

                "It's not that simple," Emma cut in, trying to causally shrug off the problem. I wasn't letting her off that easy.

 

                "What could be simpler?" I asked. "You love him, he loves you–"

 

                Emma's head snapped up. "He doesn't love me."

 

                Oh, jeez.

 

                " _Please_ , Em," I scoffed. "I talked to the bloke. Trust me, he loves you a fair bit–"

 

                "When did you talk to Mac?" Emma looked extremely alarmed at this. I don't blame her, of course. Mac and I speaking isn't exactly a normal occurrence. You know, seeing as up until yesterday, the man was on my hit list and all. And I'm probably still on his. 

 

                "Yesterday," I told her. "He sought me out, Em. _Me._ A girl that he–let's be blunt here–would probably rather push off the Astronomy Tower than converse with. He came into the library, forced an audience with me and pled your case like a true champion. And while, yes, at that time I don't think I was exactly cross with you any more anyway, he was still the one that made me decide to do something about it. And if that's not love, what is?"

 

                Emma seemed to consider this bit of information for a few seconds, getting a sort of far-off look on her face. She looked over towards the door in thought before shaking her head and turning back to me with a slight frown. "It's more complicated than that," was all she said. I went to argue with her some more, but Emma held up her hand, an oddly serious look in her eyes that made my words stop in their tracks. "Can we just forget about it for now?" she all but begged me. "I...I don't really want to talk about it, Lily. It's...well, it's over. And that's the end of it."

 

                Her words perplexed me like no other. Over? End? But I thought she was in love with him? And the boy was so obviously smitten with her. What kind of complications could possibly outweigh emotions like that? What possible riff could have come up between the two to cause such problems? My nose itched at the mystery. There's got to be more to it than just the problem between me and Mac, because that's over with now. I mean, I was totally nice to him yesterday...towards the end. At the beginning maybe I was a bit bitter, but I won't be anymore. I swear. And I can be nice. Seriously. In a matter of a few days, I can totally get myself off his hit list. Really. I think.

 

                What could have gone wrong?

 

                Maybe if I could just...talk to Mac about it? After he decides he doesn't have to off me, I mean? Emma's obviously a dead end, but maybe I could get something out of Mr. Fulton about it. I mean, I just can't sit here and do nothing about all this. I have to do _something_. It's not right for them to be fighting like this if they love each other. And I know Emma said to drop it but...how can I? This is their future together, we're talking about. And Merlin only knows that I didn't reconcile with Emma just to have her moping about all the time because she's heartbroken. I'd rather estrangement than sulking.

 

                Oh, maybe I shouldn't get involved. Emma did say not to. It's obviously a sore subject with her. But the alternate option is not do anything at all, and I don't know if I can see my mate all miserable when I can do something about it. It's just not in me to be like that. It's not.

 

                Hmm.

 

                Hm. Hm. Hm.

 

                Something to consider.

 

                It was soon after the Mac conversation was over that the bell signaling the end to Charms class sounded. I could hardly believe that I'd made it through two classes without being caught. I mean, really, something's got to give here. Because not only did I not get caught, but I also managed to knock 'apologise to Emma for being a prat' off my To Do list as well. And while the whole kill two birds with one stone' gig may work for other people, my karma would never allow such a fortunate occurrence. Because let's face it, I'm not really a very fortunate person. At all.

 

                At the sound of the bell from beyond the door, I looked towards Emma and sighed. "We should probably get back," I said, not really because I wanted to, seeing as we had Defense and all we ever seem to do in that class is take notes on things we learned in third year, but because I knew my good luck was hanging on by a single, fraying string and wouldn't last a few more minutes, much less another class. Emma looked about as eager to get back as I did.

 

                "You're right," she agreed anyway, slowly rising to her feet. I followed along, groaning slightly at the aches in my legs from sitting so long on the uncomfortable floor. I think it's safe to say that I will never look at the Prefect's bathtub in quite the same way again. "Do you think Flitwick will have noticed we weren't in class?"

 

                "Maybe." I climbed over the rim of the bathtub–most ungracefully, of course–after Emma, who was standing on the other side of the tub, watching me with a slight smile on her face. "Hey, Em?"

 

                "Yeah?"

 

                "Sorry."

 

                I don't really know why I felt the need to say it, even though we were obviously reconciled and I really didn't have too much to apologise for in the first place–except maybe for being a bit of a prat. Still, it made me feel better just to say it, even if I didn't need to. And despite the fact that Emma looked like she was about to argue that I had nothing to apologise for either, she didn't say anything, just nodded when I threw her my don't-fight-with-me-I'll-win look. 

 

                Then, side-by-side, we left the lavatory.

 

_________________

**Even Later, Defense**

**Observant Lily: Day 18**

**Total Observations: 123**

****

****

**Oy! About time the two of you showed up. -GR**

****

Did Flitwick care that we weren't in class? -LE

 

                _Did we miss much? -EV_

__

**If he noticed, he didn't say anything. Was too busy giving all us non-skiviers an astounding lesson on the history of Concealing Charms. Riveting stuff, really. Had us all on the edge of our seats, he did.**

****

Don't be mean to Professor Flitwick, Gracie. He can't help it if charms overly-excite him.

 

                _You only say that because they overly-excite_ you _._

__

Leave me and my Charms infatuation alone.

 

                **So I'm assuming this means the gang's all back together again, then?**

                _Together again._

__

Unless of course Emma and I decide to get rid of you. We've discussed it. The topic is still up for debate.

 

                **Underappreciated...**

****

_Don't be bitter, Gracie._

__

**You know, if it wasn't for me, you two still wouldn't even be speaking! _I_ was the one who forced Lily into the lavatory, after all.**

****

Well, that's rather conceited of you, taking all the credit like that. Add that to the 'Reasons to Chuck Her' list, Em.

 

                _Yes, ma'am._

__

**I liked you both better when you weren't speaking.**

****

_I think we should add that one to the list as well–ill-will towards mates._

__

Agreed. And the fact that she forces her poor, unsuspecting mates to sit their rather tender bums in very hard and uncomfortable bathtubs even when there are perfectly decent couches located not ten paces away.

 

                _What nerve!_

__

Practically a felony.

__

**Oh, yes. The gang's back together again...**

****

Huzzah!

****

_________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 18**

**Total Observations: 124**

****

Despite what Grace presumed, Flitwick must have not only noticed Emma and I were missing, but must have also accidentally (for I can hardly imagine that delightful little man turning us–turning _me–_ in on purpose. I'm his best student! We Charms anoraks have to stick together!) let it slip to McGonagall that we weren't in class. Such was apparent when we were summoned to her office after Defense. As punishment for skipping, we got a long lecture on the spiraling downfall of highly ambitious and intelligent students when they begin to act out. Apparently once you skip class, you are automatically assumed to be the paragon of a troubled youth.

 

                Yeah. 

 

                Troubled Youth. 

 

                _Me_.

 

                Trouble youth, my arse. We were hiding out in a _bathtub_ , for Merlin's sake. Not exactly the orgy of drugs, shagging and booze McGonagall apparently thinks we're getting into. She obviously isn't aware of my–however disliked, and currently trying to be remedied–immense pruditity. Prudes, they just don't do drugs. Or shag. Or booze. Or anything mildly relating to the going-ons of a troubled youth. Things like that, they offend our innocent prudish sensibilities. It's not even an option. Such things should be considered before the dishing out of the 'troubled youth' lecture begins, don't you think?

 

                Hmph.

 

                And as if the immense and indescribable torture listening to that lecture put me through wasn't enough, McGonagall _also_ gave us Saturday afternoon detention.

 

                My first detention.

 

                _Ever_.

 

                "Well, you're not in hysterics," Emma had said with relief as we stepped out of the office after hearing of our detention. "That's a good sign. A very good sign. Unless you're in shock–oh Merlin, are you in shock, Lily? Really. Don't be. It'll be all right, I promise–"

 

                "I'm not in shock, you nitwit," I answered, grinning over Emma's fretful look. "I'm perfectly fine."

 

                Emma didn't believe me when I told her this. If I were her, I probably wouldn't have believed me either. I probably should be more upset about it than I currently am. I mean, before this, my record was completely clean. I had _really_ been the Infallible Lily Evans in that sense. Moreover, I'm Head Girl. How is it going to look to my fellow students, me getting detention? There'll be a Prefect rebellion! I'll be overthrown! They'll send me off and then chop off my head just like the French did to Marie Antoinette!

 

                Well, maybe not something that drastic, considering I'm not starving anyone or anything, I just got detention, but that's not the point. The point _is_ that my reputation is now shot. All those years of straight-laced perfection down the tubes. Gone. Forever.

 

                I should be devastated. Panicked. Hyperventilating. Considering suicide in the quickest of forms. At the very least, drowning out my sorrows in a nice, big bowl of rice. But I'm not doing any of that. At least not yet. I seem to find it rather difficult to muster up the proper amount of misery required when I'm so happy about finally having my best mate back.

 

                Though I suspect that once my sudden euphoria has diminished, I'll go into a right state of hyperventilation and hysterics. Probably everything I mentioned above and more. In fact, I'm almost sure of it.

 

                But until then, I can be content.

 

                Observation #124) I'm glad to have Emmeline back.

 

_________________

**Even Later, Library**

**Observant Lily: Day 18**

**Total Observations: 125**

****

If someone had told me yesterday that I'd be ducking into classrooms and hiding behind statues in order to avoid being seen by Amos Diggory, I probably would've laughed at them. Really, seriously laughed. Hard and without pretense, not even caring if their feelings got hurt because really, where would they _hear_ such rubbish?

 

                I'm not laughing now.

 

                It's not that I don't still love him more than life itself–I do, I really do. It's just...well, I'm pretty certain the bloke completely hates me now. I mean, what kind of girl must he think me? I accepted a date from him and then turned around and decided to hypothetically attach myself to someone else! I betrayed his trust, his affections! I've all but tossed his feelings aside like an old piece of useless rubbish! What kind of girl _does_ that to the man she loves? What kind of potential wife does that make me? 

 

                Not a very _good_ one, that's for sure.

 

                Emma insists that Amos isn't going to hate me for assigning myself another boyfriend. She says that if he truly cares, he'll understand my momentary lapse of insanity (or you know, not so momentary. I'm never really entirely sane). 

 

                Grace says I should really start making alternate plans for Hogsmeade.

 

                As much as I dread to admit it, I'm rather inclined to believe the latter.

 

                But if nothing else, I pride myself on being a rather intelligent sort of girl, so using my _astounding_ logic, I've discovered that in order to break it off with me, Amos is going to have to _find_ me first. If he can't find me, he can't break it off. I don't have Ancient Runes until Monday, so I won't be absolutely forced to see him until then. I figure that by that time, this whole James thing will be cleared up and there won't be a _reason_ to break it off with me. But until I can somehow figure out how to save my dignity and also inform the masses that James Potter and I are indeed, not dating, I will have to control my impulses and keep myself as far from Amos Diggory as is humanly possible. It'll be difficult, I'm sure, but I think I can do it. After all I'm–

 

                Oh, bloody hell.

 

                Bloody flistering hell.

 

                What is he _doing_ in here? How does he keep bloody _finding_ me? Does he have some sort of Lily-Radar or something? I can't take this! I can only avoid him for so long! I'm only one girl!

 

                AND WHY DOES HE HAVE TO LOOK SO BLEEDING WONDERFUL IN THAT UNIFORM?!

 

                It's _so_ much easier to avoid someone when they're not looking for you.

 

                Quick! Run! GET AWAY FROM THAT MAN!

                

_________________

**Even Later, Outside**

**Observant Lily: Day 18**

**Total Observations: 125**

 

                I can't be entirely certain whether or not Amos spotted me as I dashed out of the library in my haste to escape him, but I can't really imagine he missed it. I mean, even ignoring the fact that my hair sticks out in any and all situations and the trail of paper and dust I left in my wake as I ran, I think Madame Pince's loud and angry hollering and the innocent second year I plowed to the floor on my way out, pretty much insured me that Amos wasn't oblivious to my presence. But he didn't follow me outside on any account, and that's what really matters.

 

                It was actually quite a nice day to be forced to hide on the grounds, all things considered. It was a bit chilly, I suppose, but it was still sunny, so I was comfortable enough. I stashed myself under the beech tree down by the lake, hoping no one would be hanging about over there and spot me and then potentially rat me out to a certain seventh-year prefect who was currently trying to dump me before we even began our relationship. It was mostly third and sixth years milling about, so I didn't think I had to worry much about that. The third-years were far too consumed with their astoundingly, apparently hilarious third-year-antics to pay me any notice, and the sixth years were all too busy trying to chat each other up. 

 

                It seemed as if I was thankfully, safely hidden for the moment.

 

                "That was quite the graceful exit there, Infallible. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in a bit of a hurry."

 

                My head shot up at the amused voice that called from behind me. I turned around, glaring. I know I probably should have been surprised to see him there, but I wasn't. I think I've finally come to accept that where James Potter is concerned, one is _never_ safely hidden.

 

                "Oh, shut up," I muttered, shooting James a glare as he plopped himself down on the grass next to me. "And don't call me that," I added in a huff. James grinned. He was carrying his school things along with him, and he threw them down over by where my pile of books and parchment lay a few feet away. He regarded me with obvious hilarity. I wanted to smack the stupid grin off his face, but thought it best to keep my violent tendencies to myself for the moment. "I was just...just..." I sighed heavily, not even bothering with a lie. "Running away from Amos," I finished truthfully. Pathetically.

 

                "Running away?" James's eyebrows shot up at my confession. I didn't blame him for being surprised, of course. I mean, _Lily Evans_ running away from Amos Diggory? What could the world be coming to? Miserably, I gave James a nod of consent. Instead of looking even more baffled at this however, James looked positively delighted. "So you've finally given up on that wanker? Well, cheers to that!"

 

                This time, I did hit him. Or nudged him rather hard in the arm on any account. Extremely violent people such as myself can only take so much abuse before we crack. Then we beat up the nearest thing in sight. James should have recognised this fact already.

 

                "Amos is not a wanker, James Potter," I snapped, "and I most certainly have not given up on him! I'm...well, I'm just giving him some much needed space, that's all."

 

                James had the audacity to looked confused. "Much needed space?" he asked. "For what?" 

 

                Psh. 

 

                Well, _that's_ a rather stupid question.

 

                "So that he doesn't break off our date."

 

                "Break off–oh, bloody hell, are you on this _again_?"

 

                I had to force myself not to hit him. Or hit myself. I'm not entirely certain which one of us was the more appropriate target. "In case you've forgotten," I started pointedly, "technically we're dating. Seems like grounds for a break-off to me."

 

                If I was expecting some sort of realisation to come into play just then, I was sorely disappointed. James simply smirked and went, "Dating, are we?"

 

                "Technically."

 

                "Does that mean I get to snog you, then?" James wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Or is that not in the rules of technically dating? And if not, how can I _get_ that in the rules of technically dating?"

 

                I threw him a look that clearly showed I wasn't finding his jokes the least bit funny. "Can you take this just a little bit seriously, please? My life and future depend on the outcome of my fixing this idiocracy and I'd appreciate it if you held even a smidgen of sympathy for me right now."

 

                Instead of instantly growing solemn at my verbal attack, James being James simply laughed at my desperate plea. "Christ, Lily," he laughed, shaking his head. "You told a bit of a _lie_ , madwoman, that's all! I told you last night–if you like the prat, that's your prerogative, but if he's going to toss you over for something stupid like this, you might want to reconsider your affections, don't you think?" He stared at me pointedly, nodding his head slightly and trying to get me to consent along with him. When all I continued to do was frown miserably, he shook his head again and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but still laced with laughter. "I assure you, the world is not yet coming to an end. Your predicament has to be a _bit_ bigger than some sod believing a few rumors before we can run and claim apocalypse, don't you think?"

 

                "I...oh, I suppose you're right," I muttered, not really able to argue when he put it like that. Now why can't I have logic like his? "But if it's all the same, I think I'll still give him his space. Just in case," I added quickly.

 

                James rolled his eyes. "He's not going to break it off, Lily. He might question your sanity a bit, but who hasn't done that at one point or another, eh?"

 

                Has there really ever been a truer statement than that? 

 

                I just don't think so. 

 

                "It's not my fault I'm a pathological liar," I insisted glumly. "Really. I don't think I'd be half as mad as I am now if my mouth didn't have a mind of its own."

 

                James laughed at my confession (Did he think I was kidding? I wasn't.), and lay back down on the grass. "We all have our faults," he chuckled. "And speaking of faults...what's this I hear about the Head Girl serving detention? I thought _I_ was playing the troublemaking, dysfunctional role in this pair?"

 

                Detention? 

 

                Bloody hell, how did he hear about that?! 

 

                "How do you know about that?"

 

                James smirked. "You forget who you're talking to," he answered smugly. "I know _everything_."

 

                "Git."

 

                "Brat," he shot back. "I can get detention as well if you want." He said it as casually as if he'd just offered to help me with some assignment. "So you won't get lonely while you're cleaning out trophies and all, I mean. I'm a bit behind on my troublemaking as of late." He grinned. "You're having a _terrible_ effect on me.”�

 

                "You'd _willingly_ get detention?" I asked in disbelief. James simply shrugged his shoulders in response. "How can you not care about something like that? Detentions aren't supposed to be fun, you know. You're supposed to be being punished."

 

                "Yeah, yeah, I know," he responded lazily, obviously not even bothering to listen to my lectures. But really, what did I expect? The boy's a Marauder. He does this sort of thing for a living. "So do you want me to?" he asked again. "I think I have some Flux Fireworks up in my trunk." He chuckled quietly to himself. "Setting them off in the dungeons would drive Filch up the wall." He began laughing again. I nudged him hard in the side.

 

                "You're Head Boy," I reminded him. "You're not supposed to get enjoyment out of driving the poor caretaker up the wall." 

                

                James shot me a cheeky grin. "You would too if you saw his face. Priceless stuff, that." He began laughing to himself once again. I rolled my eyes and ignored him.

 

                "So what do you say?"

 

                "I say keep yourself _out_ of trouble," I responded pointedly. "At least one of us has to. _No_ fireworks in the dungeon. And besides, I have Emma to keep me company."

 

                "Oh, yeah, that's right," James said. "I forgot about your partner in crime. So I'm assuming World War III has finally come to an end, then? Everything cleared up?"

 

                "Er, yeah," I answered slowly, debating whether or not to go into the details of what had happened and more so, the current Mac-Emma problem I seem to be determined to get myself involved with. James is a logical person. Perhaps he'll tell me if it's proper to butt my head in where it doesn't belong. "But the thing is..."

 

                "Hm?"

 

                "It's like this...Emma and Mac aren't speaking anymore."

                

                "Well, that's good."

 

                " _Good_?" The word caught me by surprise. My head snapped behind me, my eyes focusing on James. He was still lounging about on the grass, his arms crossed leisurely behind his head, his eyes closed. "Wait, why is that good?"

 

                James popped open an eye. "What do you mean, 'why is that good'? I thought you hated him? I thought he was a prat?"

 

                Er, yeah, so did I.

 

                I sighed and responded flatly, "I'm beginning to think that I've become a pretty rotten judge of character."

 

                This, apparently, had not been the sort of answer James was looking for.

 

                "Wait a second." The other eye popped open. It was not a friendly eye. Quite the opposite actually. Quite the _un_ friendly eye, to be perfectly honest. "So you _like_ him now?"

 

                "Um..."

 

                James groaned and lifted himself up from the grass. "Please tell me you're kidding."

 

                "Well, it's not like I'm about to invite him over for tea and biscuits or anything," I answered quickly. "It's just that he–"

 

                "Had you fighting with your mate for three weeks?" James interrupted, scowling. "Had you crying alone up in the North Tower for an hour and a half?"

 

                I winced. 

 

                Jeez. So much for logical James.

 

                "The fight wasn't really Mac's fault," I corrected softly, trying to ease the rather intense glare James was sticking on me. "It was just Emma and me being prats. And the crying wasn't really his fault either. I seem to be extremely over emotional as of late. I'm probably pregnant."

 

                James didn't even crack a grin at my obviously lame attempt at a joke. I probably should have been a bit offended that he didn't even for a second take that last comment seriously, but I wasn't. I mean, honestly, you have to _shag_ someone to get pregnant. Prudes like me just don't head up that course. It's like, illegal. 

 

                "You're not pregnant," was all he cared to mutter.

 

                "I wouldn't be too sure about that," I answered with mock-seriousness, trying desperately to get some sort of positive response out of him. "Or haven't you heard? I have a whole harem full of blokes at my beck and call."

 

                Though I could tell he was trying to hide it, I saw the small smile creep on his face anyway. Ah, victory. "Heard about that one, then, did you?" he asked stiffly.

 

                I nodded my head. "But don't tell my boyfriend," I teased with a silly grin. "He's the tremendously jealous sort."

 

                This time I succeeded in getting a real, full laugh out of him. As if he could resist my astonishing humor for long. "Is the baby his?" he asked, grinning along.

 

                I sighed dramatically. "I certainly hope so."

 

                James laughed again, shaking his head at me and maybe a bit at himself as well. "You're mad, Evans," he said. "Totally and completely mad."

 

                This I know, James, m'dear. 

 

                With or without your hypothetical baby.

 

                "But I'm serious about Mac," I continued hesitantly, hoping James wouldn't instantly turn that laugh of his into a growl at the mention of the previous topic. When no animalistic noises erupted from his general direction, I took that as a good sign and continued on. "I mean, I probably wouldn't even be speaking to Emma again right now if Mac hadn't come and talked to me about it–"

 

                "When did he do that?"

 

                "A couple of days ago. Actually," I said, pausing slightly as I remembered what Mac had said, "he said he was coming to talk to me because of something _you_ said." My eyes narrowed slightly. "What did you say to him?"

 

                "I didn't say anything," James insisted innocently, though it was pretty obvious he was lying through his teeth. Suave and sane he may be, but a good liar he is not. Or maybe he is, but he wasn't just then. Didn't know why he was even bothering to try, seeing as Mac had confirmed the incident anyway.

 

                "Quit lying," I said. "You didn't yell at him, did you?"

 

                "I don't recall talking to him."

 

                Boy translation: Absolutely.

 

                "You didn't have to yell at him," I said pointedly.

 

                "Someone had to."

 

                Prior to our conversation, I probably would have agreed with that statement. But then Mac had to come along and make me feel bad for him and all. 

 

                I'm really just too bloody compassionate for my own good.

 

                "It's not Mac's fault that I broke his heart when we were fifteen," I argued reasonably. James snorted. "Seriously, James. I mean, some of us tend to hold grudges longer than others. We can't blame him for his genetic make-up, you know. It's not as if he can change it. And as someone who tends to do the same thing on the occasion–"

 

                "On the _occasion_? Are you bloody kidding me?"

 

                "–I can sympathize with him. Hey, I thought we were done with the Rip-Lily-To-Shreds-Game?"

 

                James grinned cheekily. "Ding-ding. Round two."

 

                Oh, brother. What a twit.

 

                "Can we just for one moment forget about the fact that you take sadistic joy out of pointing out my every habit and flaw and concentrate on the task at hand here? This is _serious_ , James. Two people who care a great deal about each other are on the brink of never speaking again and it's all because of _me_. I have to _do_ something!"

 

                The pathetic desperation in my voice must have finally (because he apparently didn't get it the first half-a-billion times) kicked James's bum in gear and made him realise that I was actually really distressed over the situation, because he stopped with his smiling and teasing. He even took a moment out of his ever-consuming Lily-bashing routine to look at me seriously and shake his head.

 

                "This is not your battle, Lily. Stay out of it."

 

                Not my battle? What is he talking about 'not my battle'? Was he not listening? Hello? I've got the chain mail and the sword over here! This is _so_ my battle.

 

                "What are you talking about?" I asked, confused. "James, if I don't do something–"

 

                "If Emma and Mac want to work it out," James interrupted patiently, "they'll work it out. Don't meddle, Lily. It'll only get you in trouble."

 

                Meddle? MEDDLE? Lily Evans does not _meddle_! I am simply trying to help my newly-reunited best mate get back with the boyfriend that she thinks she's in love with. How is that meddling? It's so not. It's totally different. It's for the good of _mankind_!

 

                I think.

 

                "I am not _meddling_ ," I bit out forcefully. "I am _trying_ to help my best mate here. I mean, what would you do if Emma was Sirius or Peter or Remus, hm? Would you just sit on the sidelines and watch as they moped around in misery when you could do something about it?"

 

                " _Yes_ ," James responded emphatically, throwing me a dirty look. "Not that any of them would be stupid enough to get themselves involved in a relationship as obviously fucked up as Emma's and Mac's, but if that were the case, then yes, I _would_ stay out of it because it's _none of my business_!"

 

                "Merlin, you're such a _boy_!"

 

                Completely unfeeling. Totally and utterly detached from everything. 

 

                Psh!

 

                Blokes!

 

                "If by that you mean I have some modicum of respect for my mates' privacy," James started, "then yes, I am quite a boy and I thank you for noticing."

 

                "Come _on_ , James."

 

                "I'm not going to agree with you on this one, Lily," he told me. "I know you don't like being wrong, but this time you've got to face the facts. Leave. It. Alone. If Emma is as miserable as you claim, she'll do something about it. That's not your responsibility, all right?"

 

                No, _not_ all right. He's wrong. He's so wrong.

 

                ...isn't he?

 

                "I...oh, I don't know!" I cried, throwing up my hands in defeat. "But what if she's miserable? What if I'm the only one who can help them, James? What then?"

 

                "Let them work it out by themselves," he said again. I was about to begin arguing again, but from the look on James's face, I knew the point was moot. I wasn't getting him on my side of this. I sighed heavily.

 

                " _Fine_ ," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "You win, you stupid prat."

 

                "Good."

 

                "I hate you."

 

                "I know."

 

                Did he always have to have the last word in _everything_? That's so bloody annoying. Especially since I like having the last word in everything. Majorly inconvenient, that.

 

                We sat in silence for the next few moments, James once again moving to his lounging position against the grass, me mulling over my thoughts of Emma and Mac. I knew I'd just told James I'd stay out of it, but I still wasn't completely sure that I could. I mean, they _needed_ me. I knew they did. I just can't stay out of it. Maybe I should, but I can't. This is the happiness of two people, one of them my very best mate. Could I just sit back and leave it all up to fate? Emma thought she _loved_ the bloke, for Merlin's sake! That's not the sort of thing you just let get away, is it?

 

                I had to do something.

 

                I _had_ to.

 

                "We have to schedule another Prefect's meeting soon," I said a few moments later, changing the previous topic. Once again, James cracked open a single eye.

 

                "Bugger," he swore. "I'd forgotten. How long do we have before the rounds schedule runs out?"

 

                "A couple of days."

 

                "So how about Sunday?"

 

                "Sunday? As in this Sunday?" I shot him a look. "Keep dreaming, James. That's too soon. The Prefects will get all touchy if we don't give them some notice before hand."

 

                "We are giving them notice," James argued. "They have two days notice."

 

                "You can't just–"

 

                But before I could finish my sentence, James had once again propped himself up from his laying position and was hollering at the sixth-years who were milling about not too far away.

 

                " _Oy_! Lynch!" he hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. Chris Lynch–as well as anyone else within a ten mile radius of the beech tree considering James was just _that loud_ –turned at James's call. "Prefects' meeting Sunday night?" he called, holding his thumb up and then pointing it down as if to indicate that Chris should pick one. I slapped myself in the forehead as Chris grinned and began yelling back.

 

                _Men_. 

 

                Thank Merlin there are women. 

 

                I don't think they would have survived on their own.

 

                "What time?" Chris called back, cupping his hands around his mouth as well. "Got myself a hot date at eight!"

 

                "Seven, then!" James yelled back.

 

                Chris gave the thumbs-up.

 

                James turned to me with a smirk. "Sunday at seven," he stated smugly. I rolled my eyes. "You just got to know how to _handle_ them, Infallible. It's all about the _handling_."

 

                "Handle, my arse," I snorted, throwing James a look. "And by the way," I added with a devilish grin. "You'll be the one to tell June Mackey."

 

                James's groan was loud and painful.

 

                I didn't blame him.

 

                "Come now," I said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's not so bad. Let's take your mind off it by doing some assignments, eh? I started Transfiguration and I can say with full confidence that every word I wrote was total and complete bollocks."

 

                James rolled his eyes, but consented, pulling his things over towards us as we entered ourselves in the lovely world of Transfiguration.

 

                Or at least, _he's_ entered into it. I'm writing this instead. 

 

                Not something we need to tell him, though.

 

                However, now I have to try to pry the answers out of him.

 

                Ah, the life I lead.

                

_________________

**Later Later, Hospital Wing**

**Observant Lily: Day 18**

**Total Observation: 126**

****

James and I actually got some work done in the hour or so that we sat under the beech tree, which was rather surprising considering James seemed to be in more of a talking mood than a working mood. I swear to Merlin, that boy has a story about _everything_. Seriously. He can make a story out of _anything_. I mean, it takes a special kind of person to be able to start on the topic of Concealing Charms and somehow end up relaying the tale of an Easter holiday spent in France seven years ago when he got lost in Muggle Paris and two hours later ended up at the top of the Eiffel Tower talking to a Muggle woman with a dog about the advantages of the French Metro (a subject which, by the way, magical and eleven-year-old James knew absolutely nothing about). His parents finally found him an hour or so later, and just in the nick of time as well because apparently Dog Lady (he never did actually get her name) was just about to take James home with her where he was certain she'd lock him in a closet and never let him out.

 

                Yes, a special sort of person, indeed.

 

                "Now every time I go to Paris, I always look for that Dog Lady," James confided in me after finishing that particular tale, his half-finished Charms essay lying abandoned on his lap. "She was nice. More than a bit off her rocker, but nice."

 

                "Do you go there often?" I asked, recalling he mentioned visiting France over the summer holiday as well.

 

                "Paris?" he asked. "All the time, unfortunately. My mum's French–well, she was born in England, but she grew up in France. Moved back here when she was eleven, just in time to go to Hogwarts. Her mum didn’t want her at Beauxbatons. Mum still has mates there, though, so she likes to visit often. I get dragged along, of course."

 

                I snorted. Dragged along? Was he kidding? His mum could drag me off to Paris with her any day! My parents grew up in Surrey. The farthest I get to go to visit their childhood mates is a fifteen minute trip to see the Kilamines two towns over. Paris, Surrey...oh, yes, they quite compare.

 

                "I'd _love_ to be dragged to Paris," I said with a wistful sigh.

 

                "You've never been?"

 

                I shook my head. "I'm a hermit," I told him dryly. "I come from a family of hermits. The farthest we go is perhaps to the seaside for a weekend or two. Then we go back home and continue to be hermits. It's a cruel and vicious cycle, really."

 

                James laughed. The sad part was, he probably thought I was kidding. I wasn't. With my mother's terrible fear of all things aerodynamic and Petunia's tendency to cast up her crumpets whenever we're in the car for longer than she deems necessary, us Evans folk don't get around much. I like to blame all of my social instabilities on this fact. Maybe if I were worldlier, I wouldn't be such a dolt.

 

                "You'd like Paris," James told me thoughtfully.

 

                Um, obviously. It's _Paris_. What's not to like?

 

                "Do you speak French, then?" I asked. "I mean, since you're there all the time?"

 

                James smiled crookedly and then began speaking rapidly in what I could only presume to be rather fluent French. I had no idea what he said of course, but it sounded rather pretty regardless.

 

                 "What did you say?" I asked him after he'd finished.

 

                "Can't tell," he insisted. "It was exceptionally dirty and extremely inappropriate and not at all suitable for your innocent ears to hear."

 

                Oh, innocent ears, my arse.

 

                "Did your _mother_ teach you those dirty and inappropriate words, then?" I shot back cheekily.

 

                James let out a loud laugh. "Of course not," he answered. Then he grinned wickedly. "My _father_ did."

 

                I threw him a look as he continued laughing along by himself. He was probably telling the truth about that one, though. Blokes and their fathers...perverted, all of them. I'll never understand it. "So you can understand Madame Pince when she mumbles off in French, then?" I asked.

 

                James brightened even more and nodded. "Learned all my best swear words that way." He snickered. "That woman has a mouth on her like a sailor."

 

                I didn't think he was lying about _that_ either.

 

                "Enough of this," I said, interrupting before James could start in with another one of his never-ending stories, which he looked like he was just about to do. "Finish that essay of yours, will you? I could have written ten in the time it's taking you to write one."

 

                "Then write it for me."

 

                "Um, no."

 

                "Coward."

 

                I threw him a look. "Because I won't do your work?"

 

                "Because you're afraid to get in trouble," he retorted, cocking an eyebrow. "You'd think after all your escapades–gambling illegally, defying your professors, skipping class, getting detention–you might have gotten over it, but no, not Lily Evans."

 

                "I'm a _good_ kid," I shot back. "Not many of us can say _that_ , now can we?"

 

                James scoffed at this. "Good is vastly overrated."

 

                "Says the devil's incarnate," I muttered, earning a laugh from James. "Yes, yes, it's all very funny. Now will you please hurry up with that? It's getting bloody cold out here." I rubbed my arms dramatically for effect. James rolled his eyes.

 

                "I'll finish it later," he insisted, folding up his parchment and closing it in his textbook. "It is getting cold. Let's head inside before it gets worse. Or starts to rain."

 

                "Rain?"

 

                James pointed up. My eyes slowly followed his finger. Indeed, there were several dark clouds suddenly adorning the sky.

 

                "Oh, bugger," I swore, wincing at the sight of them. "We'll never make it back alive."

 

                James snorted. "What are you talking about? The school's right there. It won't start raining for a while yet. We'll be fine."

 

                I sighed and shook my head. How little this poor boy knew.

 

                "I have one word for you, James Potter...karma."

 

                "Karma?" James questioned.

 

                "Yes, karma," I answered. "Namely, mine. My terrible, horrible, really bad karma that thrives on moments like this. So believe me, it will rain. It will rain and it will rain hard and with my luck, I'll probably get pneumonia and die."

 

                James looked as if he was going to laugh at my seemingly far-fetched explanation, really he did, but just as I finished my rather hasty prediction, what would _have_ to happen just at that exact moment than the soft rumbling of thunder and soon after, the beginnings of what looked to be a rather horrendous downpour.

 

                James's mouth hung open.

 

                Stupid boy. Even pathological liars like me wouldn't joke about karma like mine. Psh.

 

                "How did you...but it was just... _karma?"_ James sputtered.

 

                My, but he has a lot to learn, doesn't he?

 

                "Quick, throw your books in my rucksack," I ordered, watching as in a matter of seconds, it started raining harder. "Who knows how long we have before our tree sanctuary is breeched? We're going to have to make a run for it."

 

                James nodded quickly, shoving his books into my bad and then tossing it over his shoulder. From the ridiculously boyish grin that was plastered on his face, I could tell he was going to seriously enjoy dashing through the rain like a bunch of herds in a stampede. "On the count of three, then," he said. "One...two... _three_!"

 

                And then we were off.

 

                I let out a loud screech the second we shot out from the dry comfort of the beech tree into what appeared to be a torrential downpour. The cold pelts of rain fell with a tenacity that could only be chalked up as another doing of my horrible karma. Running along next to me, James laughed as I continued to whimper in protest.

 

                However wrong he was about my karma, James was right about one thing: the school wasn't all that far off. In a few seconds–still completely drenched, mind you–we had dashed our way towards the school until we were only a small ways off from the front steps. We were wet, but unharmed...

 

                And that's when it happened.

 

                Because as if running through the rain and getting soaked and possibly contracting a nice case of pneumonia wasn't enough, my karma thought it rather hilarious to make use of the rather large mud puddles forming on the ground. 

 

                Oh, yes. 

 

                _Mud puddles._  

 

                And how would they use said mud puddles, you ask? Well, why by having me unceremoniously fall straight on my arse as my foot slipped across one just meters before we'd reached the front doors, that's how!

 

                There was mud. _Everywhere._

__

And as if _that_ wasn't enough–because for my karma, there can never be _too_ much torture, can there?–remember that rather faulty ankle of mine? Previously broken by jumping on my bed and then injured again when Elisabeth Saunders pounced on me in a drunken rage? Remember that ankle?

 

                Well, guess what decided another injury was just fine and okay by it?

 

                Oh, yes, the Never Healing Ankle.

 

                "Bugger, bugger, shit, shit, fuck!" I swore, laying bum down in the middle of the largest mud puddle in all of history, in the pouring rain, with an ankle that I was pretty sure I had just heard crack and was now throbbing painfully. Hearing the string of profanities, James stopped running and turned back to help me, holding back the laughter you could blatantly see from his face was trying to get out.

 

                "All right?" he asked, dashing over to where I was sprawled on the ground and giving me a hand up. I hissed as the pressure went down on my ankle. James stopped laughing then.

 

                "Shit, bloody fucking shit!" I sobbed, leaning on James and lifting my injured foot. James looked franticly from me, down to my ankle.

 

                "What is it?" he asked. "What'd you do?"

 

                "My ankle," I wheezed, wincing in pain as I pushed my foot back down on the ground. "Let's go."

 

                "Go? Go where? You can't walk!"

 

                He was right, of course. I couldn't walk. But I _could_ hobble. I'd become awfully good at that. It hurt like a bugger, but all I could think about was getting out of that rain.

 

                "Of course I can walk," I insisted, lying through my teeth, painfully hobbling along. "I can walk perfect– _ah!_ Hey! Put me down, you stupid prat! Put me _down!"_

__

But James paid no attention to my loud cries after having all but scooped me up with one hand (Note to Self: Eat more. If blokes can pick you up with one hand, there's obviously not enough fat on your bones. A nice pound or two of rice should do the trick) as he continued at a rather brisk pace towards the castle.

 

                And even though I'd never admit this to him and I continued to howl and complain the entire way up the castle steps for him to put me down and let me alone, I was rather glad that James was carrying me, because even that little bit of hobbling had my ankle twinging like a bugger. 

 

                Thank Merlin for chivalry, that's for sure. His parents taught him well.

 

                When the pair of us finally made it into the castle, soaked to the bone and muddy as hell (as I had transferred the mud over to James during the transport), it was to find a very cross Mr. Filch telling off all the dirty and sopping wet students who were making their way into the Great Hall.

 

                "Detention!" he was roaring. "All of you, getting my floors dirty– _you_! Detention! Get your filthy hands off of that! Ruddy rascals ruining my–hey! What did I just _say to you_ , boy!"

 

                "See?" James said, nodding towards Filch with a roguish grin, gently placing me and my tender ankle upon the floor. His arm was still held securely around my waist, however, and he was doing this awkward drag-lift thing to keep the pressure off my ankle while hobbling. However difficult, the maneuver worked. "Bloody hilarious to drive him up the wall."

 

                I was hard set to agree with him seeing as I was in pain and was muddy and was all bitter and such, and so I just gently said, "Once is enough for today. No fireworks, all right?"

 

                James pretended to sulk. "You ruin all my fun, Infallible."

 

                "I'm in pain. Humour me."

 

                The reminder of the present reason of why I was all but laying on top of him seemed to spark some concern in James.

 

                "Hospital Wing, then?" he asked. I nodded my head, biting my lip in pain. Bugger, but it _stung._ "Can you make it there?" James questioned worriedly, noting my obvious wince. I nodded again, though I knew quite well that had James not been standing there propping me up and keeping the pressure off, I probably would've passed out in pain. I have an extremely low tolerance for such things. "Do you want me to carry you again?"

 

                I considered the reprieve for a second, wanted to say yes, but shook my head anyway. It was bad enough he'd done in before in plain sight of people, but walking through the castle with me in his arms–even injured–would be sure to set the tongues a-wagging anew. Merlin knows I can't afford that.

 

                "Just...go on like this," I answered hoarsely, ignoring the shots of pain that sprung up with every awkward step. James shook his head and halted our movement.

 

                "You're being ridiculous," he said, and bent over to try and cradle my back in his arms. I shrugged off his attempt with a few awkward shimmies. 

 

                "James, don't–"

 

                "You can't _walk,_ Lily!"

 

                "I can hobble!"

 

                "You can't _hobble_ either, you stubborn brat, now let me–"

 

                "Put me down, you oaf–no, stop that! I'm not...oh my god. Oh, _shit_! Pick me up, dammit, pick me up! _Hide_ me! Go, man, _go_!"

 

                "Lily, what are you–"

 

                "Potter, what are you doing?"

 

                James swiveled around, still doing his half-propping/half-holding thing with me, to face the intruder. I hid my groan of pure misery.

 

                Because who would be standing there, watching as my alleged boyfriend James Potter held me up in arms, but my love and future husband, Amos Diggory.

 

                Double bloody fucking shit.

 

                "Amos!" I squeaked, awkwardly twisting out of James's embrace while also trying not to put any pressure at all on my ankle–a rather hard endeavor considering I had just untangled myself from my only form of support. "What are you doing down here? Did you get caught out in the storm as well?"

 

                It was clearly a stupid question, seeing how Amos was perfectly dry and everyone who had been out in that downpour was positively dripping all over the Great Hall, but I was panicked and mumbling. Not that it really mattered anyway. Amos wasn't paying any attention to me. He was too busy glaring at James.

 

                Merlin, oh Merlin. What a bloody wonderful time for him to finally decide to become jealous.

 

                _When I'm in pain!!_

__

James for his part was glaring right back at Amos until I deftly nudged him hard in the ribs, breaking their eye contact. Still, sneers were well in place. "Fancy seeing you here, Diggory," James bit out sarcastically. "Might want to take a few steps back, though. _Lily and I_ are a bit of a mess. Wouldn't want to blotch up that perfect appearance of yours any, now would you?"

 

                Oh, brother. Just what I need right now. Male competition. Did any one care to notice that having a round of 'My Ego Is Bigger than Your Ego' may not have been the brightest idea when there was a poor, defenseless girl in a _large amount of pain_ well underfoot?

 

                Nope.

 

                No one cared at all.

 

                "I'm going to ask you one more time, _Potter._ What do you think you're _doing?"_

__

Because it looked like the two of them were going to lunge at each other at any moment, I quickly cut in, moving even more out of James's embrace, even though it hurt like mad to do so. "I hurt my ankle again," I explained quickly, shooting Amos what I hoped was my brightest smile. "James was helping me. I can't exactly walk."

 

                Or stand, really, but Amos didn't notice my slightly pained expression. James did, though, and he pulled me gruffly up against his side again, once more relieving the pain.

 

                Was it a good move or a bad move? I wasn't exactly sure.

 

                "Thanks," I said softly, not able to stop the word from slipping out. James grunted his your welcome and continued to glare at Amos.

 

                Oh, this is just brilliant.

 

                "So what are you doing down here?" I asked Amos, thinking perhaps to distract him with my witty conversation so that he chose to ignore the fact that I was currently being held rather tightly by the bloke that I had just yesterday accidentally proclaimed my significant other.

 

                Apparently my conversation wasn't witty enough.

 

                "I was looking for you," was Amos's answer, a comment that would have normally made my heart soar, but presently made me want to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower. "I saw you in the library earlier on, but I think you were in a bit of a rush because you sped out of there rather quickly."

 

                Er, yeah.

 

                About that...

 

                "I...uh...forgot I'd told James I would meet him outside," I lied swiftly, shrugging my shoulders as if to indicate such a thing wasn't a big deal and Amos shouldn't think it one either. "Head duties and all, you know."

 

                My indifferent shrug was about as effective as my witty conversation, and Amos eyed me–and James. Mostly James–suspiciously.

 

                "Head duties?" he said. "That's what it was? Head duties?"

 

                "No–"

 

                "Well, of course," I answered quickly, throwing James a swift glare and cutting off whatever moronic thing he was about to say in order to gain himself another point in the Ego Game. I turned back to Amos with that overly bright smile plastered on my face once again. "What else would we be doing?"

 

                It was yet another stupid question to ask, of course. I was trying to _avoid_ the subject, not bring it up. And with a question like 'what else would we be doing?', I was practically _begging_ for trouble. Because in his current frame-of-mind, I bet there were a whole _cosmos_ of things Amos could imagine James and I were 'doing', and I bet a large majority of them were nothing if not X-rated. I might as well have just gone on and _shagged_ James right then and there, for all the brilliance of a question like 'what else would we be doing?'.

 

                Merlin, I'm such a dolt.

 

                "You see, that's the thing," Amos started, as expected. "I just–not that I'm accusing you of anything, because I'm not–but there have been some...er, _rumours_ flying around today and I–"

 

                "And you believe all of that rubbish?" I interrupted, throwing in a small laugh for affect, trying to accentuate the ridiculousness of such a thing, even though, as I well knew, there was definitely reason enough to believe this _particular_ piece of rubbish. "Honestly, Amos, by now I would have thought you'd know how this school's gossip mill works. Barely a quarter of what goes around Hogwarts is even minimally true."

 

                "Oh, I'd say _some_ of it's more than minimally true," James cut in, staring pointedly at me. "They have to get it from _somewhere,_ after all. Don't you think, Lily?"

 

                I bit my tongue hard to stop myself from letting him know exactly just what I _thought_ about that, and instead chose to stick him with my darkest of looks. James seemed to ignore it, however, and instead turned back to Amos, who was looking more than a bit suspicious now. If I hadn't at that point been fully dependent on James as my entire support system, I would have kicked him hard–very, _very_ hard–in the shin right about then.

 

                Or somewhere else, a lot more painful.

 

                If I had the guts.

 

                "Normally I _would_ ignore it," was Amos's response, "but then my cousin came and told me that this particular bit she'd heard straight from you and I...well, she probably misunderstood–"

 

                "She did," I answered quickly, nodding decisively. "She absolutely did." I turned to James with a faux-smile, telling him with my eyes to shut up and play along before I made sure the Potter line stopped with him. "Amos must have heard that stupid rumor about you and me," I said, smiling sweetly up at him. "What rubbish. What _utter and complete_ rubbish. Isn't that _right,_ James?"

 

                For a second James didn't say anything. I started to panic internally, trying to figure out what in the hell sort of game he was playing that he was trying to make me suffer like this, right in front of Amos, with my entire life of relationships on the line. I knew James and Amos didn't like each other, but James liked _me,_ and mates just don't go around ruining their other mates' chances with the men of their dreams. They just don't. And for a second there I thought that's exactly what James was doing until I turned away from him, ready to finally fess up and tell Amos the entire story, _praying_ he would understand my idiocracy, when from behind me, James went, "Yeah, rubbish."

 

                If it wouldn't have been so totally and completely inappropriate at that point in time, I would have thrown my arms around him and kissed him for all he was worth.

 

                Thank _Merlin!_

__

"Rubbish," I repeated, nodding my head, my smile not as fake as it previously was. "See? Rubbish."

 

                But Amos wasn't looking at me as I once again solidified the word 'rubbish' into his head. Instead he was staring over my shoulder, glaring at James. It seemed the glaring-staring contest, round two, had just begun. Then suddenly, without warning, Amos strode over to where James and I were standing, muttering " _I'll_ help her," before quickly tugging me out of James's arms.

 

                Rubbish or not, I think it was safe to say Amos was a bit insecure.

 

                And while, yes, I was delighted that Amos was finally acting like the proper possessive soul mate I had always wanted him to be, at that precise moment, I can't say I was really paying much attention to that, as Amos's tug-of-war reaction had just caused my ankle to drag painfully against the floor. Once again too busy glaring, Amos didn't notice as I all but blanched in pain, but James once again came to the rescue.

 

                "Christ, Diggory, she's not a fucking sack of potatoes, she's bleeding _hurt_!" James's eyes darted quickly from Amos down to me. "You all right?" he asked.

 

                I nodded my head, giving him a small smile which of course he didn't see because he was too busy glaring at Amos again. "Fine," I muttered, though mostly to myself it seemed. "I'll be fine."

 

                "You might want to be a bit gentler," James snapped scathingly, completely ignoring the topic of the conversation–namely, me–whose ankle was becoming an increasingly large pain in the arse. "She'll have to be in _one piece_ in order to date you, you know."

 

                "So you admit it then?" Amos snarled, looking smug, but also managing to ignore the topic of the conversation–namely, me–who really should have been in the Hospital Wing, oh, seven or eight _light-years_ ago. "That she's dating me?"

 

                Didn't we just _go over this?!_

 

                "For now," was James's tight answer.

 

                Oh, Merlin's beard on rye, James Potter, you dolt! Stop provoking him!! 

 

                And why was no one paying any attention to the girl in an _extreme amount of pain?_

__

"So that's the way of it?" Amos went on, his voice highly confident and equally as unfriendly. "You think that's the way it'll go? Open your _eyes_ , Potter. Seems to me that your situation's no different than it was two years ago–"

 

                "You son of a–"

 

                " _Ow_!"

 

                For the first time in a long while, eyes were directed on me after James seemed to forget my presence all together and went to lunge at Amos, but only managed to lunge at me instead, effectively knocking into my poor, twisted, broken, throbbing ankle.

 

                It was just getting better and better. Really it was.

 

                "Oh, Christ! Christ, Lily, I'm sorry!" His gaze flickering from my pain-ridden face, down to my ankle, and then back to my face again, James muttered out a million apologises. "Are you all right? Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean–"

 

                "Hospital Wing," I managed to wheeze out through clenched teeth, taking a deep breath and glaring not only at James, but at Amos as well. "I don't care which one of you does it, or if you hire a wild elephant to carry me up to the first floor, just _get me to the Hospital Wing_ _now_."

 

                A girl, apparently, can only take so much pain before she snaps.

 

                In the end, Amos was the one to carry me up to the Hospital Wing, with James striding behind right on his heels. I didn't even get to properly enjoy the feeling of being carried by my one true love, though, considering I was in more pain than was really humanly possible and I was more than a bit cross at Amos for the whole scene in the Great Hall. Besides, it didn't take long to get up to the Hospital Wing and Madame Pomfrey managed to kick both James and Amos out of the wing moments after we'd arrived.

 

                A tough cookie, that Pomfrey. A tough cookie, indeed.

 

                So now here I am. In the Hospital Wing. With a throbbing ankle. Listening to Pomfrey go on and on about how she's just going to hack off my ankle if I can't manage to stop spraining it.

 

                She doesn't believe me when I tell her that it's a Never Healing Ankle. Breaking and spraining is apparently just what it does.

 

                Psh.

 

                This can't be my life.

 

_________________

**Extremely Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 18**

**Total Observation: 127**

****

                Bah-humbug. 

 

                I'm tired, I'm in pain, I have _detention_ tomorrow (oh, Merlin, it's finally starting to sink in. Detention. I have _detention_!) and worst of all, I think the House Elves are trying to kill me. There was no rice at dinner. None. It was almost as if they'd all known I'd done something stupid today and were therefore punishing me because of it. Because apparently breaking your ankle, getting yelled at by Pomfrey, getting detention and almost _completely_ blotching up any chance I ever had at being Amos Diggory's significant other wasn't enough. No, they had to go and take away my rice as well. My only source of comfort.

 

                Evil.

 

                Pure, unadulterated evilness.

 

                And to make matters even worse, along with no rice, there was no sign of either James or Amos at dinner either. I hate to think what the two of them could be up to right about now. Killing each other is my best guess. Or each cursing the day they each met me.

 

                That's probably it.

 

                I'm going to bed. I don't want to wake up.

 

_________________

**Saturday, October 4th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 127**

****

_Dear Infallible,_

__

_You go to bed far too early for your own good. It's not even nine o'clock yet! You're an embarrassment to the entire seventh-year class. No one goes to bed this early. No one. However, I know it was a rotten day, so I suppose I'll let it slide just for this once. But it's something to work on. No mate of mine is going to be caught in bed at this hour._

_How's the ankle? Did Pomfrey fix it up? Bet you got an earful for that one. And I am sorry about knocking into your ankle last night. I didn't mean it. Blame your boy, Diggory. I do._

_I am leaving you this note (along with your books, which you so conveniently left with me after our jaunt through the rain) to inform you that you'll be having more company during detention tomorrow (or today, I suppose, as when you finally get around to reading this, it'll probably be tomorrow). If you're going to do it, do it right, that's what I always say. And who better to show you the ropes than me? Let's make your detention experience a memorable one. Merlin only knows this may be our only chance._

_I'm giving this over to Grace to hand over to you now. Hopefully this note will fall into the right hands._

_See you at breakfast. Try not to fall down the stairs._

__

_Forever your personal slave,_

_J_

__

_________________

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 127**

****

****

"James Potter, you giant idiot, what in the bleeding hell did you _do_?!"

 

                I told myself I was going to be rational. I got up, read the note, looked into the mirror and said to myself, "Now, Lily, just because James is a complete dolt who wants to get you both kicked out of office doesn't mean you have to throw a canary." And I meant it. Really. I even gave myself a good stern look to seal the deal. I wasn't going to throw a fit. I was going to stay calm and collected. Just because my ankle was still throbbing, my hair was standing out on end and I had my very first detention this morning doesn't mean that I can take my frustrations out on my mate. I wasn't going to tell James off for being the biggest prat in the world. Really, I wasn't.

 

                My resolve lasted for about half a minute. Then I was out for blood.

 

                "Hullo, Lily," came the dry reply from the big idiot seated at the table. The one time it would've benefited both of our lives for him to be at Quidditch, he wasn't. Naturally. "Lovely morning to you, as well. Care for some toast?"

 

                "Are you _mad_?" I cried, throwing myself down into the seat next to Marley, glaring at James from across the table. "Do you know what you did? Do you know what this _means_ , you big prat? _Both_ Heads are in detention today! _Both of us_! Who's going to respect a pair of trouble-making, class-cutting nitwits, hm? Who's going to listen to us now? No one, that's who! We're going to have a revolt on our hands, James Potter, a _revolt_!"

 

                "I still respect you, Lily," Marley piqued up from beside me, smirking over the edge of her paper. "I mean, I think it's perfectly ace that you've gotten detention. Everyone needs to go through detention at least once."

 

                Go through at least once?

 

                Not Lily Evans!

                

                What is _with_ these people? WHY IS DETENTION SUDDENLY A GOOD THING?

 

                "I don't know what's wrong with the lot of you," I muttered to myself, switching my glares to encompass Marley as well as James now. "You're all mad. Unbelievably and ridiculously mad. Detention is not something to be _proud_ of, for Merlin's sake! It means you're a _bad kid_! Don't you know about the spiraling downfall of highly ambitious and intelligent students when they begin to act out? _Don't_ you?"

 

                At this highly McGonagall-ic statement, James and Marley blinked owlishly at each other.

 

                "I didn't think anyone actually took that lecture seriously," Marley commented thoughtfully.

 

                "I've been on the tail-end of that one around forty-seven times," James added. "It still hasn't sunk in." 

 

                Oy vay. I'm surrounded by idiots.

 

                No, worse than idiots. _Juvenile delinquent_ idiots.

 

                Oh, why do I even bother?

 

                "What did you do, anyway?" I questioned bitterly, ignoring the fact that Marley and James were cracking up like a right pair of baboons. I was hoping that perhaps James didn't do anything too overly-horrific and that we could somehow find a way to salvage the situation. Knowing James however, that probably wasn't going to be the case.

 

                "You mean you didn't hear?" Marley laughed, looking at me strangely.

 

                I shook my head as James answered, "She was in bed long before the party began. Had a bit of an off day, didn't you, Lil?"

 

                "Because of _you_."

 

                "Me? _I_ didn't twist your ankle. _I_ didn't lie to all of Hogwarts. How was it my fault?"

 

                "You breathe. That's enough."

 

                "Oh, for the love of–"

 

                "He set off fireworks in the dungeons," Marley interrupted, stopping James from starting on whatever tirade he was about to embark on. My eyes opened wide at her comment. He was _serious_ about that?! "They were everywhere," Marley continued. "Loud as hell, too. Filch went absolutely mad. It was _hilarious_."

 

                My mouth hung open as I stared at James. He threw me an innocent smile. "What?" he asked.

 

                "What?" I cried. "What do you mean _'what'_? Did I or did I not specifically tell you not to set fireworks off in the dungeons, James Potter?!"

 

                "It wasn't _me_ ," James insisted, holding his hands up in defense. "It was Sirius and Remus and Peter. It was just my _idea_. They _made_ me come along."

 

                I snorted in disbelief.

 

                Blokes. Always blaming their mates.

                

                "If Sirius and Remus and Peter told you to jump off London Bridge, would you do it?" I shot back.

 

                James seemed to seriously consider this. "Probably," he replied after a moment, obviously not understanding the rhetorical saying. "Though I doubt they would tell me to jump off a bridge, Lily. Unless, you know, we were bungee jumping or something. Can you bungee jump off London Bridge?"

 

                I rolled my eyes and groaned.

 

                Once again I ask myself, why do I even bother?

 

                "Er, I think you missed the point in that one, Cap'n," Marley giggled, shaking her head at James. Absently, he scratched the back of his head in confusion. He still didn't get it. Jeez Louise. How does this boy make decent marks?

 

                "Never mind," I muttered, shaking my head. "So you really have detention today?"

 

                "One o'clock," James answered with a nod. "Peter and Sirius as well. Remus got away, the sneaky little bastard. But wait a second, what was with the bridge? Was that the wrong answer? What did I miss? Lily? Marley? Is anyone going to tell me?"

 

                I didn't bother to answer. Stupid prat.

 

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 128**

****

_T-minus: 2 hours until detention._

__

Don't the acids in your stomach go mad when you're nervous? Don't they like burn a hole in your stomach lining or something? Don't they?

 

                Oh, Merlin, I think I have an ulcer.

                I'm going to die.

__

I am _so_ going to die.

 

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 128**

****

_T-minus: 1h 45 minutes until detention._

 

                All right, so perhaps it's not an ulcer. But maybe it's something far worse! Like...like...brain damage! Or a heart-attack! Yes, all this stress is definitely giving me a heart-attack. I probably won't even make it through the day. I probably won't even have to go to detention because I'll probably be dead by then. And really, what use is a dead corpse in cleaning cauldrons?

 

                Not a whole lot. Not a whole lot at all.

 

 _________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 130**

****

_T-minus: 1 hour until detention._

****

                I'm in pain. I'm in an extremely large amount of pain. Not because of my impending heart-attack or anything, but because my stupid ankle refuses to heal. So now not only do I have to go to detention, _I_ _now_ have to go with:

                

                a) A throbbing, non-healing ankle

                b) A hobble walk, due to my throbbing, non-healing ankle

                c) An impending heart-attack, and

                d) James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew

 

                There are surely people in Hell having a better time of it than me. And they're _dead._ And in Hell.

 

                If that doesn't say something, I'm not sure much else can.

 

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 130**

****

_T-minus: 10 minutes until detention._

__

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

_________________

**Way Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 19**

**Total Observation: 130**

****

                I did it. I actually _did_ it.

 

                And I'm not dead! I'm totally still alive and kicking and everything! Remember that impending heart-attack? Yeah, not so pending anymore. Because it's _over_.

 

                I, Lily Christine Evans, have just officially made it through my first detention.

 

                (And hopefully my _last_ detention ever, because even though I made it out alive this time, I really truly wouldn't put my money on a second. I just wouldn't make it.)

 

                At precisely one o'clock this afternoon, Emma, me, my throbbing ankle, my impending heart-attack and my hobble-walk (with a special guest appearance by my newly-transfigured inhaler, which I needed in order to avoid complete hyperventilation), made our way down to the Great Hall to find Mr. Filch and begin our detention. I was, to say the least, in a bit of a state of panic.

 

                "I can't believe this," I panted, talking another blow on the inhaler I'd had Grace transfigure for me. "I really can't believe this. I'm a horrible person. I'm a terrible kid. I cut _class,_ Emma! I cut class and I got _caught!_ And now I have _detention!_ Oh my god, oh my god..."

 

                "Will you calm down, Lil?" Emma asked, shaking her head at me. "This is not a big deal, all right? It's one detention. _One. Please_ calm down. I can't handle you when you're hysterical. Just–"

 

                "Oh, don't 'calm down' me!" I cried. "Look what I've done! And I dragged you down with me! Oh, where did I go wrong? I'm about a half-skip and a jump away from Azkaban, Emma! I'm–"

 

                "–being a fair bit overdramatic, Infallible, but I suppose that's not much of a surprise."

 

                Emma and I spun around on the staircase, looking up to find the familiar forms of three of our fellow detentioners making their way down towards us. 3/4 of the Marauder clan we're ready to serve their detentions alongside Emma and me. I scowled at the one in front, the idiot with the stupid hair, the cheeky grin and the smart-arse comments.

 

                Bloody prat.

 

                "Happy Detention Day, Evans!" Sirius cried, patting me jovially upon the back. He looked over at his grinning mates and added thoughtfully, "It seems like we should have cake. Anyone have cake?"

 

                Acting as if this were even minimally plausible, both Marauders began digging through their pockets.

 

                "I've got some Drooble's," Peter offered.

 

                "I've got a...er, paperclip?" James added, holding up the aforementioned object.

 

                What's with this kid and paperclips?

 

                Sirius scoffed his nose at both offers and shook his head. "No, no, no. You are all bloody worthless. Gum and paperclips...just what were you planning to do with that rubbish?"

 

                "Generally you chew Drooble's, Padfoot," was Peter's cheeky reply. "I was planning on doing a bit of that."

 

                "And I was..." James halted his snarky reply, an odd look coming across his face as he glanced down at the paperclip in his hand. After a moment, he simply shrugged. "You never know," he said, and then shoved it back in his pocket.

 

                Oh, brother.

 

                "Morons," I muttered. "I surround myself with utter morons."

 

                There was an instant bout of male howling that went off behind me after that comment, but I chose to ignore the pack of gaffing baboons as I grabbed Emma's arm and continued to drag her down the remaining steps and down to the Great Hall.

 

                When we finally reached the Great Hall, the Marauders were still hacking it up like a right bunch of twits, over what, I'm not entirely sure. I spotted Mr. Filch standing on the other side of the room over by the front doors and my stomach dropped. This was it. Detention. I was going to detention.

 

                "Deep breaths," was James's advice when he saw my face drop. "You'll make it through this, Evans. Promise."

 

                Easy for him to say. He's not the one whose impending heart-attack was no longer waiting on a queue.

 

                Deep breaths.

 

                Deep breaths.

 

                "Why, good morning, Mr. Filch!" Peter called out when the group of us were within earshot. "Always a pleasure!"

 

                Mr. Filch's growl indicated it was anything but a pleasure.

 

                "Back again, I see," was his glaring growl as he completely disregarded Emma and me and looked over our shoulders towards the Marauders. "If you ask me, the lot of you should have been expelled years ago. Hooligans, all of you."

 

                "Oh, come now, dear Filch," James smirked, his voice mockingly-hurt. "Ask yourself where you'd be without us, hm? You'll miss us sorely when we're gone."

 

                "Like I miss a toothache, Potter."

 

                Once again finding the not-so-amusing, _incredibly_ amusing, the Marauders started cracking up again, their laughter echoing throughout the nearly empty hall. Mr. Filch's yellings to shut their traps were efficiently ignored for several minutes until the hilarity of the whole thing seemed to die down.

 

                I'm afraid I will never understand the inner-workings of the male mind.

 

                Or his sense of humour.

 

                Honestly...

 

                "You," Mr. Filch said, pointing to a still chuckling Sirius. "There." He pointed to his left side, where Emma and I were standing. Sirius sauntered over, taking his place next to Emma, grinning from ear-to-ear. Across from us, James and Peter slapped hands. "The three of you troublemakers will in the dungeons. And you two." Filch scowled at James and Peter. "Outside."

 

                Instead of becoming upset by the fact that they were being sent outside to do Merlin-knows-what like I would have been (though honestly, this was _detention_. I would have been upset by anything), James and Peter looked positively delighted at the prospect of serving their detentions out on the grounds. From beside Emma, Sirius let out a groan.

 

                " _Again?"_ he moaned, glaring at Mr. Filch. "Bloody favoritism, that's what this is!"

 

                "Don't fret, Padfoot," James grinned. "You'll get your turn to frolic through the woods."

 

                Frolic through the...

 

                _What?!_

 

                "You have to go into the _woods?"_ I choked out, my mouth dropping open. "As in the _Forbidden Forest_ , woods?"

 

                "You've got yourself an innocent, here, Prongs," Sirius snickered.

 

                "But...but...it's _dangerous_ out there!" I sputtered, looking frantically from James to Peter to Emma to Sirius to Filch. No one seemed to care the least about what I was saying. No one seemed to comprehend the fact that the woods were forbidden for a _reason._ "You'll get yourself killed!"

 

                "Calm down, Lily," Emma started. "They won't go very far in, will you, boys?"

 

                "Unfortunately not," Peter answered. James also shook his head, smiling over my distress.

 

                I didn't understand it. I didn't get it. Merlin, I knew detention would be bad, but I didn't know it would be _dangerous!_ If Filch had James and Peter running around in the Forbidden Forest, alone and unprotected, what sort of punishment would the rest of us be forced to endure? Sure, the dungeons _sounded_ harmless, but who knew what this little, poor, sadistic man would force the lot of us to do! It could be anything! _Anything!_

__

_I could die and no one was going to care!_

 

                "Enough!" Filch finally snapped, waving his hands about, though I wasn't finished, and was still astounded over the fact that this group of morons were not only _willing_ to go hiking through the Forbidden Forest, but were _looking forward_ to it and too worried over the fact that I may very well be doing something far worse _._ "Bloody dillydallying, the whole lot of you! You three!" A hand waved towards Emma, Sirius and I. "Dungeons!"

 

                "Later, mates," Sirius called back to James and Peter, leading the way towards the dungeons. Emma grabbed my arm and pulled me along, seeing how I was too busy glaring at James and Peter and Mr. Filch to move my feet.

 

                "Breathe, Lily," James reminded me as Emma dragged me past him. "Show her a good time, Padfoot!" was his call to Sirius. Ever the articulate one, Sirius gave him the thumbs-up from across the hall.

 

                Even in my state of angry hyperventilation, I knew a thumbs-up from Sirius Black was anything but something to look forward to.

 

                At least for a straight-laced, panicking, prudish, detention virgin like me, anyway.

 

                Breathe.

 

                Breathe.

 

                I think it was safe to say that I had inhaled all that my makeshift inhaler had for me to inhale in the short time it took the four of us–Emma, Sirius, Mr. Filch and me–to make our way down to the dungeons. The dark chambers had never seemed so utterly foreboding as they did at that precise moment, and when Mr. Filch led us into the Potions classroom–a room I had been in nearly every day for the past seven years–I had this sickening feeling that I was entering some sort of torture chamber. A torture chamber that could very well be the end of me.

 

                And it wasn't going to be a short, painless end either.

 

                "She's really driving herself up the wall with this, isn't she?" Sirius muttered to Emma, nodding to me as if I wasn't there, which I suppose perhaps he figured I wasn't, on account of the glazed look and the hyperventilating and everything.

 

                "She's never been to detention before," was Emma's quiet answer. Sirius snorted, then turned to me.

 

                "You're one strange bird, Evans," he told me, grinning wickedly. "It's _detention._ If it was going to kill you, trust me, I'd be dead a hundred times over."

 

                I couldn't answer him. Too busy having convulsions. And waiting for my impending heart-attack to kick in. And still hyperventilating.

 

                "See those cauldrons?" came Mr. Filch's cranky voice. My heart stopped. My convulsions increased. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I was going to faint. This was it. Detention. _Detention!_ Miserable and defeated, my eyes strayed to where Mr. Filch's finger pointed to the stash of forty or so dirty cauldrons on the other side of the room.  There were a whole lot of sadistic things that could be done with cauldrons. I swallowed hard. Oh God, this was it. This was the end.

 

                Good-bye fair world, I loved you so.

 

                "Clean 'em."

 

                ...

 

                That was it.

 

                Clean 'em.

                

                _Clean them!_

__

"Wait...clean...that's _all?"_ I sputtered, my convulsions halting for a sparse, single moment. "All we have to do is clean them?"

 

                Filch glared at my impertinence. " _Without_ magic," he shot back, as if this somehow made it so much worse that I should be cowering in my shoes. "Wands. Now."

 

                Wands?

 

                Three seconds ago I was mentally conjuring some sort of impromptu will and he thinks I'm going to fuss over my bloody _wand?_

__

I was going to live through this!!

 

                With a jaunty flourish and a laugh of extreme relief, I gladly handed over my wand to Mr. Filch, turning around to face Emma and Sirius, who were both looking at me as if I'd gone a bit mad.

 

                "Did you hear that, Em?" I practically sang. "We have to clean them! That's all we have to do! Clean them!"

 

                "Without magic," Sirius grumbled, reluctantly placing his wand with mine. "This is going to be bloody _torture."_

__

Ignoring Sirius's complaints, Emma laughed at my face and asked, "What on earth did you think we'd be doing, Lil? Brewing a pot of poisonous potion and throwing ourselves inside it?"

 

                Er...the thought had crossed my mind.

 

                "I told you these detentions were no big deal," she continued, shrugging her shoulders. "Merlin knows Grace has been through at least half-a-million," she added dryly.

 

                I knew what she was saying was true and wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. I was so busy fretting over the fact that I had gotten detention and my life was over that I completely disregarded the fact that detentions are _stupid._ Cleaning cauldrons and polishing trophies. Writing lines and washing desks. I wasn't going to die. I was going to live a long, happy life with my chosen life partner and my eight and a half kids in my house by the water with my dog and my turtle.

 

                I was _cleaning cauldrons!_

__

_That was it!_

__

"But what are the other doing outside?" I asked, directing this question towards Sirius because I figured he was pretty much the expert on this.

 

                "Gathering ingredients with Hagrid," he answered with a shrug.

 

                "Hagrid?"

 

                "Yeah, the gamekeeper. Spiffing guy, really. Always let's us off real clean and early. Not like _this one,"_ he muttered, hiking a thumb at Mr. Filch. With the attention on him, Filch snarled at the lot of us and pointed to the pile of cauldrons. Emma sighed and Sirius groaned.

 

                I laughed and practically skipped over the pile.

 

                I wasn't going to die...I was _cleaning cauldrons!_

__

_Cleaning!_

__

My, oh my, the things I worry about.

 

                Psh.

 

                Observation #129) Detentions, as it turns out, aren't that big of a deal. And when one panics over them–hyperventilating, convulsing, complaining about impending heart-attacks–they are really just acting like big morons.

                Observation #130) I am a big moron.

                

_________________

**Sunday, October 5th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 20**

**Total Observation: 135**

****

                Observation #131) When you have to skip breakfast because your Never Healing Ankle is still throbbing, something is seriously wrong.

                Observation #132)  When you are unable to do anything to relieve said throbbing of said Never Healing Ankle, on account of the fact that your school Healer has seriously threatened to cut off said limb if you ever come back to her with another ankle injury, something is _seriously_ wrong.

                Observation #133) When you try to tell your two best mates that they really should go get you something to eat, on account of the fact that you can't walk to get it yourself because of your injured ankle, and they refuse, telling you it's not pain, but laziness, something is seriously wrong.

                Observation #134) When said mates then proceed to abandon you, leaving you alone in the dorm with a throbbing ankle, an empty stomach, and a loudly snoring, probably hung-over, Carrie Lloyd, something is seriously wrong.

                Observation #135) My life, in general, is seriously wrong.

 

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 20**

**Total Observation: 135**

 

                Bugger it all, he's got my textbook again.

 

                Not my Transfiguration textbook–I unfortunately still have that one, though if he had wanted to take that one again, I don't think I really would've minded–but my Potions textbook. He stole it. He totally and completely stole it. Because it was there when I had my bag on Friday, outside in the pouring rain, and now it's not. Instead there’s another one in it’s place, one that is most certainly not mine. And there was only one other person who had possession of my bag in between Friday and now. Therefore, there is only one person who can possibly have my currently-MIA Potions textbook. And considering his history with my textbooks and his sticky fingers, I don't think it's going to take Sherlock Holmes to figure out just who has my textbook right now.

 

                James Potter is a rotten, dirty thief.

 

                There's got to be some sort of law against all of this. Seriously. Every three days the boy has another one of my books. That's illegal, isn't it? Possession of someone's property? I could probably get a nice lawsuit out of that one. Half-a-million galleons at least. I could be rich. Damned, filthy rich. And I could support Amos and me and our eight and a half kids for the rest of our lives...

 

                ...but I still need my textbook.

 

                Because if I don't finish my assignment, Abbott will surely beat me.

 

                Once is clever, twice is suicide.

 

                Bugger this stupid ankle. How in the hell am I supposed to...

 

                Oh.

 

                Idea.

 

                Hmm.

 

                Where's my damned owl when I need her?

 

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 20**

**Total Observation: 135**

****

_Dear Mr. James Potter,_

__

_I have it on good authority that you are currently in possession of one, Miss Lily Evans's, fine and informative Potions textbook. As Miss Evans's leading counsel, I have been commissioned to tell you that if you return the textbook to its rightful owner immediately, there will be no charges brought up against you. If you, however, choose to ignore this request, a suit against you and your estate for the sum of forty-four and a half billion galleons will be filed just as soon as it is able._

_Thank you for your time and patience and I beg of you to consider your options and come to a decision quickly._

__

_Yours Solicited,_

_Mr. Harold John William Whittinghamm-Strathimore III_

__

_P.S.– Give me back my textbook, Potter. You're such a thief. -L_

__

_\------------------------------------_

__

**Dear Mr. Harold John William Whittinghamm-Strathimore III,**

****

**Good day to you, sir, and I bid you thanks for your gracious letter. It is indeed true that I am currently in possession of one, Miss Lily Evans's, fine and informative textbook, but I find it difficult to comply with the wishes listed in your previous dictate. You see, Miss Evans's textbook is of a special variety. She tends to write very useful bits of information along the margins of the pages that are presently helping me in answering the questions assigned to me by one, Professor Abbott, and I'm afraid that as such, I am reluctant to give up such a treasure. As I'm sure she [Miss Evans] has already noticed, I cleverly stashed my own textbook in her bag, which she can use to her pleasure until I am able to return hers to her.**

**I thank you for your time and patience and ask you to kindly inform Miss Evans that I do not, under any circumstance, possess the sum of forty-four and a half billion galleons, anyway, and ask for what transgressions of mine does such an astounding sum seem a plausible compensation for.**

****

**Awaiting Your Response,**

**Mr. James Thomas Potter, Esquire**

****

**P.S.– I am as good and honest as the day I was born. And don't you feed your owl, woman? The bird practically snapped my finger off in her haste to get to the treat. -J**

****

_\------------------------------------_

****

_Dear Mr. J. Potter,_

__

_Salutations all around to you and your family. I've seen and read your letter and discussed it with my client and unfortunately have found several problems lying within._

_My client, one, Miss Lily Evans, is well aware of the fact that the item in question is filled with her specially placed notes on the margins of the pages. These, you see, were placed there for the specific purpose of helping Miss Evans answer her assignment questions so that one, Professor Abbott, doesn't eat her alive. Their placement there took an abundance of hard-work, clever wit, and true heart on the part of my client and by withholding the item in question from her possession, you are not only keeping her from finishing her own assignment, but also stealing a small piece of her heart and claiming all her life-long work as your own._

_Miss Evans grants you to return her book immediately, informing me tell you that she in no way wants to use your ratty, old, boring book and anticipates the hasty return of her own. As stated before, if you are unable to comply with these rather simple demands, a suit for forty- three and a half billion galleons will be filed just as soon as it is able._

_Miss Evans also bids me to inform you that your transgressions, sir, start and end with breathing and living._

__

_Cordially Yours,_

_Mr. Harold J.W. Whittinghamm-Strathimore III_

__

_P.S.– You were never really honest, were you? Winnie's always hungry and she has a rotten disposition. It's why we get along so well. You don't happen to have any food up there with you, would you? I'm crippled and I'm starved. I've been abandoned. -L_

 

_\------------------------------------_

 

**** **Dear Mr. Harry J.W. Whittinghamm-Strathimore III,**

****

**Greetings galore to you and yours. I've read and contemplated your last dictate, and in such, have found a few misgivings of my own.**

**I'm sure your client, one, Miss Lily Evans, is well aware of her notes as well. However, I fail to see how Miss Evans wouldn't want to share something so wonderful and so obviously well-thought out and clever as these splendid little notes with others in need. And I, my good friend Harry, am in desperate need. I'm sure that when she considers this and thinks long and hard about it, she will reconsider her previous commands and perhaps be willing to share that little bit of her heart with a poor fellow in need.**

**Please also inform your client that I take grave offense to her slandering of my own textbook, and assure that in no way do the words "ratty" or "old" (I am unable to debate such an adjective as "boring" at this point in time) refer to my beautiful and knowledge-giving textbook. And if you can also kindly inform her that forty-three and a half billion galleons is still a bit out of my range, I would be forever obliged.**

**Also add that my transgressions–one, living and breathing–are unfortunately out of my control.**

****

**Yours,**

**James T. Potter**

****

**P.S.– You can ask my mother about that. Winnie is a nice bird once she's fed. You just have to learn how not to rumple her feathers...if you know what I mean. I've sent over some extra pumpkin pasties that my mum sent the lads and me. Is that why you weren't at breakfast this morning? Because your ankle is bothering you? You should go see Pomfrey again if it is. And I haven't abandoned you. -J**

****

_\------------------------------------_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

__

_A good afternoon to you and I hope all is well. My client and I have read and discussed your previous letter and would like to express our findings to you._

_My client, one, Miss Lily Evans, is hard-set to disagree with the fact that she should share her textbook and it's brilliant contents with all those in desperate need (namely, Mr. Potter, you). After all, she is nothing if not a compassionate person. Therefore, she is grudgingly willing to share that little bit of her heart with a poor fellow in need (namely, Mr. Potter, you) and is allowing you to remain in possession of the item in question until you have finished your questions. When you see that completed, she then asks of you to send it back to her with all due haste. In the mean time, she also asks that you share the answer to number 14, as she is unable to answer it with the sources she currently possesses._

_Apologises for such harsh words regarding your own textbook, Mr. Potter, have been released. It's a fine textbook, just not as informative as some others may be._

_Forty-two and a half billion galleons sounds like a more proper sum, don't you think?_

_Your transgressions, sir, are noted nevertheless._

__

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Harry Whittinghamm-Strathimore III_

__

_P.S.–I wouldn't want to disturb her with such harsh questions. Of course she's a nice bird, she's_ mine. _Thank you for the pumpkin pasties. I inhaled them quite quickly. Yes, that's why I wasn't at breakfast. I couldn't make it down the stairs if you paid me–though it's not hurting quite as much as it was before, now that I think about it. I can't go to Pomfrey because she says she'll cut off my ankle if I ever go back to her with another ankle injury. And if you_ really _haven't abandoned me, you'd find some way to get a nice, big bowl of rice up to my sickbed for lunch. Just a thought. -L_

__

_\------------------------------------_

__

**Dear Harry,**

****

**You can inform your client, one, Miss Lily Evans, that I am forever and eternally grateful for her compliance with my humble wishes. She is indeed a lovely, wonderful, compassionate person. Please inform her that I will take very good care of the small piece of her heart she has now relinquished to me.**

**Number fourteen, as she well should know, is the mixture of puffer-fish parts and the hellebore, which, if not neutralized by the runespoor eggs, would create a disastrous explosion.**

**Apologises accepted.**

**Forty-two and a half billion sounds fine.**

**My transgressions...what are you _on,_ Lily?**

****

**Yours Always,**

**J. Potter**

****

**P.S–Harsh questions, my arse. I like Winnie. You’re welcome, though I don't think inhaling them was even remotely healthy. I'm sorry about your ankle, but am glad it's feeling a bit better. If it's still hurting in time for the Prefect's meeting, you should go see Pomfrey anyway, just in case something is actually wrong with it. Not that I want your ankle chopped off–it's a fine ankle, indeed–but it may be for the best. As for abandoning you...the house-elf should be up momentarily, madame. -J**

****

_\------------------------------------_

_James-_

__

_Miss Evans thanks you warmly for keeping that small piece of her heart safe._

_Not to sound contradictory, but is it not the scarab beetles that neutralize the two?_

_Very good to know how much you're worth...just in case of another law suit._

_I'm not on anything. What I should be on, however, is some sort of pain medication, though the health field in this castle is obviously severely lacking and therefore won't administer any such drugs._

_-Harry_

__

_P.S.– Can't write much more because I am dying and going to heaven with this gigantic bowl of rice I've just received. You're my hero, James Potter. My big, strong, rice-giving hero. -L_

__

_\------------------------------------_

**Harry/Lily,**

****

**Always.**

**I hate to sound condescending, but if you'd look on page 387, you will see it is, indeed, runespoor eggs.**

**You don't need any more drugs. You're loopy enough as it is.**

****

**-J**

****

**P.S.– That's all I ever wanted to hear, Lily. My life, you see, is now pretty much complete. -J**

__

_\------------------------------------_

__

_J-_

__

_See you at the meeting._

__

_-L_

 

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 20**

**Total Observation: 135**

 

** The Official Transcript of the Second Prefect’s Meeting: October 1977 **

**As recorded by Head Girl, Lily Evans**

** Time ** **: 7 p.m.**

****

_(various stages of chatter fill the room)_

__

**Lily Evans (Head Girl):** Can everyone quiet down please so that we can get–Chris Lynch, don't you even _think_ about throwing that, or I assure you that that hot date you _think_ you're having tonight will certainly not be happening!

 

_(more laughter)_

__

**James Potter (Head Boy):** Lynch, get your dumb arse down from there. Let's get this thing started already. Places to be, people to see.

 

**John Abbott (5th-Year Hufflepuff):** Got yourself a hot date tonight as well, Potter?

 

**JP:** Yes, with a dashing bird I like to call my bed. And I get very touchy if we miss our nightly rendezvous.

 

_(laughter)_

__

**Chris Lynch (6th-Year Gryffindor):** Well, get on with it then! No time to waste here. What new rules have we to learn tonight?

 

**JP:** Shut up, sit down and you'll find out.

 

_(grumbles galore)_

__

**LE:** First order of business...oh, yes, the points. Sixth and seventh years should already be well aware of the points system and how it works. For the rest of you...yes, you _are_ as prefects allowed to deduct points...for _legitimate reasons_. This _isn't_ as so many of you seem to think, a joke. You can't deduct point because someone is drinking their pumpkin juice the wrong way or because a classmate fails to let you copy off their exam, all right?

 

**JP:** And _please_ , in the name of all things magical, _quit_ trying to deduct points from the professors. _(laughter from the guilty)_ The first time it's funny, the second, third and sixty-seventh times, it's just a pain in the arse. I've had Binns complaining my ears off three times already. You just can't do it. So for my sake, _please_ stop trying.

 

_(random grumbles of consent, some sighs of disappointment)_

__

**LE:** Secondly...whoever is telling people that the prefects are organizing some sort of party for Christmas Hols, the lies need to stop, all right? Let's not kid ourselves here, people. Honestly, when was the last time Hogwarts held any kind of dance?

 

**Tammy Turner (7th-Year Ravenclaw):** 1592?

 

**JP:** Longer. It's just not happening. So please stop getting the first-years all riled up, will you? Hold your own parties in your common rooms–

 

**LE:** Or, you know, don't, since we're not exactly supposed to be encouraging that sort of thing–

 

**JP:** It won't matter if they're not caught, Lily. Discretion, of course, would be necessary–

 

**LE:** _James_!

**JP:** What?

**LE:** _(grumbling)_

_(laughter)_

**JP:** What else...oh, rounds. Be sure to sign up on your way out. The calendar is on the table right beside the door when you’re ready. And try not to make too much noise during those midnight jaunts. Mr. Filch had a few things to say about that.

**Remus Lupin (7th Year Gryffindor):** When _doesn't_ he have a few things to say?

_(laughter)_

**JP:** Fair question, mate. Fair question, indeed.

**LE:** Regardless, I don't think a game of I-Can-Be-Louder-Than-You-Can is really appropriate during your rounds. Got that?

_(nodding, yes's galore)_

**LE:** Good. Is there anything else, James?

**JP:** Don't be idiots.

_(laughter)_

**LE:** I meant something that actually relates to the meeting.

**JP:** It does relate. The only thing worse than a prefect is an idiot prefect.

_(more laughter)_

**LE:** Or an idiot Head Boy...

_(more laughter)_

**JP:** Questions? No? All right, then, I call this meeting officially over. Go off and don't be idiots.

_(laughter again)_

__

**End of transcript.**   
**Time: 7:26**

__

_________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 20**   
**Total Observation: 135**

 

                James and I had to stay behind and wait for all the Prefects to sign up for their rounds before we could leave, so we stood together off to the side, watching as the usually level-headed and rational group of students fought and debated it out for their desired spots. Rounds, it seems, really bring out the inner-animal. I was pretty sure I had just spotted Phil Rook side-swipe Carrie Lloyd in his haste to get to the parchment. And June Mackey had long ago used her ample bosom to charge her way through the packs to pick her dates (though I hardly think June needs rounds to bring out _her_ inner-animal). 

                Mad. Completely and utterly mad.

                I had already cleverly snatched up my usual dates at the end of the month before the prefects could get their hands on them. Such is yet another major perk of being Head Girl. Merlin knows if I was still a lowly prefect, I'd be biting and elbowing my way through that mess as well.

                "Merlin, I'm _starved,"_ James groaned, patting his stomach with his hand.

                "Didn't you just have dinner?" I asked, rolling my eyes as along with the moaning and the patting, his stomach let out a long grumble of its own.

                "Nah," he replied, grinning down at me. "Too wrapped up in correspondence to bother."

                Too wrapped up...

                Oh, bugger.

                "Wait, you didn't go to dinner because you were writing to me? James, you dolt, if you were hungry you should have eaten!"

                I threw him a dirty look as he just continued to grin. Leave it to James to go and make me feel perfectly dreadful now. I mean, while he went out of his way to halt my endless complaints about _my_ empty stomach, his own hunger went ignored! Because of _me._ Never once during my period of 'Oh, woe is me, I'm staving and abandoned' did I stop to think, 'Hm, I wonder how James is answering these when everyone else is at dinner? Hm. Hm. Hm."

                It's because I'm selfish.

                Madly and sickeningly selfish.

                And also seem to be causing trouble for an endless amount of people these days.

                "I wasn't hungry _then,"_ he insisted, though I found it highly doubtful that he could go from one extreme to the other over the course of only an hour or so. "I'm just hungry now. And not for food, either. Actually, you know what I could really go for?"

                "What?"

                "Some of that fudge of yours." He sighed wistfully, closing his eyes as if to savor the imaginary taste of it. I rolled my eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have any more, would you? Or is that only put away for when I'm cross with you?"

                I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. "Sorry," I said. "You ate all of it the last time. It takes a whole lot of fudge to curve your anger. No one's fault but your own."

                "Bugger."

                He looked so disappointed–too disappointed really, considering it was just a bit of fudge–that I had to laugh, even though I was still a bit ticked that he made me feel so rotten and selfish and all. Even though I am rotten and selfish and all. I just don't like bringing it up.

                "Write your mum," was his desperate plea, and he said it with such vigor, that my almost-tame laughter erupted again. "Tell her your mate James is wildly infatuated with her fudge. Tell her he's going mad without it. Tell her that I'm your hero and heroes need fudge."

                I was too busy laughing to answer him because he looked entirely too serious about the whole thing for me _not_ to be cracking up like a right loon.

                "You won't get it tonight, in any case," I told him through my giggles. "Even if I write Mum right now, she wouldn't get the letter until tomorrow, and then she'd have to _make_ the fudge, and then she'd have to send it back...your craving will be long over by then, I'm afraid."

                James threw me an appalled look. "It's a strong craving," he insisted. "It can last for weeks. Months. Years."

                Oh, brother. Only blokes could come up with codswallop like that.

                I raised my eyebrows doubtfully. "I've never heard of a craving _that_ strong."

                "Well, I have one. Write your letter. Or I'll be forced to write it myself." A sudden, wicked grin spread across his lips. "Oh, yes," he said, still grinning like a maniac. "The letter I could write..."

                "James–"

                " _Dear Mrs. Evans,"_ he started, a mischievous twinkle shining in his eyes. " _Greetings from Hogwarts, from your daughter’s good mate, James Potter. I just thought I'd let you know a few things that your daughter has been up to since we came to school this year–"_

"Hey–"

                "... _detention, for one. Gambling. Being her cheeky self, of course. Suing people left and right–"_

"Ha. _Funny,"_ I finally managed to cut in, as James was too busy laughing to continue on with his 'letter'. "You're just so funny. So bloody _clever_. You...you..."

                But I trailed off, losing my train of though as I spotted something on the other side of the room. Or should I say, _someone_. No, it wasn't Amos–he and come and gone earlier on, being one of the first to pick his dates and leave. I was a bit upset he hadn't said goodbye or anything, but considering how he's not exactly the happiest with me right now (and really, who would be?), I don't blame him. Not that that's really an excuse or anything. I mean, isn't communication the key to all good relationships? Shouldn't we be talking out this small (okay, not so small) problem of ours? Honestly, fighting with James isn't helping any, and that's all Amos ever seems to be doing when I'm around.

                Psh. Blokes.

                But that wasn't my point. The point was that the person I saw (the person who wasn't Amos), _was_ in fact another member of the Not-So-Happy-With-Lily society...

                Mac.

                It was Mac.

                A very _sullen-_ looking Mac.

                Sullen, as in sad.

                As in depressed.

                And not depressed because he was still on the outskirts of the dwindling group of prefects who were left signing their names on the calendar and would therefore leave him with the worst of rounds dates. No, this was a _different_ sort of depressed than that. This was the sort of depressed I was currently very familiar with. The kind of depressed that only comes when your significant other and/or one true love isn't currently speaking to you, and does things like breaking up with you and leaving prefect's meetings without saying good-bye.

                Emma.

                He was depressed about Emma.

                I just knew he was.

                And standing right there–after the Prefects meeting, in that classroom, watching the remaining Prefects battle it out with a new sort of desperate fever–I forgot about the fact that Emma had asked me to drop the subject, had closed up every single time I brought it up and never glanced past the faces in front of her in the Great Hall during meals so that she wouldn't have to look at the Ravenclaw table. I forgot about my conversation with James and how I had agreed to leave Emma and Mac's fucked up relationship to Emma and Mac and not try and get involved. I forgot about my own stern talking to myself, in which I vehemently commanded myself not to butt my bum in where it doesn't belong. I forgot it all.

                Because he looked _helpless._

And it was _my fault._

That's just not something you forget. I practically ruined the boy's _life,_ for Merlin's sake! _Ruined it!_ And now I'm expected to just sit back and watch as he suffers at my hands? Him _and_ one of my very best mates?

                Don't meddle, Lily...don't meddle. You're not a meddler, Lily Evans...

                But sometimes, I think, you just _have_ to meddle.

                You just have to.

                "Leave it alone, Infallible. It's not your business, remember?"

                So lost in my own woes of meddling and depressed Mac's, I rather forgot where I was, and James's exasperated reminder caused me to jump a bit as I turned around to face him, trying to look as innocent as possible. I don't think it mattered much, however. It seemed as if James could read my mind like a book as he just shook his head. "Don't," he warned me sternly. "It's not your–"

                "Not my battle, I know, I _know_." I sighed heavily, watching with a heavy heart as Mac finally made his way into the sparse group of prefects left and quickly signed his name and moved to leave. His shoulders had a decisive hunch to them. "But _look_ at him!" I cried. "How...I can't...I _won't..."_

_"_ You can and you _will,"_ James interrupted, staring at me pointedly. I nodded my head just so he'd get off my back, but I wasn't giving up. I just couldn't. And because I knew this could very well be my one and only chance to speak to Mac by himself, I quickly turned to James, shooting a quick glance at the last few prefects who were finishing signing up, and made a hasty getaway that I was almost positive he could see right through. "Can you keep the calendar?" I asked quickly. "I've got to run and finish that Potions homework, now that I have my textbook back and all."

                "Lily–"

                "Thanks! I'll see you later."

                I didn't even give him a chance to fight it. I just shot him a quick don't-kill-me smile, grabbed my Potions textbook which James had brought to the meeting with him and dashed off out the door, a quick nod to the remaining prefects in the room. I had to speak to Mac. I wasn't going to let it go. And I'm not going to listen to anyone–even myself–when they say not to meddle, because sometimes meddling is for the best. And I don't care if that makes me a meddler. 

                Because maybe, just maybe, I _am_ a meddler.

                "Mac! Hey, Mac!"

                By the time I had shrugged off James and gotten out of there, Mac was already a long ways down the corridor. He didn't appear to hear me after my first couple of calls, so I had to chase him down the corridor a bit, trying to be as ladylike as possible as I did so (a bit hard when you're rushing down a corridor and shouting someone's name, but hey, I tried). When I got a bit closer (a lot closer), Mr. Fulton seemed to lose his temporary deafness and finally turned around at my cries.

                "Er, hey, Lily," he greeted me awkwardly, obviously surprised that I would be speaking to him, let along chasing him down corridors and shouting his name. I don't blame him, of course. Last week I had all but refused to speak to him, after all. The boy must think me mad, changing my mind so often.

                Or, you know, madder than usual anyway.

                "Listen, can I speak to you?" I asked a bit desperately, giving Mac my best yes-I-know-you-despise-me-to-an-astounding-degree-but-can-we-at-least-try-to-be-a-bit-civil-here grin to take off the edge. Mac's eyebrows shot up at the inquiry.

                "Speak?" he sputtered. "To me?"

                "Yeah."

                "About what?"

                "Er...well, about Emma actually."

                The second I said her name, Mac froze up like a kangaroo in Antarctica. The look he gave me was anything but welcoming to the subject.

                "No offense, Lily, but I really don't want to talk about her."

                "But why not?" I demanded. "Maybe if you just talked to her–because she wants you to, Mac, I know she does..." I trailed off, losing my momentum when Mac let out a long-suffering sigh and began to look desperately uncomfortable and desperately touchy.

                "Please just leave it alone," he pleaded. "Emmeline..." He let out another gusty sigh, unable to say more than just her name. "Just leave it alone."

                Why does everyone keep _saying_ that? Don't they understand that I _can't?_ Don't they get that without my help, they're all just going to stay miserable? I'm here to help! To _help!_

"I can't just leave it alone," I insisted, trying one more time to get through to someone, _anyone. "_ If you and Emma would just quit being so stubborn–"

                "It's not as simple as that."

                "Yes, it is!"

                Mac let out a loud groan of frustration, giving me a hard look when I refused to back down. He should have known better. Lily Evans doesn't back down from anything. Especially when she's _right._

As, one so often comes to find, is rather often.

                " _Lily_." He said my name in that same exasperated tone I got from James just before, but I didn't care that nobody was on my side for this one. I knew what I was doing. "Why are you even doing this?" he muttered after a moment. "I thought you hated me?"

                Hated him? Me too.

                But I've never been very reliable on the I-like-you-I-hate-you front.

                "Hate is a very strong word," I answered with a slight wince. "I never, er, _hated_ you, just...but that's not the point! Why won't you just talk to her? Don't you _want_ to be with her?"

                "Of course I–" Mac cut himself off with another loud groan of frustration. I hated being such a pain in the arse, prodding him like this, but he left me no choice. He was being so bloody stubborn! Blokes set themselves up for things like this, being as difficult as they are and all.

                I went to go say more, prod him if I had to, demand and yell if it came down to that, but Mac cut me off, sighing heavily as he said, "I know you're trying to help, but...it's not...it's more...I...I have to go, all right? I just have to go."

                "Mac–"

                "Bye, Lily."

                And then he raced off down the corridor, walking as if the devil himself was biting at his heels. And even as stubborn and as meddlesome as I am, I knew not to chase after him. Doing so would only lead to more trouble, and a more cross Mac, which would lead to a more cross Emma, which would make a very unhappy (not to mention very unproductive) Lily.

                I sighed heavily, watching as Mac disappeared around the corner, trying not to be too depressed at my failure. When a comforting hand fell down upon my shoulder, I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. I just sighed once more and said, "They _need_ me. They do. They just don't know it yet."

                In reply I just got a hefty laugh from James, as he tugged me against his side as we made our way down the corridor. "I'd say 'I told you so'," he muttered softly, the twinge of amusement still in his voice, "but I think you've learned that on your own, haven't you?"

                "No, not–"

                He broke out into another fit of laughter at my complaints, and even though I was feeling like utter rubbish, I had to laugh along with him, because James is just like that sometimes. "Come on," he said. "Let's go down to the kitchens. My stomach is starting to devour my internal organs. You got some parchment with you? We can start composing your letter to your Mum. _Dear Mrs. Evans..."_

                And so we went down to the kitchens, where James consumed more food than I thought humanly possible while also dictating out a note to my mother, even though we had no parchment.

                And even though I may be meddlesome, slightly injured, currently on-the-outs with my almost-significant other, and more mad than a bushel load of St. Mungo’s crack heads, I like that I have mates who can be silly enough to make me forget about all that for an hour or so. I like that a lot.

                Tomorrow, I hope, will be a better day.


	13. October 6th: A Rook Whore's Guide to Lying

**Author’s Notes:** Here we go…the debut of the long awaited chapter thirteen! There’s some important things going down in this chapter–some new characters, some…hem… _interesting_ feelings…heh =). I hope you all enjoy! Thanks go to Juli and Dina for their _amazingly_ brilliant beataing jobs; to Meg, who is MJ's useless facts incarnated; and also, of course, to all my forever-patient readers! Remember to let me know what you think! —Bee

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“If you want to be the most popular person in your class, whenever the professor pauses in his lecture, just let out a big snort and say "How do you figger that!" real loud. Then lean back and sort of smirk.”�

 

—Jack Handey

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_______________________

 

****

 

**Monday, October 6th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 136**

 

****

 

Things To Do:

 

 

1) Get out of bed...eventually.  
2) Get dressed...eventually.  
3) Go down to breakfast...eventually.  
4) Prepare myself physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. for Ancient Runes presentation which is set to take place in T-minus 3 hours.  
5) Prepare myself physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. to meet again with my currently brassed off future husband, Amos Diggory, for said Ancient Runes presentation.  
6) Try to convince said future husband not to be brassed off any longer.  
7) Try to figure out just why said future husband has a right to be as brassed off as he apparently is when _he_ wasn't the one who was dutifully ignored and abused when he was in an excruciating amount of pain yesterday.  
8) Breathe.

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 137**

 

****

 

****

 

                When I finally made it down to breakfast–mentally going over the Ancient Runes presentation in my mind for what had to be the _millionth_ time this morning, even though I’m rather sure that I have it down now. I'm not really worried over it or anything. I mean, Amos and I made a spectacular team. Perfect. Unbeatable. We know everything. Got it down-pat. I'm just...preparing. You can _never_ be too prepared–Marley was sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, munching on toast and reading the _Prophet,_ as usual.

 

"Hey," I said, coming up behind her. She jumped nearly ten meters in the air.

 

                "Lily!" she cried, her hand flying to her chest. "Merlin's beard, what are you sneaking up on me like that for?"

 

                "I wasn't sneaking," I insisted, sliding into the seat next to her, dropping my rucksack onto the floor. I threw her a side-smirk. "You're obviously just a bit on the jumpy side this morning."

 

                I meant it as a joke, of course–the bit about her being jumpy, I mean–so I was rather surprised when instead of laughing, Marley nodded and leaned in closer to me, her voice soft as her eyes flashed across the hall. "See that bloke over there?" she whispered, nodding her head towards the Slytherin table. My eyes lifted, instantly catching the piercing gaze of a rather good-looking blonde bloke who was seated there. The second our eyes met, he looked away. "He's been doing that all morning," Marley confided, sighing slightly. "It's giving me the creeps."

 

                "Maybe he fancies you," I suggested with a grin.

 

                "Somehow I doubt that," Marley responded flatly, her eyes once again straying to the table across the hall. "He's a Slytherin. And besides, he's in my Transfiguration class and despite the fact that I'm _perfectly_ cordial, he's always completely rude to me. Is there something on my face that I don't know about? Perhaps that's it?"

 

                I looked, and then shook my head. "Nope,”� I told her with a shrug. “Nothing there."

 

                "Bugger," she swore, hanging her head. "I was rather hoping that was it. He's probably over there contemplating my murder or something." I laughed and shook my head. Marley threw me a face. "Why are you down here so late, anyway?" she asked, then quickly corrected, "Well, still early, but later than usual, I meant."

 

                "Didn't feel like getting up this morning."

 

                "Why? Stressful day ahead of you?"

 

                "Erm, no, not really," I answered, even though my mind was still reciting the same six lines of the Ancient Runes presentation that I couldn't seem to get just right, and if that's not a sign of stress, I don't know what is. "I have an Ancient Runes presentation, but it's not that big of a deal. Where's James?"

 

                "Dunno," Marley said with a shrug. "Hasn't been down yet, either. Strange. Wonder what's keeping him?"

 

                I shrugged as well, though I wouldn't have been even remotely surprised if he was still in his bed, heaving up into a bowl on his bedside table, sick to his stomach after devouring that ungodly amount of food (most of which was not of the healthier variety) when we went down to the kitchens last night. He'd deserve it. I told him those cream puffs were a bad idea. He didn't listen, though, just went on and devoured them too. 

 

                Blokes are such pigs sometimes.

 

                "Speaking of James," Marley said, taking another bite of her toast, "I had an interesting conversation yesterday."

 

                "With James?" I asked. 

 

                "No, with Elisabeth Saunders."

 

                Oh, shit.

 

                Shit, shit, shit.

 

                "What'd she say?" I asked, trying not to sound too panicked, even though I was. 

 

                Marley grinned. "Well, to be perfectly honest, she didn't so much _say_ as she did _interrogate_ –don't look so nauseated! It was actually quite funny." Marley went on buttering her toast as if this conversation didn't hold grave significance in my very delicate life. "She asked me about you and James," she went on. "Was rather interested in the way you both ate breakfast." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Now why would that be, do you think?"

 

                I groaned aloud, dropping my head down against the table. Couldn't the girl just let the whole thing drop? Does she have to be constantly bringing it up everywhere, _interrogating_ people? She's already won, doesn't she see that? Can't she just take her victory and leave my tender feelings and me alone? I wish she would just bloody well forget the fact that I had ever told her I was dating James.

 

                What's the penalty for unauthorized memory altering again?

 

                I'm not afraid of some jail-time. 

 

                It may be worth it.

 

                "Come off it, Marley," I said with a giant sigh. "You know the whole thing was a load of rubbish. What did she ask? What did you tell her?"

 

                "Well, naturally she asked if you and James were dating," Marley answered, smiling slightly. "I really wasn't sure what to say at first. But then I thought to myself, what would Lily do?"

 

                Er…kick Saunders hard in the shins and run for my life?

 

                Yeah.

 

                That sounds about right.

 

                "So what'd you do...or, er, what would I have done?"

 

                "Why, pissed her off as much as possible!" Marley cried out jovially, and I couldn't help but laugh at her glee and rather on-spot deduction of my character. "Well, without actually saying you and James were dating, of course," she added quickly, a small smug smile grazing her lips. She looked so damned proud of herself, I knew she'd gotten Saunders good. And you know what? I really couldn't find it in myself to feel bad about that. Still laughing, I shook my head and asked, "Oh, Marley, what did you _do_?"

 

                "Nothing really." She grinned foolishly. "I only said that as far as I knew, there was nothing official, but if she wanted _my_ opinion, I thought it was _terribly_ cute how the pair of you ate off each other's plates…and had I mentioned that I never quite saw either of your hands anywhere but under the table?"

 

                I couldn't help it then. I started howling like a loon.

 

                Maybe, just maybe–with a bit of help from my mates–Saunders won't come out as the victor in this just yet.

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Ancient Runes**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 137**

 

****

**More Letters Written By Lily Evans To Amos Diggory During Ancient Runes That She Will Never In Her Life Send, But Still Enjoys Writing Because She Has Nothing Better To Do With Her Time (And Needs To Distract Herself Before Her Large, Nerve-Racking Presentation With Said Amos Diggory.)**

****

_Dearest Slightly-Cross-Yet-Still-Brilliant-Amos,_

 

__

 

_Well, here we are, love. The day has finally come: our presentation. All that hard work, all that time spent together, it's all come down to this. You know, if I wasn't already assured your company for Hogsmeade next week, I would probably be alarmingly distressed about this. The presentation, I mean. Because then I would have no valid excuse to be speaking to you or spending time with you. But now I do. Hogsmeade. Brilliant place, that Hogsmeade._

 

_Are you terribly nervous, love? You don't look it. Not at all. In fact, you look perfectly smashing. But just in case you're feeling a bit out of sorts and are just incredibly good at hiding it, don't you worry. We've got this down. We'll do brilliantly._

 

_And if worse comes to worse, keep in mind that Timmy the Hyena-Boy and Penny-O'Jene-of-Dirty-Hands are presently on the outs again. We can't_ possibly _do worse than them._

 

__

 

_Yours for all eternity,_  
 _Lily_

 

_\---------------------------_

 

__

 

_Love-_

 

__

 

_Oh, bugger it, I’ve just realised something._

 

__

 

_We're sort of on the outs as well, aren't we?_

 

__

 

_Shit._

 

__

 

_Your Slightly-Worried Lover_

 

__

 

_\---------------------------_

 

__

 

_Dearest Darling Dishy,_

 

__

 

_We're not_ really _on the outs, though, are we? I mean, I know you're a bit upset over the whole James thing, but you know that wasn't really my fault, right? It was Elisabeth Saunders. She provoked me. She really did. And just because I got immense entertainment out of the things Marley told her yesterday doesn't mean that I actually_ want _the entire school to believe I'm dating James. I don't. Just, you know, Elisabeth. You can understand that, can't you, Amos?_

 

__

 

_Yours faithfully,_  
 _Wife_

 

__

 

_\---------------------------_

 

__

 

_A-_

 

__

 

_Oh, my god. We're on the outs. WE'RE ON THE OUTS!_

 

__

 

_We're_ so _going to fail._

 

__

 

_L._

 

__

 

_\---------------------------_

 

__

 

_DON'T RAISE YOUR HAND! DON'T RAISE YOUR–_

 

__

 

_Double shit and bugger it. You raised your fucking hand._

 

__

 

_\---------------------------_

 

__

 

_Still-My-Beating-Heart,_

 

__

 

_I knew we weren't on the outs. I knew it._

 

__

 

_We're so good._

 

__

 

_Forever,_  
 _Your Heart_

 

__

 

_P.S– Did you see Hyena and Dirty-Hands?_ They're _on the outs. I nearly wet myself when she started taking about pink knickers. Classic. Pure and unadulterated entertainment._

 

__

 

_______________________

 

__

 

**Later, Charms**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 137**

 

****

 

****

 

**So how did it go? -GR**

 

****

 

How did what go? -LE

 

                _Your presentation, silly. You were only muttering it in your sleep last night. -EV_

 

__

 

I was not.

 

                **How do you know? You were asleep.**

 

****

 

Because I know.

 

                _Sound defense, counselor. Care to proceed?_

 

__

 

No, thank you.

 

                **So?**

 

****

 

So?

 

                _It went that badly?_

 

__

 

No, actually, it went off brilliantly. For a second there I had my doubts, but it all ran smoothly in the end. Not that Lundi would have ever given me a bad mark, anyway. He adores me.

 

                **Who doesn't adore you?**

 

****

 

Er, as of right now? Quite a few people. Including my future husband, which is never a good thing for the marital bliss. Or the children.

 

                _Did he say something to you?_

 

__

 

**Children?**

 

__

 

No. He hasn't spoken to me since Friday. He did smile at me once or twice this morning, though, but that may have just been because I saved his bum during the presentation a few times. The boy really is just rubbish at Runes. And yes, Gracie, my children. They're young psyches wouldn't deal well with feuding parents.

 

                _Maybe you should go talk to him._

 

__

 

**You don't have children.**

 

****

 

I don't know. I wouldn't know what to say. Anything I tell him is going to make either me or James look like the biggest prat in the entire world. I'm selfish enough not to want that for myself and I couldn't possibly do that to James. Look at him back there. He's so innocent...or, you know, he would be if he weren’t waving his wand like that. What the bloody hell is he _doing,_ anyway?–but in this I mean. He's innocent in all of this. And Gracie, don't speak about my babies like that, all right?

 

                _Well, what are your other options really, Lil? I mean, you can't possibly keep ignoring the problem. It isn't going to be solved that way. And believe it or not, a week from now I don't think any one will really care whether or not you lied about dating James. Most of the female population has done it once or twice before._

 

__

 

**Well, what are they? Babies or children? There's a difference you know.**

 

****

 

Elisabeth Saunders will care! How am I supposed to sleep in the same room with her if she finds out? She'll be intolerable. I'll never live it down. And what are you talking about? Who else says they're dating James?

 

__

 

_Merlin, Lil, it's not as if you haven't lied to the girl before. Remember that time in third year when you told her you knew that international model? You lived that one down, didn't you?_

 

__

 

Just barely, Em. Just barely.

 

                _She forgot about it after a week!_

 

__

 

Yes, but that's only because she was too busy snogging James. And speaking of James, who else says they're dating him? I'm mean, he's not...well, I suppose he sort of is, but...who?

 

                _A lot of people, actually. It's not like you started the trend._

 

__

 

Who?

 

                **I feel as if I'm being ignored here.**

 

****

 

Then say something intelligent and you won't be ignored.

 

                **Something intelligent. Har har har.**

 

****

 

_Oh, Merlin._

 

__

 

Please, Gracie. Go sit in a corner before you hurt someone.

 

                **What way am I supposed to be flicking my wrist?**

 

****

 

_Right._

 

__

 

No, start off to the left and then turn right. It'll make it easier.

 

                **Ah, brilliant. You, Charms genius, you.**

 

****

 

I try.

 

                **You succeed.**

 

****

 

Yes, rather often.

 

                _Arrogant much, Lil?_

 

__

 

It's only arrogance if I'm wrong. Which I'm not.

 

                **My arse you–oh, bugger. Flitwick doesn't look happy.**

 

****

 

Damn. Quick, look innocent.

 

                _Done._

 

_______________________

 

****

 

**Later, Lunch in the Great Hall**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 139**

 

****

 

****

 

                I told Emma that I would talk to Amos if she spoke to Mac. She pretended that she hadn't heard me.

 

                Mature. Very very mature.

 

__

 

__

 

_______________________

 

__

 

**Later, Divination**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 139**

 

__

 

__

 

__

 

Perhaps I _should_ just talk to Amos.

 

                I mean, as long as James isn't there to act like an arse and encourage Amos's male-arsish instincts, it shouldn't go too dreadfully. If I continue to avoid him, I'm really just being as stupid as Emma and Mac (and that is a truly inconceivable amount of stupidity). I'll just find him, start some light-hearted conversation and subtlety bring up the fact that he really has no right to be cross with me because the whole James thing was just a silly rumour (which I sort of accidentally started, but there's no need to tell him that) and if he really cares for me (which, of course, he does), he'll just forget about this whole thing and accept my mates as my mates and _only_ my mates so that we can move on with life and begin reproducing.

 

                Or, you know, not in so many words, but it's all the same rubbish.

 

                And Elisabeth Saunders can go jump off a cliff for all I care. Emma's right. She'll just forget about the whole thing when the next new opportunity to torture some other innocent girl pops up. And if she doesn't, if she'd still an unbearable arse, I'll simply remind her of the fact that for a good while, she strongly _believed_ my lies. That should humble her, eh?

 

                Or if that doesn't work, I'll send James after her. He'll make her stop. He likes me more.

 

                I think.

 

                Even though he dated her.

 

                Minor lapse of judgment on his part. He has better mates now.

 

                All right. Brilliant. Spiffing plan. Now I've only to find my love...hmm.

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Wandering the Corridors**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 140**

 

****

 

****

 

In order for this plan to work, I don't know, but I'm relatively certain that Amos needs to be present.

 

                Bugger it, where the bloody hell _is_ this man?

 

_______________________

 

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 142**

 

****

 

****

 

He was down on the Quidditch Pitch.

 

                Why am I not even remotely surprised?

 

                I'm rather shocked I hadn't thought of it before. It should've been the first place I thought to look. The Quidditch Pitch is to the male gender what the library is to me–a home away from home. They're constantly there. Always. Forever. It should've been the first place to come to mind.

 

                By the time I finally discovered Amos's whereabouts, however (and not, I'm ashamed to admit, even with my own common sense. On my way down to the Great Hall, I overheard a group of Hufflepuff girls talking about going down to the pitch to watch and giggle and such. And seeing as I didn't really want to seem as if I was eavesdropping and all, I could hardly rush off to the pitch right after them. I had to wait a good few minutes before following, making sure they had gone), practice was practically over. Not that I was really complaining about that or anything. I mean, if it hadn’t been, I probably would’ve actually had to stay and _watch_ or something _._

 

__

 

And as much as I love Amos, I don’t think I deserve that sort of torture.

 

                Amos was up in the air in a huddle with the rest of the Hufflepuff team when I arrived, balancing on his broom with his feet and motioning frantically with his hands. The team was nodding along, looking very fierce and Quidditch-y with their stern looks and multiple padding (ever wonder how they can properly balance with all of that protective padding? I have. Maybe if Quidditch weren’t such a mad game, they wouldn't need all those elbow and knee pads and special gloves or whatever. Just a thought). I stood off to the side of the pitch and watched as the team gave a final barbaric 'rah' of some sort and went shooting down from the air towards the locker room.

 

                Mad, the whole lot of them.

 

                I had learned my lesson with James that perhaps it was better to let a man take a nice shower after some manly Quidditch before you go and confront him. Especially when said man isn't exactly the happiest with you. And while, yes, Amos isn't quite as cross as James had been–he hasn't, after all, been skiving off any classes or stomping through any great halls–I still thought it best to take my place outside the locker room to wait patiently for a much cleaner and more refreshed Amos to talk to.

 

                For his sake and all, I mean.

 

                I'm very thoughtful like that.

 

                So I took my place against the wall of the locker room, ignoring the more than a bit strange looks I was getting from the other Hufflepuff team members as they exited the locker room. They had to know why I was there–my date with Amos was more than common knowledge–but from their…well, I suppose they were rather _hostile_ expressions, actually, they all seemed to think it was mystifyingly odd and perhaps a bit intrusive, my being there. Though I have no idea why. It’s not as if I pose as any sort of _threat_ to them or anything. I mean, _please_. Not in the least.

 

                One too many Bludgers to the head, I suppose.

 

                Thankfully though, Amos seemed to be a rather quick bather because he was out of the shower before boredom could take control or the strange looks I was getting drove me mad (even though there were a ridiculously large amount of them. There are seven members on a Quidditch team, yeah? Definitely more than seven strange looks. Definitely. Or, you know, it _seemed_ like there were, anyway). He looked quite startled to see me there, but it was the first non-strange-almost-hostile look I'd received in quite some time, so I took that as a good sign.

 

                "Amos, hey." I threw him my best smile, surprised to find him grinning back. Oh, yeah. The shower had _definitely_ been a brilliant idea. Especially since, you know, his hair was all wet and he looked so fresh and clean and I could just imagine him in the shower a few minutes ago...

 

                "Lily! What are you doing here?"

 

                Daydreaming about you starkers.

 

                Heh.

 

                "I just wanted to talk to you," I responded with a grin, a bit dry in the mouth. But what can I say? Naked Amos does that to me sometimes. "Do you have a minute?"

 

                I knew that if he said no now, I might as well just give up and go lock myself in my dormitory to cry my poor, wretched heart out because he wasn’t ever going to accept my dreadful lies and the ever-present presence of bad karma in my life. But instead of shattering my heart into a million pieces, Amos simply shot me another heart-thumping grin and went, "Yeah, sure."

 

                They were the two best words in the English vocabulary, I was sure.

 

                We started walking back across the pitch and (thank Merlin!) Amos didn't seem at all cross any more. I was almost reluctant to bring the ever-controversial topic of James Potter up again, but I knew even if Amos no longer cared about everything, _I_ would constantly be worrying about it, and Merlin knows I already have enough to worry about, what with all the predicaments I always seem to get myself in and all.

 

                "So what did you want to talk about?" Amos asked, and he looked so calm that I thought again of not bringing the entire thing up before tossing that thought aside and moving forward before I lost all of my nerve.

 

                "Actually, I really just wanted to apologise,”� I said, watching for some sort of reaction, but Amos's face was blank. "For Friday," I went on, "with James."

 

                If I was expecting some sort of vehement reaction to the mention of Friday or especially James Potter, I was sorely disappointed. But considering I _wanted_ Amos not to care, to no longer be cross with me (though at that point, I'm not even entirely sure he was any more anyway), I was more than a bit relieved when Amos simply shrugged off my apology.

 

                "Don't worry about it," he said. "You did nothing wrong. I'm the one who should be apologising. I acted like a complete arse."

 

                No objections there, love.

 

                I scratched my head idly, wincing a bit. "Er, perhaps, but–" 

 

                "No buts,”� Amos interrupted, throwing me a look. “I was and I apologise for it. I wasn't having the most brilliant of days and... well, I think you of all people know that Potter and I aren't exactly the best of mates. But I shouldn't have antagonized him like that. I'm sorry for it."

 

                "And James is sorry for it as well," I replied quickly, lying through my teeth. Amos laughed at that, knowing the lie easily.

 

                "Oh, he is, is he?" He shook his head. "Somehow I find that doubtful."

 

                "He is," I insisted again. "He just doesn't know it yet. But he is. Truly. Deeply. All the way down in his heart."

 

                Amos laughed again and I thought that a very _very_ good sign, all things considered. After all, isn't laughter the pathway to happiness?

 

                Yes, yes it is.

 

                "How's your ankle, by the way?" Amos asked after he finally stopped laughing. "Feeling better?"

 

                It still hurt like hell, but I was too ecstatic about the fact that not only was Amos not the least bit cross with me, he was also standing there before me, smiling, apologising, and _asking me about my never healing ankle!!_ It all seemed like just too much perfection for a girl like me. "Fine,”� I muttered instead of the truth. “It's fine. Just like new."

 

                "Good,”� Amos said with another brilliant smile. “I'm glad. After all, we can't have you limping around Hogsmeade, now can we?"

 

                I didn't have the heart to tell him that that's most likely exactly what we'll have, so I just nodded, laughed, and chatted along merrily with my husband-to-be until we reached the school where we parted ways on the best of terms. And the entire time the only thing that kept going through my head was: _He doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t hate me. HE DOESN’T HATE ME!!!_

 

Observation #141) My life is finally– _finally–_ starting to look up.

 

Observation #142) Psh. How long can that possibly last?

 

_______________________

 

                

 

**Even Later, Dinner in the Great Hall**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 142**

 

****

 

****

 

I let Emma know that I had spoken with Amos and now it was her turn. This time, she pretended not to know what I was talking about, then jumped up from the table and scampered off before the word 'Mac' even managed to escape my lips.

 

                I’ll get her one day. She can't avoid me forever.

 

                I've embraced my meddling ways now. Death to all who dare stand in my way.

 

                Mwa-ha-ha.

 

_______________________

 

**Still Later, Gryffindor Common Room**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 142**

 

****

 

****

 

Maybe I really should go to see Madame Pomfrey, amputated limbs be damned. I really wasn't kidding when I said my ankle still hurt like hell, and now it's really starting to drive me mad. I've been trying to ignore it, but it hasn't seemed to be working. It's just throbbing and throbbing and throbbing... _ugh._

 

                No. I'm not going to go crying off to the Hospital Wing. I'm _not_. It'll be all right. It'll go away eventually. I'll do my assignments. That will distract me. Merlin knows Transfiguration takes up enough of my concentration. 

 

                Yes, that's it. Distraction.

 

                _Owww._

 

__

 

_______________________

 

__

 

**Still Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 21**  
 **Total Observations: 143**

 

__

 

__

 

I was sitting down on one of the couches in the common room, attempting to ignore my throbbing ankle by trying to comprehend my Transfiguration assignment, when James came stumbling through the portrait hole.

 

                "Hey." He fell down onto the couch next to me, looking more than a bit knackered.

 

                "Hey," I smiled back, watching as he visibly exhaled. "Where've you been? You look done in."

 

                He muttered something under his breath as he leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. I just caught something about 'first-years' and 'outside' and a few choice blasphemies before he stopped talking all together. I shook my head and laughed.

 

                "Tough night, then?" I teased.

 

                He cracked an eye open to glare, then closed it again. 

 

                And because I'm _such_ a considerate mate (plus, with my ankle still feeling like it was slowly being sliced off one jagged-edged stroke of a knife at a time, I didn't think that I'd be _quite_ up to my usual exquisite conversational standards), I left the clearly knackered James alone as he sat back against the couch, probably half-asleep already, and went on making up my Transfiguration assignment, pretending I had some inkling of what I was doing instead of just sitting there trying not to cry. Have I mentioned before my extremely low tolerance for pain? Well, I have one. An extremely low tolerance for pain, I mean. An extremely, _extremely_ low tolerance.

 

                _Owwww._

 

__

 

"That's wrong, you know."

 

                I didn't know how long we'd been sitting there–minutes, hours, millenniums–all I know is that one moment we weren't speaking, then we were, and my ankle was _still throbbing._

 

__

 

"What?" was my rather dumb response, but considering I was in the middle of a fierce battle not to burst out into tears right then and there (which, really, who would have even cared? It's not as if James hasn't seen me crying, oh, half-a- _billion_ times before this), I thought it rather lucky that I got anything out at all.

 

                "That last question," James elaborated, and when I turned to look at him, his eyes were open and he was pointing down to my parchment. "Rather sickeningly wrong actually. And–wait a second, these are _all_...Lily, we went over all of this last week! You _know_ this. What the bloody hell are you writing?"

 

                My will.

 

                "I think I'm going to die."

 

                "Transfiguration isn't going to kill you, Infallible."

 

                "No, but Pomfrey will!”� I cried, and that seemed to be all it was going to take for my verbal dam of pain to break loose. Suddenly, I felt very much like crying and I couldn’t have stopped my endless complaints if you’d paid me. “After she’s amputated this stupid ankle–which, you know, I don't think I'd really even mind anymore because I'm beginning to think it's a far larger hassle than it is an asset–but she'll chop it off and then let it bleed and bleed until I've bled to death, but even then I don't think I'd care because then at least it wouldn't _hurt_ so _damn bloody much_!"

 

                James looked a bit startled by my outburst and my sudden, rather hysterical persona. But to his benefit, he didn’t loose his cool. His eyes just narrowed a bit at me as he asked, "Your ankle's still hurting you?"

 

                And really, I kind of felt like hitting him then.

 

                Because, honestly–is your ankle still hurting you?–what a bloody stupid question.

 

                No. I'm _lying_.

 

                Psh.

 

                I sighed grimly, holding back my violent impulses because I figured it would simply just hurt more if I were to move. "I've gone so far past mere hurt now,”� I responded gravely instead. “I told you, I'm dying. _Dy-ing."_

 

__

 

"Let me see it,”� James said.

 

                "No, don't touch it. It'll– _ow!_ Buggering _shit,_ James, that _hurts!"_

 

__

 

"Sorry."

 

                But he wasn't. He clearly wasn't sorry at all because he just kept on turning and prodding my ankle as if I wasn't even sitting there, yelling and screaming like a banshee for him to quit it. He just went right on examining, paying me no mind. Which just further goes to prove just how much significance I have in this world. I can't even control my own broken _limbs._

 

                When James was finally satisfied with his examination, he carefully placed my ankle back down on the floor before rising from the couch, completely nonchalant as if he hadn't just been inflicting terrible pain upon my person. Then, to make matters even worse, he held out his hand to me. I had no idea why, but it didn't matter at the time. Like I'd ever touch _him_ again. Psh. I gave him a good, long glare for that one.

 

                "Come on," he said, motioning to me with his hand and then holding it out to me again.

 

                "Come on where?" I asked.

 

                "To the Hospital Wing so you can die. Let's go."

 

                "What? No! I'm not going anywhere!"

 

                He had the audacity to look as put out as I was then, though he really had no right because _I_ was the one whose ankle had just been abused and was now being asked to take a nice stroll to my untimely death.

 

                "Yes, you are," he told me, looking quite determined, but I was even more so. "I haven't the foggiest what in the bleeding hell you keep doing to that ankle, Lily, but it's swelling and if you just let it alone, it's only going to get worse. Now come _on._ "

 

                "No. You're tired, remember? Sit down."

 

                "You're injured, remember? Stand up."

 

                We could’ve gone on for hours and hours like that, and I think we both knew it. I could tell solely from James's face that he wasn't backing down on this one. But I didn't _want_ to go to the Hospital Wing. I really, _really_ didn't want to go. I had things to do, people to see, limbs to keep attached to my body...did none of that mean _anything_?

 

                But maybe I was the tired one–or perhaps simply the intelligent one, knowing when I'd lost a fight–because after another nice bout of glaring, I sighed and gave up, moaning, "She's going to _kill_ me."

 

                Because she was. She really was. 

 

                But did James care a whit about any of that? 

 

                Nope.

 

                "We'll tell her that I pushed you down the stairs," he said instead, smiling at his victory and grabbing my hand to hoist me up to my feet. "Do you need to lean on me?"

 

                "No," I replied stubbornly, and then defeated my purpose by stumbling over my own two feet. James rolled his eyes.

 

                "Let's go," he said, dragging me behind him because I still refused his help and insisted on hobble-walking myself.

 

                "You're an annoying mate, James Potter."

 

                "You're an _exhausting_ mate, Infallible."

 

                "We probably shouldn't be mates anymore."

 

                "You're probably right, but you're still going to the Hospital Wing."

 

                " _Ughhhh."_

 

__

 

But I went anyway, even though I didn't want to. And James did announce with a smile to the entire Hospital Wing that he had indeed pushed me down the stairs just as soon as we walked through the doors. After that, Pomfrey was far too busy telling James off to remember her threat to me. I didn't bleed to death. I didn't die. And my ankle is feeling _much_ better.

 

                I'll probably keep James around. He has his uses.

 

_______________________

 

**Tuesday, October 7th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

                

 

__

 

Observation #144) For the true maniacs and fanatics, it is apparently never too early to talk about Quidditch.

 

                It is far too early for this.

 

                Far, _far_ too early.

 

                

 

                "It's not their offense we have to watch out for, it's their de!" Marley is whispering forcefully (because, as I was informed a few moments ago when I asked why it was that everyone was whispering, you just never know what kind of spies are hanging around. Yeah. _Spies_. Quidditch has _spies.),_ taking a hefty bite of her toast. "They may not be experienced, but those beaters know how to aim."

 

                

 

                "Bullshit," James scoffs, looking rather disgusted at the mere thought of such a thing. "Hufflepuff plays strong up front. They always have. And from what I hear from the first-years, Diggory's moved Carlyle up and she's a better Chaser than she was a Keeper."

 

                That's another thing. Those spies? The Quidditch ones? They're _first-years_. Yeah. Little, innocent, eleven-year-olds who the tyrant Quidditch maniacs like James and Marley handpick and train to gain information about opposing teams for them. And none of them–not the captains, the players, the first-years or even in fact the Heads of House, who I hear actually go around recruiting these spies along with the rest of them–think that this is in any way cruel, inhumane or blatantly cheating. Unless of course they catch someone spying on _their_ team. Then there's hell to pay.

 

                Merlin, what prats.

 

                "Maybe you should just watch out for both," I add, being very helpful, I think. "Their offense and their defense, I mean."

 

                But instead of being all, 'Well, gee, that's a swell idea, Lily. Thanks for the brilliant tip!', James simply shakes his head at me and goes, "Shhh, Infallible. Eat your waffles." Then goes back to fighting with Marley again.

 

                Sure.

 

                Okay.

 

                I know when I'm not wanted. I can take a hint.

 

                You know, I sort of missed them before, but now I rather wish they were at Quidditch practice. I don't know how much more of this Quidditch rubbish I can take. And the abuse. Eat my waffles. Psh.

 

                Ohhh, my _ears._

 

__

 

__

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Defense**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

****

 

****

 

Have I ever mentioned before how much I really, really _love_ being Head Girl?

 

                I mean, yes, I'll admit it, I was rather intimidated by the position when I first found out I had it, but who wouldn't be? That's a lot of responsibility for just one girl. _A lot_ of responsibility. And, well, me being me and all, who knew if I could handle something like that? Who knew if or when the professors were finally going to realise their mistake and tell me they'd chosen someone else? But that didn't mean I wasn't _excited_ about it all the same. It was just probably hard to realise that with all my complaining and such.

 

                But I do. I love it. I really, really do.

 

                And it's more than just the fact that I have a really groovy lavatory to skivvy off classes in, or the fact that I get to know all the passwords all over the school, or that I can take off points, or that I have control over even the prefects. I mean, that's all great, but that's not what I _really_ like. It's everything else. The _important_ things.

 

                Like take just now for example, when, a little late because James just _had_ to engage Grace in a thirty-hour conversation about having another practice today after classes (though why the buggering hell it took so long to say, 'Oy! Grace! Practice today!' and 'Oh, great, James. Thanks for letting me know,' I will never have any idea), Emma, Grace and I were dashing through the corridors, trying to get to Defense on time when we came across quite a scene on the first floor.

 

                A Hufflepuff girl–she couldn't have been older than second-year, perhaps even first–was scrambling on the ground in the middle of the corridor, books and parchment scattered all around her, looking quite on the verge of tears as she quickly gathered together what she could. The rest of the very late students rushed past her with pitying looks, either not caring enough to stop or knowing it was their own heads if they did. The trio of us came upon the scene and halted for but a moment.

 

                "Bugger," Grace swore, her eyes scanning the mess quickly, then darting down the corridor to where Professor Crandy was most likely already realising we weren’t in our seats.

 

                "We're _so_ late," Emma whispered, her eyes darting as well.

 

                "Go," I called quickly, already rushing over towards the girl. "Tell Crandy I'm on Head Girl duties. Go! Before you're later than you already are!"

 

                "Lily–"

 

                " _Go!"_

 

__

 

They both dashed off at my insistence just as I reached the girl, getting right down on my hands and knees along with her.

 

                "Don't panic," I said, handing her a few books. "What class do you have next?"

 

                "C-Charms," she responded tightly, taking the books.

 

                "Brilliant," I said with a grin. "Don't worry, I'll write you a note for Flitwick. I'm Head Girl, and his favorite student besides. He won't mind in the least. Do you have everything? Oh, wait, here's another book." I handed her the aforementioned book with another comforting grin. She sniffled a bit as we both rose to our feet. Grabbing a piece of parchment out of my own satchel, I quickly scrawled the girl a note. "What's your name?" I asked her.

 

                "Leslie Miller."

 

                "Well, here's your note, Leslie." I handed her the parchment. "Don't worry about a thing. If Flitwick gives you grief, I'll speak to him later. All right?"

 

                Leslie nodded, and then looked up at me with a sort of wonder in her eyes. And even though I knew it was stupid, even though I knew I hadn't done anything but pick up a few books and used my influence over my adorable favorite Charms professor to solve a bit of a mishap, it still felt rather...well, rather splendid to be looked at like that.

 

                Sometimes I wonder if perhaps I don't _deserve_ to be Head Girl.

 

                Just sometimes, though.

 

                

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Charms**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

__

 

__

 

From a major high to a major low. Look at what just arrived for me via a first-year during my own Charms class:

 

                _Dear Miss Evans,_

 

_Please make yourself available to be present in my office directly preceding your next class. Excuses for tardiness will be given if necessary._

 

__

 

_M. McGonagall_

 

__

 

_______________________

 

**A** **Bit Later, Still in Charms**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

****

 

 

**What did you do now, Evans? And more importantly, why wasn't I involved? -GR**

 

****

 

I didn't do anything, I swear! -LE

 

__

 

**Well, obviously you did, Lil. McGonagall doesn't just call you down to her office for nothing, you know. Have you been failing in anything else recently?**

 

****

 

I'm pretty sure that I'm failing at life. Does that count?

 

__

 

**Not sure. Probably. But even so, what could McGonagall have to say about that? It's not as if she could do anything about it.**

 

****

 

She could ship me off to Guam.

 

__

 

**Or force you to join Chess Club.**

 

****

 

I don't think either would work.

 

                **But they'd be funny.**

 

****

 

For you.

 

                **And for the blokes in Chess Club.**

 

****

 

What about the girls in Chess Club?

 

                **There are no girls in Chess Club, Lily.**

 

****

 

Not true, Gracie, m'dear, not true. What about Mia Bones?

 

                **Oh, yeah, that's right! I'd forgotten about the Bishop Whore.**

 

****

 

The Bishop _what??_

 

__

 

**Whore. That's what they call her.**

 

****

 

Well, that's not very nice! Who would make up such a dreadful name?

 

                **Mia.**

 

****

 

Mia??

 

                **Apparently she's very proud of her chessish-slaggish ways.**

 

****

 

Apparently.

 

                **Well, I would be as well! Do you know how much effort it takes to get those Chess Club blokes away from their boards for mere minutes? Mia managed to get them away long enough to shag them. Not that it probably lasted very long, anyway...**

 

****

 

Um, ew. Can we not talk about that, please?

 

                **Hey! Lil, you could be the _Rook Whore!_**

 

**__**

 

The _what?_

 

__

 

**If McGonagall forces you to join the Chess Club. You could be the Rook Whore!**

 

****

 

But I don't _want_ to be the Rook Whore.

 

                **Well, your supreme failure at life hasn't given us much of a choice, now has it?**

 

****

 

But that's not my fault. I think it's a result of some sort of internal chemical imbalance.

 

                **Don't blame your internal chemicals on this, Lily. You should embrace your position as the Rook Whore. It's quite a title.**

 

****

 

I don't even _like_ chess.

 

                **You don't have to like chess to be the Rook Whore. You just have to like shagging.**

 

****

 

Well, I don't like _that,_ either!

 

                **Oh, really? And how would you know?**

 

****

 

Well, I– _hey_!

 

                **Just stating the facts, Rook Whore. Just stating the facts.**

 

****

 

Hmph!

 

_______________________

 

**Even Later, Charms**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

__

 

__

 

Shit.

 

                Double bloody fucking shit.

 

                What the bleeding hell does she want? What could it be? She couldn't possibly be kicking me out of Transfiguration _now._ She couldn't! I've been doing so well–or, you know, perhaps not _brilliantly_ or anything, but I'm certainly no longer _failing_. I'm really not. I swear.

 

                But what else could this all be about? Maybe it's harmless. Perhaps I'm just blowing the whole thing out of proportion (which, given my track record of doing that quite a bit, is hardly implausible). I mean, McGonagall doesn't just go around calling the Head Girl–

 

                Oh, Merlin.

 

                Head Girl.

 

                _Head Girl_!

 

                I'm not going to be Head Girl anymore.

 

****

 

_______________________

 

**Even Later, Ancient Runes**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

                I was nearly having convulsions by the time Charms let out and I started to make my way downstairs towards McGonagall's office. Even with Grace's pointless banter to distract me, I couldn't ignore the fact that I was being sent for by McGonagall, and I had the sickening feeling that I knew exactly why. I was absolutely certain that she was going to inform me I was no longer Head Girl when I got down there. I mean, I'd gotten detention. _Detention_! And I'm meddling! And I _lie_! I'm a terrible role model! She and Professor Dumbledore and everyone else on that bleeding staff must have finally realised that, hey, Lily Evans, she's just not cut out for a job like Head Girl. Prefect she could handle, but Head Girl? Nope. She tried, she failed. Now they're going to go off and give my position to someone else. Someone who deserves it even less than I do. Someone who the prefects are going to respect and love more than me. Someone who James is probably going to like working with more than me. Someone like Elisabeth Saunders.

 

                I _despise_ my life.

 

                It didn't matter that I'd finally accepted the fact that I _want_ to be Head Girl, that I _like_ being Head Girl. It didn't matter that some impressionable little children look up at me as if I'm some sort of savior. Nope. No one cared about that. After all, what do those little maggots know? About as much as I do, I reckon.

 

                They were still going to sack me out on my bum.

 

                And really, who can blame them?

 

                By the time I reached McGonagall's door, I was nearly in tears.

 

                You never want what you have until you can't have it any more.

 

                I want to be Head Girl. Now I'm not going to be.

 

                With a shaking hand, I knocked on the door.

 

                "Come in!"

 

                I took a deep breath as I twisted the knob, telling myself I was only making things worse by getting emotional. Maybe if I managed to stay even a tiny bit rational, I'd be able to argue my way out of impeachment. I may be a failure at being Head Girl, but I am most _certainly_ not as inept at debating. No indeed.

 

                "Professor? You wanted to see me?"

 

                McGonagall was sitting behind her desk when I walked in, her glasses perched primly upon her nose as a quill stood halted in her hand. I swallowed hard, looking over her formidable stance. This wasn’t going to be good. I could tell already.

 

                "Yes, of course, Miss Evans." She gave me a polite smile and nodded towards the seat across from her desk. "Please, sit." Closing the door behind me, I did as I was told and collapsed into the chair gratefully. "Will you wait one moment while I finish this?" she asked. I nodded, shifting restlessly. It was just like the evil woman to make me sit there and wait through the torture. She really relishes in moments like this, doesn't she? She's almost as bad as my karma.

 

                The room was silent save for the scratching of McGonagall's quill against the parchment. I tried to ignore the small bursts of panic going off in my stomach as I sat there, waiting for the inevitable. It seemed like forever and a day had passed when McGonagall had finally finished with her scrawling as she placed down her quill and looked up at me.

 

                "Well, now, Miss Evans," she said, folding her hands together neatly upon her desk. My own hands were sweating buckets, which I quickly tried to hide by furtively wiping them against my skirt. Always a useful trick for girls who are as perspiration-prone as I am. "You're improving very much, I'm glad to say. I trust your tutoring is going well?"

 

                Tutoring?

 

                Oh, Merlin. She was trying to let me down easy.

 

                "I...er, yeah," I muttered awkwardly. "Spectacular. James is a wonderful tutor."

 

                And a wonderful Head Boy. Unlike me, the world's worst Head Girl. Which was precisely why we were sitting there in the first place.

 

                Why couldn't she just get on with it? 

 

                My hands were creating their own water works system, for Merlin's sake.

 

                "Mr. Potter has his talents...when he applies himself," McGonagall answered, her voice uncharacteristically flat as she said the last bit. Probably recalling the fireworks stunt. Not that she could prove it was him of course, but McGonagall is anything but stupid. The Marauders are called 'marauders' for a reason, after all. "I'm glad you're adjusting well. In all my time at Hogwarts I've dropped very few students from my class and I was very much hoping I wouldn't have to change that."

 

                I nodded again, not knowing quite what else I could do. Why was she stalling? Did she think this was making it better? Did she think I would be less hurt if she commented on my lack of being sacked from her class before she sacked me out of my job? Where was the logic in that?

 

                "But that's not why I asked you here, of course," she said, finally getting to the point. She began rustling around on her desk, apparently looking for something. A note from the Headmaster asking for my dismissal, perhaps? A list of all the foul things I did to deserve this impeachment? A large picture of myself that McGonagall would simply have to hold up and then say, 'You're out of a job. I think this is explanation enough.'?

 

                I tried to stay rational, really I did, but me and my over-emotional self weren’t doing a very good job at it. I'd never wanted to cry so much in my entire life.

 

                "Professor–"

 

                "Ah, here it is," she said, pulling out not a large piece of parchment containing something incriminating against me as I'd expected, but rather a little folded slip that she handed out to me. The beginnings of my lame argument died on my lips. This was it. It was over. And I wasn't even deemed important enough for a whole sheet of parchment. Psh. Why was I surprised by _that?_ With a supremely heavy heart, I reached out and grabbed the slip of parchment.

 

                The end was near.

 

                "Now, I expect the same diligence from you as you're being shown in your sessions, but I don't suppose that will be a problem with you," McGonagall said, startling me out of my moment of self-misery. I glanced up at her, hurting and confused, the folded piece of parchment still lying closed in my hand. Why hadn't she dismissed me yet? Was she too afraid if she said the words that I'd lash out at her, what with my violent tendencies and all? I wouldn’t…I don’t think.

 

                "Er, what?" I forced out, trying not to sound too anguished. I figured I had a better chance at arguing myself back into a probation period if I didn't seem too oh-Merlin-my-life-is-over, even though that's how I was feeling. Ignoring me, however, McGonagall continued blabbering on, making no sense at all.

 

                "I'm leaving it up to you to set a time and date," she said. "I'm sure whatever is fine with you will be fine with him. He's younger, less work. I'm told it's just the primary basics he needs aid with, though as it's not my class, I can't be entirely certain–”�

 

                "Um, Professor...?"

 

                "–He's the rather shy sort, doesn't speak much unless spoken directly to. I got very little out of him when he was in here earlier this morning–"

 

                "He? Earlier? Er..."

 

                "–I don't know how difficult he will be to work with, but you seem to get along with most of the students, so I'm sure you'll get along fine. Do you have any questions?"

 

                "Um, yes," I answered slowly, my head spinning. "With all due respect, Professor, what in the world are you talking about?"

 

                And why haven't you impeached me yet?

 

                "What do you mean, what am I talking about?”� McGonagall looked surprised at my question. “The tutoring, of course. Didn't Professor Flitwick speak with you?"

 

                I very nearly jumped out of my seat.

 

                "Tutoring?”� I cried. “In _Charms_? Professor, Charms is my best subject! I don't need any tutoring in–"

 

                "Not for _you_ ," McGonagall interrupted, all but rolling her eyes at my outburst. "For _another student_. _You're_ going to be the tutor, Miss Evans."

 

                Oh.

 

                Well, that makes sense.

 

                "It's part of your duties as Head Girl," McGonagall continued. "I thought perhaps Professor Flitwick had time to mention it to you, but I suppose it may have slipped his mind..."

 

                I stopped listening after that when I realised just what she had said.

 

                _It's part of your duties as Head Girl_.

 

                Head Girl.

 

                HEAD GIRL!

 

                I'M STILL HEAD GIRL!!!!!

 

                McGonagall was still muttering on about Flitwick forgetting such things when I interrupted her. "Wait a second," I said. "That's why you wanted to see me? To tell me I was tutoring someone?"

 

                "Well, of course," McGonagall answered, looking at me oddly. "What on earth did you think this was about?"

 

                Um, booting me out of office, that's what I thought.

 

                "Er, nothing," I mumbled quickly, throwing McGonagall a smile. "Nothing at all. Had no idea, really. Tutoring, yes, of course. Sounds wonderful."

 

                I was smiling so brightly, I must have looked like an utter idiot, but I didn't care. I was still Head Girl! I wasn't being impeached! The prefects wouldn't have someone else to love and respect and James wouldn't get the chance to find a partner better than me!

 

                I WAS STILL HEAD GIRL!!!

 

                YES!!!!

 

                "Is that all then?" I asked, not really wanting to be in that office longer than I absolutely needed to be. I mean, my position may have been safe for that moment, but if I gave McGonagall a bit more time to think on it, she would probably realise her mistake in keeping me on as a Head. I really couldn't afford such an epiphany.

 

                "Yes, that's all," McGonagall answered. She was still eyeing me strangely. "Are you certain you're all right, Miss Evans?"

 

                "Perfectly fine," I answered with another grin. "Never better. I'll see you tomorrow, Professor!"

 

                Then I dashed out of there as quickly as my feet could carry me.

 

                It wasn't until I was halfway down the corridor that I suddenly remembered the bit of folded parchment that I still had clutched in a death grip in my left hand. Slowly, I unfolded the slip of paper to find five short words written in McGonagall's precise hand:

 

                _Maurice John Rosier — 3rd-Year, Gryffindor_

 

__

 

Maurice John Rosier.

 

                My tutoree.

 

_______________________

 

**Still Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 144**

 

                

 

                I'll never understand why people can't just _lie_ to me.

 

                Seriously. It's not that hard. I do it often enough under lesser pretenses. Why can't people have the same common courtesy, hm? I mean, is it really all that more difficult to just be like, "Hey, don't worry about it, Lil. Tutoring will be great," rather than to tell the highly over-rated truth and be all, "Uh, Lily, your tutoree's a reclusive, Death Eater in training. Watch out, he'll probably kill you"?

 

                No, I just don't think it is.

 

                This _can't_ be my life.

 

                The minute Ancient Runes let out, I was gone like a bolt, more than a bit anxious to get the bloody hell out of there. I knew as per their unnaturally long conversation this morning that both Grace and James would be at practice after classes, but I wanted to try to catch them before they left. I felt that it was my personal responsibility to let Gracie know that her hopes and dreams of having a rook whore for a best mate just wouldn't be happening any time soon (or so I hoped). And I really did think that James should be aware of the fact that regardless of how rubbish I am, it didn't look like he would be getting a new, better partner any time in the near future. Even though he was never really aware he was in jeopardy of losing me. That's not the point. The point is that he knows he _won't._

 

__

 

Knowing the Quidditch team as I did, however, I wasn't holding my breath about catching them before practice. The lot of them are rather permanently glued to that pitch, I think. And regardless of how necessary I felt my messages to be, I was hardly desperate enough to follow the lot of them down to there. Merlin only knows that my Quidditch quota has been met twice over this week, what with all Marley and James's mad mutterings, my visit to see Amos, and the match coming up on Saturday. Any more and I do believe my body will simply revolt in mutinous disgust. It can only take so much Quidditch in such a short period of time, you know.

 

                Emma would suit just fine for my ranting needs until the proper persons could be collected.

 

                Yes, she'd do quite well.

 

                With that thought it mind, I stopped rushing so much. That, and because the last thing I needed was to be slipping somewhere and injuring my faulty ankle again. Somehow, I just don't think Pomfrey will care much about whether or not anyone pushed me down any stairs if I go back again. In fact, she'll probably be doing the pushing herself. And you know, I really wouldn't blame her.

 

                And maybe it was better that I had just stopped rushing anyway, because just as I was getting ready to make the hike up all of those stairs to get to the common room, who would I hear hollering behind me but Ms. Plan B herself, Emma Vance.

 

                "Lily! Wait up!" she called, and hurried down the corridor to where I stood before the stairs. I took a quick scan around, a bit disappointed that James hadn't come with her from Arithmancy. But he couldn't have been too far ahead, could he?

 

                "Hey, Em," I said. "How was Arithmancy?"

 

                "Fine, fine," she responded quickly as we started walking. "But how did it go? What did McGonagall say? You didn't get in trouble for something did you, Lil, because you said you hadn't done anything–"

 

                "I haven't," I replied, not lying for once. "I didn't get in trouble. It was Head Girl rubbish, that's all. I'm a tutor now. Hey, was James with you in class?"

 

                "What? Well, yes, of course he was with me." She gave me a strange look before going, "A tutor? Really? For who? In what?"

 

                "Charms," I told her. "Some third-year. I've never heard of him. But what about James? Did he leave before you or–"

 

                "Why are you so curious about James?"

 

                "I just have to talk to him."

 

                "About what?"

 

                I shrugged. "Just...talk to him. Do you think he's at Quidditch already?"

 

                "Probably," Emma said, still giving me a queer look. "Do you want to go down to the pitch, then?"

 

                I pulled a face. "Absolutely not. I'll just...catch him later, I guess."

 

                But as it turns out, I needn't have worried about catching James later at all–or Grace either, for that matter. Because surprisingly enough, they were both right there in the common room when Emma and I walked in. Fully equipped with pads, gloves, brooms and all the other things I'm assuming are necessary for a successful Quidditch practice, the pair of them were lounging about on the couches before the fire, talking quietly. And they weren't alone, either.

 

                The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was with them.

 

                A rather _angry_ looking Gryffindor Quidditch team.

 

                Now, I've never really considered myself to be someone who's very easily intimidated, but, you know, I'm honestly not sure that anyone can really, truly understand the kind of unexplainable shock that dawns over a girl when she's faced with one genuinely terrifying, big and bulky, practically-foaming-at-the-mouth-in-their-hatred, Quidditch team.

 

                Because right then, with Chris Lynch looking quite unlike his normal, jovial self, and one girl whose name I didn't even _know_ rhythmically slapping her beater's bat against her open palm and looking like perhaps a trip to Azkaban might not be such an off idea, not to mention Sirius Black sitting there on the couch, sticking me with one of those dark, brooding looks he sports from time to time, though never directly at any one person and most _certainly_ never at me, I think it was safe to say that for the first time in all my Hogwarts history, I fully began to appreciate why all the opposing teams were so intimidated by us Gryffindors.

 

                The lot of them are bleeding _mad._

 

__

 

Really, do I deserve this kind of abuse?

 

                "Oy, Rook Whore! What's the verdict?"

 

                Or _that?_ Do I really deserve _that?_

 

__

 

"What's she on about now?" Emma muttered to me, and then turned to look at the rest of the mad bunch. She glanced at me accusingly. "What'd you do, Lily?

 

                I was about to explain to her that I had done absolutely nothing, that these people were obviously completely off their rockers, further proving my theory that Quidditch is nothing if not seriously dangerous, when I was suddenly interrupted by James Potter himself, who had jumped up off of the couch at Grace's outburst and was striding towards me with a rather peculiar look on his face.

 

                "What'd she say?" he demanded first thing, and now that he was closer, I saw he looked almost as put out as the mad lot behind him. What was this all about? "Grace said some mad thing about chess club, but I swear if she took you out of that class, I'll march down there right now myself and give her a piece of my mind–"

 

                Oh.

 

                _Oh._

 

__

 

McGonagall. He was talking about McGonagall. No, he was _ranting_ about McGonagall. Ranting about the fact that he thought she had kicked me out of Transfiguration.

 

                He was _defending_ me.

 

                Aw.

 

                Now really, who has better mates than I do?

 

                That'd be no one.

 

                Most of the time, anyway.

 

I tried to stop him, tried to tell him that she hadn't kicked me out of the class at all, but it was pretty hard to get a word in edgewise with James so wound up. "James–"

 

                "No!" he went on, almost completely ignoring me. "You've been working your bloody _arse_ off– _I've_ been working my bloody arse off! She can't just–"

 

                "But she hasn't–"

 

                "–kick you out and get away with it! You've been doing better! You have! Except for the whole clock thing the other day, but she didn't even _see_ that. I made sure of it!"

 

                Er, oh right. The clock thing. I'd forgotten about that.

 

                But really, didn't my clock look so much more fetching as a light with a pendulum than it did as a lamp?

 

                Hm.

 

                " _James_! James, stop, calm down!" I grabbed his arms to restrain him because at that moment, he looked as if he was rather serious about the whole marching-down-there-to-McGonagall's-office-to-give-her-a-piece-of-his-mind thing. And considering the circumstances, how inappropriate? "Listen to me! She didn't kick me out of the class. She _didn't._ That's not what she wanted me for, all right? Can you just–why are you _looking_ at me like that? I'm not lying!"

 

                Which was new, but I wasn't. Why he thought I _would_ lie about such a thing, I don't know, but he did. Still looking like he didn't believe me, he asked skeptically, "Then what did she want you for? Because McGonagall doesn't just call people to her office for nothing and–"

 

                "Tutoring!" I interrupted once more, giving him a bit of a shake this time. "She asked me to tutor someone in Charms. Head Girl duties, remember? Get it now? All right?"

 

                I hoped he did, because I didn't really know how many more different ways I could say it. James blinked owlishly down at me for a few moments before he finally seemed to comprehend what I'd been struggling to shake into him. He grew a bit red in the cheeks.

 

                Which was a nice change, considering the red one is usually me.

 

                "I...oh." He looked at me sheepishly, and rightfully so. "Well, er, yeah, okay. Other tutoring. Right."

 

                "Wait one damned minute." Grace popped her head up behind James's shoulder. "No Rook Whore? No Chess Club at _all?"_ I shook my head. Grace looked a bit crestfallen at that. "Well, that takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it? I was expecting _something._ All this waiting for bloody _tutoring..."_

 

__

 

"Yes, tutoring. Great. Lovely. Mystery solved!" This came from Chris Lynch, still over on the couch looking irritable. "Evans is here, she's said her bit–can we _please_ go to practice now?"

 

                "Yeah, go on down," James responded. "We'll be right behind you."

 

                That seemed to cheer the whole lot of them up a grand bit as, led by Marley who threw me a smile as she climbed out of the portrait hole, they all made their way out of the common room, leaving only me, Emma, James, Grace and surprisingly enough, Sirius, who apparently had decided to stick around.

 

                "Wait a second," I said, looking at the closing portrait hole and then back at James. "You put off practice because of _me?"_

 

__

 

"Sort of," was his reply, and he was back to looking sheepish. "It was Grace. She wouldn't leave until she knew what was going on–"

 

                "Oh, don't put this all on me!" Grace cried indignantly. " _You're_ the one who flew your coop when you found out she was with McGonagall!"

 

                "I did _not–"_

 

__

 

_"_ Yes, James. Yes, you did."

 

                "Grace–"

 

                "Does it really matter?" Emma intervened quietly, giving them each a pointed look. Grace made a dissatisfied noise while James simply shrugged.

 

                "Well, who is it that you're tutoring?" Grace asked a few seconds later, still sounding a bit bitter. "It better be someone good. Is it someone good?"

 

                "I don't know," I answered honestly, shrugging as well. "I've never heard of him. He's a Gryffindor, though. A third-year. Maurice. Maurice John Rosier–"

 

                " _WHAT!?"_

 

__

 

My head snapped up at James's vehement reaction, and I perhaps would have asked him what the bloody hell he was on about if at the precise moment he decided to have his little shouting bout, Sirius hadn't started cracking up, laughing like a right loon. Of the two, Sirius's response seemed the most peculiar. "What?" I questioned him, turning towards his shaking form with narrowed eyes. "What's so funny? What's wrong? Black, what in the living hell are you laughing at?!"

 

                "Well, I'll be damned," he laughed bitterly, but he wasn't looking at me while he said it. He was looking at James. "Hear that, Prongs? Do you hear that? Evans gets to tutor my brother. Isn't that just the damnest..."

 

                His _what?_

 

__

 

"Um, Sirius,”� I started slowly, giving him a right good glare. “I hate to break this to you, but I know your brother, and he"–I lifted the slip of parchment that McGonagall had given me–"is not him."

 

                "Not _literally_ , Evans," was Sirius's dry reply, his laughing fit finally coming to an end and an entirely different emotion seeming to take over. "A man after my own heart. My _soul_ brother. Or did the last name _Rosier_ not spark a nerve?"

 

                I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. I didn’t like the way he was talking to me either. Feeling more than a bit uneasy, I scratched nervously at the back of my head, muttering, "Well, yes, Evan Rosier, I know, but–"

 

                "Exactly," he said in the same scathing tone, and when I looked at him, he was glaring rather violently. "How many Rosiers do _you_ know in Gryffindor?" he asked. Then his mouth twisted into a bitter smirk. "About as many as there are Blacks, I reckon."

 

                

 

                I didn't know how to respond to that. Sirius Black and his family problems weren't exactly a subject I was knowledgeable on or particularly comfortable talking about. But I couldn't ignore the underlying meaning behind his words. I knew Evan Rosier. He was a 7th-year Slytherin, not exactly the nicest of sorts. And I knew the rumours surrounding him, as well.

 

                Death Eater. 

 

                They say he's a Death Eater.

 

                "So he's...Evan's brother?" I asked quietly, swallowing hard.

 

                Sirius nodded darkly. "And the apple never falls far from the tree."

 

                I nodded, but I couldn't quite wrap my finger around the concept just yet. What exactly were they telling me? That my tutoree is some sort of…Death-Eater-in-training? That I should watch my back? But this kid–Maurice–he's thirteen! I mean, what could he possibly do?

 

                But then again, Evan's only eighteen.

 

                "What do you know about this kid?" I asked suddenly, looking sharply around at the lot of them. "Maurice. What do you know about him?"

 

                At first, no one seemed to want to answer me. They all looked around at each other, passing furtive looks that for some reason, they didn’t seem to think I could see. I swallowed hard and then asked again. It took them a few seconds, but someone finally deemed it appropriate to answer me.

 

                But it was a bad sign.

 

                I _knew_ it was a bad sign.

 

                "He's not the social sort," Grace finally responded in a quiet voice. "Hell, the kid's a recluse. He doesn't have mates, Lily. He's always hiding in the shadows and such, watching like a damned cat or something. I've never spoken to him, but he's...oh, hell, I don't know, Lil. What was McGonagall thinking, asking you to tutor...I mean, you're...you..."

 

                "Muggle-born. Yeah, I know." And never in my life was I sorrier about the fact. "But is he...I mean, Sirius even said himself that he's just like him, didn't he? And you're nothing like the rest of your family, right? How do we know Maurice isn't like that? We don't, do we? I mean, none of you have ever spoken to him, have you? Right? _Right?"_

 

__

 

No one said anything.

 

                And all I could think was: _can't things just go right for one, bloody, single day?_

 

                It just doesn't seem fair.

 

                "You're probably right, Lily," Emma finally said, when no one else would speak up. But I knew she was lying and so did everyone else. Then she turned to the others. "You'd better get down to practice," she said. "They'll need you."

 

                Grace and Sirius muttered their agreements, but James–who hadn't spoken since his initial outburst–just clenched his already tense jaw and strode out of the common room.

 

                I wish I could say I cared, but it seems I have more serious problems on my hands than James Potter and his mood swings right now.

 

_______________________

 

**Still Still Later, Library**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 146**

 

****

 

****

 

I tried to forget about the fact that'll I'll be tutoring a future Death Eater by letting Emma drag me off to the library to start on our assignments, but people like Maurice John Rosier aren't easily forgotten, apparently.

 

                Not even Transfiguration can distract me from my impending doom.

 

                I don't understand why McGonagall would do this. I mean, really, it's not like she hates me or anything and would _enjoy_ seeing me dead. I'm Head Girl! Who in their right mind tries to off the Head Girl? I don't think it's legal.

 

                Well, I mean, murder is never _legal_ per say, but it's even _more_ heinous when it's a Head Girl. It's a proven fact. Or something like that.

 

                No, McGonagall wouldn't do that to me–to _anyone_. For all her bluster, she really is more bark than bite. She's not like that.

 

                Does she think I'll, I don't know, _reform_ him or something? Is that her master plan? Does she believe that after a couple of sessions with me, he'll be all 'Oh, Muggle-borns, they're not that bad'? Is that what she thinks is going to happen? Is _that_ what she's playing at?

 

                Well, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

 

                Or perhaps in my case, killed.

 

                Bugger.

 

_______________________

 

**Still Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 147**

 

****

 

****

 

Quite suddenly, Mac showed up in the library, so Emmeline naturally insisted that she had to leave, though she gave some rubbish excuse about needing to visit this-person-or-that-person rather than just telling me the truth, which we both knew I knew anyway. I was far too absorbed in my pit of self-misery to bother meddling, so I let it go (though I'll get her next time. Both of them. They won't know what hit them). It didn't bother me that I was alone in my time of need. I think I hardly noticed.

 

                Hm.

 

                I don't know for how long I sat there after she left. I didn't feel much like leaving, so I didn't. I suppose it was quite a long time though, because James eventually came to fetch me.

 

                "Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from me.

 

                I looked up, but just barely. He still had his Quidditch robes on, but his hair was wet, which made me assume he’d showered. I didn’t know if I wanted to talk to him–talk to anyone, really. I had a lot to think about. But at the end of it all, I guess the saying ‘two heads are better than one’ sort of caught on, so I threw a smile his way and said, "Hey. How was practice?"

 

                Ignoring my slight hesitation, James shrugged his shoulders, grabbing one of my quills and an empty bit of parchment, which he promptly began doodling upon. "All right, I guess," he answered, though merely from his tone of voice I knew it had been anything but. "Marley keeps missing her tosses and Lynch can't for the life of him manage to cover the left hoop. Sirius is in one of his moods and I..." He trailed off, sighing gently as he finished, "And you really don't care a wit about any of this, do you?"

 

                No.

 

                No, I don't.

 

                But I'm a better mate than that. 

 

                "No, not particularly," I told him honestly, throwing him another grin. "But if it makes you feel better, rant all you want. I mean, who knows? This could be the last time we talk before my Death Eater tutoree decides to off me. So let's make this a memorable one, yeah?"

 

                I meant it as a joke, something to make him smile when he looked so stressed, but instead of laughing, he actually gave me a bit of a glare. "Don't joke about that," he said tightly. Then instead of ranting about Quidditch, he ranted about Mr. Maurice John instead. "I don't know what in the bleeding hell McGonagall was thinking, sticking you with him."

 

                "Maybe it isn't like that," I said, trying to be reasonable. "I mean, I've been thinking about this whole thing, and do you honestly think McGonagall would ever deliberately go and put me in harms way? I mean, this boy's only thirteen-years-old, for Merlin's sake! And I'm only tutoring him, James. It's hardly as if I'm inviting him over my house for tea and crumpets."

 

                It was logic that had taken me several hours to come up with, but it was logic that couldn’t be ignored. James seemed to agree, as he glanced shortly up at me and then sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know," he said.

 

                We were both silent for a few minutes, James doodling, me thinking. I didn't like the fact that James seemed so put off by the whole thing. He knows so much more about the Rosiers than I do, and what I know is already incriminating enough. What if everyone was right? What if this wasn't going to be as harmless as I was hoping it would be? I couldn't really imagine anything could come from tutoring a thirteen-year-old, but that didn't make me any less nervous about the entire thing.

 

                "But you know," I finally spoke up, when I couldn't hold it back any more, trying not to sound too desperate, even though I was. "If it would make _you_ feel better–you know, to make sure I was alive and all right and everything–I could always set my Death Eater sessions before ours. You know, like when I used to work with Amos? If you want, I mean. I don't have to. If you really don't care that much, I could always set it for another day–"

 

                "No," James instantly interrupted, and I felt my heart drop a little. "I mean, yes. No, don't set it for another day. Yes, do it tomorrow." Then he grinned. "If _you_ want."

 

                Which I did. Very desperately.

 

                "Thanks," I said, because it seemed appropriate.

 

                "You're welcome."

 

                Then we were quiet again.

 

                "Do you know what I could use right now?" James asked a few minutes later. I glanced up at him warily. There were far too many possible answers for that question. "Fudge," was his innocent response. "I could really use some fudge."

 

                I rolled by eyes and laughed. "Are you _still_ on that, you madman?"

 

                James grinned and patted his stomach. "I told you, it's a strong craving."

 

                "Yes, yes, I know," I drawled, exasperated. "Days, weeks, years. It can last a lifetime. But you know what?" I teased, sighing gently. "I don't really feel like writing any letters right now. Sorry."

 

                " _Lil-y."_

 

__

 

"When you're not in the mood, you're not in the mood."

 

                "Yes, but desperate times call for desperate measures." James let out a dramatic sigh of his own. "I'm afraid if you don't write it, I'll have to take it upon myself to conduct the letter personally. And _oh_ the things I could tell your mum..."

 

                He just thought he was so clever, didn't he?

 

                "I'm sure you could," I responded smugly. "Those, however, are idle threats, my friend. I mean, you do realise that you can write however many letters you want… but that won’t mean you'll know where to _send them."_

 

__

 

"Sure, I do."

 

                "Oh, yeah? Where? I bet you have no idea where I live."

 

                "Surrey," James shot back, and this time he was the one looking smug. I rolled my eyes and tsked my tongue at him.

 

                "I'm afraid Surrey's a rather large place," I said with mock-sympathy. "Not going to work."

 

                "I know the rest," he insisted, and I laughed at that.

 

                "No, you don't."

 

                "Yes, I do!" he insisted again. His brow furrowed as if in deep thought. "It's...ah, damn, just give me a second..."

 

                "You don't _know–"_

 

__

 

_"Glytthingham!"_ he shouted, the triumph ringing in his voice. "422 Glytthingham."

 

                My mouth fell open in shock.

 

                He knew.

 

                Merlin and bloody matchsticks, _he knew!_

 

__

 

"How the bleeding hell do you know that?" I cried, gapping like a fish. "That...how...it's..."

 

                "I always said I was going to write you over the summer," he confessed quietly, and I was even more shocked to find that his cheeks were turning a bit red. What was that, the second time today? That has to be some sort of record. "I must have written millions of letters, but I never sent them. I came close to it in fifth-year–after all that business after the Defense O.W.L.S, remember that?–but I always chickened out. Figured I embarrassed myself enough in person, it wasn't necessary to do it in words."

 

                Oh.

 

                _Oh._

 

__

 

Oh, bugger.

 

                "Er...right," was my rather dumb response, but I didn't really know how to respond to an admission like that. The bloke knew where I _lived._ He was going to write me letters over the summer. _Letters._ He was going to write letters to the girl he fancied in some sort of attempt to...I don't know, win her over or something, but he was too afraid to.

 

                _Me._

 

__

 

He was going to write to _me._

 

__

 

I don't know how I feel about that.

 

                As if sensing my discomfort with the whole thing, James cleared his throat awkwardly, still a bit red in the face and asked with a teasing grin, "So what's it going to be? You or me? Because I assure you, you're mum will get _so_ much more entertainment out of my letter."

 

                "I'll write it," I answered, almost hoarsely. "I'll write the letter."

 

                And that was that.

 

_______________________

 

**Later Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 147**

 

****

 

****

 

I keep thinking about those damned letters and I don't know why.

 

                Why does it even matter? So he was going to write me a few letters or something? So I was so utterly terrible to him that he was afraid to write to me? Who cares? It's not as if it's important. It's really not.

 

                But...why does it feel as if it really is?

 

                I can't keep letting this get to me. The fact of the matter is that James fancied me. He _did_ , he doesn't any more, but that doesn't mean I can just _ignore_ it or forget it.

 

                Even though I want to.

 

                I don't know why, though.

 

                And...

 

                It's just...

 

                Oh, Merlin, I don't _know_. I just don't bloody _know_ anymore.

 

                I don't need this right now.

 

_______________________

 

**Later Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 147**

 

****

 

 

                Maybe I...

 

                No.

 

                _No._

 

__

 

Never mind.

 

_______________________

 

**Later Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 147**

 

****

 

****

 

Amos.

 

                Amos. Amos. Amos. Amos. Amos. Amos. _Amos_.

 

                ...

 

                All right.

 

                I needed that.

 

                Fine now.             

 

_______________________

 

**Later Later Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 22**  
 **Total Observations: 147**

 

****

 

****

 

_Dear Mum,_

 

__

 

_Hello, it's me. Sorry that I haven't written in so long, but things have been rather hectic up here at Hogwarts and I really haven't had the time. But everything is going well now and I hope it's the same back at home._

 

__

 

_Actually, I'm writing for a specific reason. Do you remember that fudge you sent me off with at the beginning of term? The left-overs from Aunt Mae's picnic, the ones Uncle Davy didn't manage to cover in vodka? You wouldn't happen to have made any more, would you? Because you see, my mate James–the Head Boy. I told you about him, didn't I?–has been having a pretty stressful week and he_ insists _that the only thing that's going to make him feel better is your fudge. He's rather infatuated with it. But you know, blokes and their stomachs and whatnot. So do you think you could send some over for me? It would be greatly appreciated._

 

__

 

_Love you all and miss you terribly,_

 

_Lily_

 

_______________________

 

**Wednesday, October 8th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 147**

 

****

 

****

 

                Ran down to McGonagall's office this morning to inform her of my plans for tutoring tonight. She assured me that she'd let Mr. Maurice John know to meet me in the library at seven. And even though I now know that James will be there to ID my body once Mr. Maurice John has finished with me, I can't say I'm very comforted by the fact. 

 

                I mean, I'll still be _dead._

 

__

 

Bugger.

 

_T-minus: Ten hours until death (eater)._

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Double Charms**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 148**

 

****

 

****

 

Do you think there's some sort of symbolic, supernatural meaning behind the fact that all my quills keep breaking?

 

                Seriously. It has to be a sign. It _has_ to. Because it's not like it's only been one, or two, or even _three_ quills that have just gone on and broken on me for no naturally explainable reason. It's been _four._ FOUR QUILLS. And really, who carries around more than four quills? Certainly not me. But maybe I'm better off that way, seeing as I don't think any others that I might have brought along would have lasted very long, either. By the end of the day, I will have run out of my entire supply completely.

 

                Psh. What luck.

 

                So now I'm being forced to borrow one of Grace's quills–which, by the by, is actually rather disgusting on account of the fact that Grace chews constantly on the end of hers like their damned sugar quills. But Emma didn't have any extra so I was left with no other choice. And Grace's quill really is rubbish. I don't know how she manages with them everyday. Probably because she doesn't know any better.

 

                It's a sign. I don't know what it means, but it's a sign. Something dreadful no doubt, knowing me, my life and my karma. I'll probably be dead by the end of the day.

 

                But then again, I knew that already, didn't I?

 

                Where's that damned Divination textbook when you need it?

 

_T-minus: Eight hours until death (eater)._

 

__

 

_______________________

 

**Later, Still in Double Charms**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 148**

 

****

 

****

 

Just because the stupid textbook doesn't _say_ anything about broken quills, doesn't mean that it's not significant.

 

                I'll just have to ask Freeman during Divination. Even in her old age, her second-sight must anticipate some sort of catastrophe with this. I'm sure of it.

 

                Especially since I've just gone and broken Grace's quill as well.

 

                _Bugger_ it.

 

__

 

__

 

_T-minus: Seven hours and forty-five minutes until death (eater)._

 

__

 

_______________________

 

**Still Later, Divination**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 148**

****

 

Somehow, I just don't think that my constantly snapping quills have anything to do with the payment of a debt or the hippogriff farm I'm supposedly destined to set up in my older years.

 

                They really need to boot this old coot. She's becoming senile in her old age.

 

                Honestly, I don't even _like_ hippogriffs.

 

                Psh.

 

_T-minus: Six hours until death (eater)._

 

_______________________

 

**Even Later, History of Magic**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 149**

 

****

 

****

  
**The Last Will and Testament of Miss Lily Christine Evans:**  
**As It Stands Upon the Awaiting of Her Death:**  
**October 8th 1977**

 

****

 

****

 

_I, Lily Christine Evans, a resident of Surrey, England, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do hereby make, publish, declare and approve the following as the proper division of my property, estates and last messages as my own last Will and Testament._  


                To my mother, my father and my rubbish sister: I leave all the monetary assets of my estate, which is actually quite a bit because I'm really a rather thrifty person. Said monetary assets probably would have been decreased significantly had I had the time to replace the several thousand quills that were destroyed as a result of my dreadful life on this day (8 October, 1977), but I unfortunately did not live long enough to refill my supplies. To Mum and Dad: You were brilliant parents. Thanks for not giving me up for adoption when you first realised I was so utterly useless and bad-karma-ridden. I loved you both very much. To Pet: Perhaps you can find it in your heart to put flowers on my grave from time to time. I hope you can forget about your hatred for me and just learn to let bygones be bygones. I mean, I am _dead,_ after all _._ It's not as if I could do anything to annoy you any more.

 

                To Aunt Mae and Uncle Davy: As my only other living relatives, I leave to you my room in my house, in hopes that when you feel so desolately alone without me, you can go and stay there and feel better again. To Aunt Mae: I forgive you for yelling at me all the time to get off your good couches. You were a good aunt and I loved you very much. To Uncle Davy: I was the only one who understood you. To you I also leave that bottle of rum you gave me for my 16th birthday and told me to hide under my bed to enjoy. I never did get to enjoy it, but I know you will.

 

                To my mad and brilliant mate, Grace Reynolds: I leave all of my pants and/or skirts and/or clothes of the nether regions. Would leave upper regions as well, but let's be honest, Grace, you're breasts are far larger than mine are and none of my shirts would fit you. I also leave you my trusty owl, Winnie, and hope that you will take care of her as if she were your own. Just don't keep trying to give her those rubbish treats you got from Diagon Alley. She doesn't like them. Furthermore, I leave you all my useless doodles. I knew you always liked them. Please send them to the National Gallery and have them hung in my honor. To Grace: You were the best mate a girl could want. Thanks for putting up with me for so long. I know it was very difficult at times.

 

                To my stubborn and brilliant mate, Emmeline Vance: I leave all my shirts and/or jumpers and/or clothes of the upper region, because your breasts are far closer in size to mine than Grace's and they will therefore fit. Also, all my books and notes, which I'm sure you will find far more useful than Grace, because Grace only reads things that include graphic shagging scenes and I don't have any books like that. I also leave you all my records, which are presently at my house in my room, which I know you enjoyed whenever you stayed over. Just don't break them. They were important to me. To Emma: Again, the best mate a girl could ask for. We're both prats sometimes, but that's okay. And would you please, to fulfill the last dying wish of your very best mate, make up with Mac. He loves you very much and I want to feel as if my meddling was successful, even in death.

 

                To the love of my life, husband-that-never-was, Amos Diggory: To you, Amos, I leave my heart–tattered and broken because it could not spend all of eternity with you. Also, my Ancient Runes notes, which I really think you could use, and that Quidditch book that Grace gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I never read it, but I'm sure it's good and that you will like it. To Amos: I loved you very much. I'm sorry I couldn't remain alive long enough to go on our date. I'm sure it would have been brilliant. I'm sure that no one will blame you if you choose to wallow in self-misery, wearing black and mourning for the loss of your love for a few...years. And I give you, of course, my permission to fall in love again and get married after the proper mourning period has passed. I'd say twenty years or so. (Also, I ask that you please do not read the second part of James Potter's paragraph below. I'm dead and it's necessary.)

 

                To my mate, James Potter: To you I leave the fudge that my mum will undoubtedly send, though I will not receive because I am dead. I hope that when you eat it, you will think of me. And don't feel guilty because you did not get to me in time to save me. It's not your fault. To James: I feel that only in death, it is fair to let you know that last night (7 October, 1977), I didn't know what to say when you said that thing about knowing my address and writing me letters. Probably because it was really sweet, but also because it made me feel like rubbish because I treated _you_ like rubbish. I thought about it while I was going to sleep last night and was going to ignore it until I realised that I'll probably be dead in any small number of hours and you have a right to know. And I wanted to let you know...well, I mean...if you _did_ by some fate in the world still fancy me now, here in this present moment, and if I wasn't so head-over-heels in love with Amos Diggory...I...

 

                I _probably_ would've written back to you. 

 

                If you know what I mean.

 

                To my tutoree and murderer, Maurice John Rosier: Thanks a lot. To you, I leave my Charms notes, because we never did get to the tutoring part, did we?

 

_T-minus: Four hours until death (eater)._

 

_______________________

 

**Still Even Later, Dinner in the Great Hall**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 149**

 

                Am now rather depressed about life, seeing as I now have a solid will and everything and if that isn't a sign that the end is near, I'm not quite sure what is. I would have had proper witnesses sign it, but I couldn't afford them reading it, so that will just have to be put off until I'm dead. It's legal enough this way. I think.

 

                Am not ready to discuss what was written in said will either, so I will proceed in proper Lily Evans fashion and avoid and ignore.

 

                I have bigger fish to fry right now.

 

_T-minus: Two hours until death (eater)_

 

__

 

_______________________

 

**Still Even Later, Common Room**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 151**

 

****

 

****

 

Observation #150) If I die of a stroke before I get to tutoring, Mr. Maurice John won't get to kill me. I'll be dead already.

 

Observation #151) It's a rather sad state of affairs when one's only options are suicide by stroke or murder.

 

_T-minus: One hour until death (eater) (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)_

 

_______________________

 

**Still Even Later, Common Room**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 151**

 

****

 

****

 

Here we go.

 

                _Ugh._

 

__

 

I'm definitely going to be sick.

 

_T-minus: ZERO HOURS until death (eater) (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)_

 

_______________________

 

**Much Later, Library**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 151**

 

****

 

 

                Remember when I said that people really should just learn to lie to me? Remember?

 

                I meant white lies.

 

                Seriously. That's what I meant. Like the ones that are there in order to make me feel better about my rubbish bin of a life, you know? The ones that will make me go, "Hm, well perhaps this isn't so bad, is it?". That sort of thing.

 

                That's what I meant.

 

                I did _not_ mean for people to just go on and lie to me about _everything._ To make everything _worse_. What does such a lie accomplish, I ask you? What is the use of it? Why would anyone even bother to tell these sorts of lies? 

 

                I'm beginning to think that people just like seeing me squirm.

 

                That has to be it.

 

                Psh.

 

                I made my way down to the library as I imagine Marie Antoinette made her way down to the Centre de la Revolution, right before she had her head chopped off and everyone cheered. Walking along, I thought it quite unfair that this was my life. I mean, it was hardly unexpected, what with my karma being what it is and all, but it still seemed dreadfully unjust. Especially when I presently have so much other rubbish to deal with (most of which has to do with a certain someone who is presently sitting across from me, going on and on about something Transfiguration-related, but I'm not sure what because I'm not really paying attention. But considering I'm still not ready to discuss said someone and the madness that is currently perusing inside of me concerning him, let's move on).

 

                By the time I got down to the library and took a seat at a front table (where many people, I assured myself, had a perfect view of me), it was rather apparent that I had pretty much reached a new level of pathetic, sitting there in my chair, perspiring like a triathlon contender, panicking like a woman in a burning building, fidgeting like a child during Sunday mass, _praying_ like a person on their damned deathbed, and all because of one little, thirteen-year-old boy–granted, one little, _potentially dangerous_ , thirteen-year-old boy, but still.

 

                It didn't say much for my Gryffindor courage.

 

                And even though it probably would have ruined my already extremely delicate mental state where he's concerned, I rather wished that I had asked James to come a bit earlier than he usually did when I'd spoken to him about it before. 

 

                Like an hour earlier. 

 

                Or something.

 

                But what would be, would be, and there was nothing I could do about it.

 

                Goodbye, cruel, cruel world. You were good to me.

 

                Sometimes.

 

                I don't know how long I was sitting there waiting for my life to end, but it couldn't have been too long, even though it seemed like ages. However, I was so lost in my own conniptions of panic over the whole ordeal that I hardly noticed when someone came up behind me. In fact, I doubt I would have even noticed at all if he hadn't started clearing his throat excessively or quietly muttered a quick, "S'cuse me?"

 

                The “s’cuse me”�’s what did it, I think.

 

                

 

                I froze instantly at the sound of the voice, recognizing it as male and as standing directly behind me. My heart began thumping wildly in my chest. This was it. He was here. In a matter of moments, my life could be over and that would be it. 

 

                It was all _very_ dramatic.

 

                I whipped around in my chair...

 

                ...and found some other stupid kid standing there.

 

                Yeah.

 

                As if things weren't tense _enough._

 

                He looked a bit lost and immensely solemn for a boy who couldn't be much older than what my tutoree was said to be. He stood there, fidgeting almost as much as I had been, a large stack of books and parchment in his hands, blinking up owlishly at me from beneath his dark, massive fringe. The boy was in serious need of a decent haircut.

 

                "Er, hello," I started slowly, smiling uncertainly. As far as opportune moments for this chat went, this boy had definitely missed his. I tried not to show my uneasiness, but I was sincerely hoping that I could get this kid away before my real tutoree showed up and Solemn Hair Boy got hurt in the cross fire. 

 

                He looked like a nice kid. He didn't deserve to die.

 

                I waited for him to say something, but Solemn Hair Boy just continued to stand there, staring at me in the oddest of ways. I was just about to ask him if there was anything I could do for him when all of a sudden, he spoke.

 

                Or blabbered, really.

 

                "If you stacked all the books in the National Library up, one on top of the other," he blurted out quickly, with a decisive nod of his head, "the pile would be thirty times the size of Mount Everest. Did you know that?"

 

                Er...

 

                What?

 

                At my blank stare, the boy hung his head and blushed. "Sorry," he muttered.

 

                "Er, nothing to be sorry about," I replied in what I hoped to be a most comforting tone. I'd been at the wrong end of blabbering, embarrassing comments far too many times to torture this poor boy by saying something condescending, or worse, nothing at all. But instead of being consoled by my friendly reassurance, the boy only blushed harder. My sympathies went out to him. He was just like me. A blabbering, blushing misfit. I liked him immensely. "Is there something I can do for you?" I asked, figuring that if I couldn't take away his embarrassment, the least I could do was get him out of here as quickly as possible.

 

                "She told me to come here," he mumbled.

 

                "She?"

 

                But instead of telling me who 'she' was, he began rummaging through his papers, apparently looking for something. I didn't know how that would help me understand what he wanted with me, or who the 'she' that had told him to come here was, but he continued to shuffle through his things nonetheless, until he finally pulled out a folded, crumpled piece of parchment from the bottom of the pile.

 

                "No matter what the shape or size," he stated quietly, holding the parchment out to me, "it's only possible to fold a piece of parchment up to eight times. Did you know that?"

 

                Did I care?

 

                No. 

 

                No, not particularly.

 

                But I didn’t have the heart to tell him that.

 

                I shook my head slowly instead and took the outstretched folded parchment from his hand with a weak smile. Glancing quickly up at him, then back down at the parchment, I gave the folded paper a quick once over before slowly opening it.

 

                It was a note.

 

                _Dear Mr. Rosier,_

 

__

 

_Your tutoring sessions are to commence tonight at promptly seven o'clock. If this time is unacceptable, please let me know as soon as possible. Otherwise, please bring the appropriate books and materials with you to begin your lessons. The Head Girl will meet you in the library at the aforementioned time. I expect only the best of behavior._

 

__

 

_ &etc._

 

_Professor McGonagall_

 

__

 

__

 

Tutoring...Head Girl...

 

                _ROSIER?_

 

__

 

I very nearly choked on my own spit

 

__

 

"Wait... _you're_ Maurice John Rosier?"

 

                Blinking owlishly up at me once again, looking quite unfazed by my blatant astonishment and gaping fish looks, Maurice John Rosier took back his letter and nodded.

 

                Well, shit.

 

                Double bloody fucking shit.

 

                "But you're...I mean, you're not..."

 

                Daunting.

 

                Terrifying.

 

                Pointing your wand at me with deadly intent.

 

                I didn't finish my sentence. How could I really, when such utter stupidity couldn't possibly be placed into words? Feeling much like I should simply start banging my head against the table and never stop, I simply gazed off into space and thought about the ten-times over sort of idiot I'd been acting like for the last several hours.

 

                I couldn't believe it.

 

                _This_ boy–this harmless, innocent, desperately in need of a haircut, full of random facts, little boy–is the one I've been stressing over all this time. Him! Solemn Hair Boy! The blushing, blubbering misfit after my very own mold! 

 

                How was that _possible_?

 

                I know how it's possible. It's because of my incredibly rubbish, no-good, very bad, stupid, ignorant, _lying about stupid rubbish things mates!_ I mean, would I honestly have even cared if the whole lot of them hadn't been all 'Ohhh, _Rosier_! That's the end of Lily!'?

 

                No. No, I don't think I would've.

 

                But because they _did_ all have to go on and be prats and tell me all these lies that really weren't necessary and certainly weren't true, they were a direct cause of my mental breakdown.

 

                They are crap.

 

                Utter and complete crap.

 

                I glanced over at Maurice again and held back a large sigh. Somehow, I just couldn't see this boy being anything like what those prats told me he was. Evan Rosier wears his disgust for the world clear on his face–all of those stupid, pureblood-loving gits do–if Maurice was like that, I'd be able to see it in his face, wouldn't I? And granted, it's not exactly as if I can judge someone's true character simply by looking at them (and as I've recently discovered, I'm a rather terrible judge of character anyway, even when I _do_ know them), but still...

 

                No. 

 

                No, I couldn't believe the worse of this boy. 

 

                He was innocent. _That's_ what I read on his face.

 

                I sighed heavily, looking back over at Maurice ( _him_! Maurice!) and made a mental note to give Sirius Black one large, _painful_ kick right where it hurts the next time I saw him. He'd deserve it. "Welcome to tutoring," I finally managed with a dry grin. "Take a seat."

 

                Obviously unaware of the pure madness that I call the inner-workings of my mind, Mr. Rosier efficiently ignored what must have been a rather awkward moment on his part (what with his tutor astonished that she was still alive and everything) and took the seat next to mine, dropping his books (Charms textbooks and notes, I then realised) onto the table. He glanced up at me with another solemn stare. He had very blue eyes, not quite unlike Evan's. 

 

                I was hoping I was right in thinking that that was their only similarity.

 

                "I'm Lily," I said, sticking my hand out to him. He stared for a second, then stuck his hand in mine.

 

                "Maurice John," he said, then out of his mouth came. "Over a million people meet for the first time every second of the day. It's a proven statistic. Did you know that?"

 

                I laughed and shook my head. "No. No, I didn't." I glanced over at him for a moment, then asked, "So that's what you like to be called then? Maurice John? The whole thing?"

 

                He shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said.

 

                "Well, what do your mates call you?"

 

                Maurice looked down at the table for a moment before shrugging again. I thought it a rather odd response, but didn't want to pry. Then I remembered what the others had said. A recluse. They called him a recluse. Was it true? Did he not have any mates? I felt like a prat for bringing it up then. But they had been so wrong about him before, I just figured they were wrong about that as well. But maybe not. Merlin, I was a huge git sometimes. "Well," I started, clearing my throat a bit awkwardly. "Er...well, how about I call you MJ? That's rather less of a mouth full, isn't it? And it is technically still your name, right? Maurice John. MJ. Right?"

 

                If Maurice John Rosier needed mates, I'd get him some. 

 

                And nothing shouts 'mates' more than a nickname.

 

                A seemingly natural reaction for him, MJ shrugged once more. "That's fine." He finally dragged his eyes off the table and looked up at me. And maybe I was mistaken, but I think he was smiling a bit. Point one for 'Mates for MJ'-driven Lily. "John was the fifth most popular name for boys in 1964," he told me afterwards. "Maurice didn't make the list, though. Did you know that?"

 

                I was beginning to think that there were quite a few things I didn't know.

 

                "As a matter of fact, I didn't," I answered with another laugh, trying to look impressed for his sake, though I don't think I'd ever really have a need, nor did I have a desire, to know how many Johns or Maurices were born in 1964. "You sure do know quite a bit about...quite a bit," I said with a grin.

 

                "I like facts," he answered with yet another shrug. "I like to learn."

 

                "That's not a bad thing."

 

                "I'm rubbish at Charms, though."

 

                "Everyone's rubbish at something. I can't do Transfiguration to save my life. I've got a tutor as well."

 

                " _You_?" He looked so astonished that I very nearly laughed again, because really, I must be a far better actress than I previously thought for all these people not to know what an ultimate screw-up I am in my day-to-day life. "But...you're Head Girl!"

 

                "That doesn't mean I'm perfect," I told him. Then added dryly, "Believe me."

 

                But MJ didn't seem to believe me, even though I told him to. He just gave me one of those 'yeah, and pigs _fly'_ sort of looks before glancing down at his Charms books with a dejected sigh. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it all. This boy wouldn't hurt a _fly._ "I don't know anything," he told me softly, and then started turning red again.

 

                I gave him a big smile, which he didn't return, but I didn't let that faze me. "Well, let's fix that then, shall we?"

 

                And so we did.

 

                Or attempted to, anyway.

 

                He really wasn't lying when he said he was rubbish. MJ is to Charms what I am to Transfiguration...times ten. Or twelve. Or another rather large, obscene number that I don't feel comfortable writing because it's not fair to MJ because he _tries._ It's not like me, a mixture of supreme lack of skill and laziness. He knows all the facts (surprise, surprise there), he just can't execute them for some reason or another. I tried to tell him what James had told me that first day of our tutoring sessions–about concentrating so hard on not messing up that you end up messing up anyway–and for a few minutes it seemed as if MJ was really catching on, but then he turned rubbish again.

 

                But that's all right. I don't hold it against him. I know what it's like to be rubbish.

 

                But his rubbishness didn't seem to faze MJ as it would have fazed me. I took it as a good sign that throughout the entire session, he cracked a few grins, which seemed to be quite an unusual occurrence. He really is just unnaturally solemn. I really don't think it's healthy for a thirteen-year-old boy to be that serious, but I suppose it's just a result of his...I don't know, dysfunctional life? I did take great pride in the fact that I had managed to get him to laugh though, even if it took nearly knocking over the entire Charms section with one of his wayward _Wingardium Leviosa’s_ that resulted in one of Madame Pince's classic hissy-fits over the whole thing. He looked like he'd just about died and gone to heaven when that happened. I'd never seen anyone so excited after being told off by Madame Pince.

 

                Eh, but each to their own, I guess. Whatever floats his boat.

 

                "Do you think she'd kick us out if I did it again?" was his question after Pince had stomped off back to her desk and MJ had calmed his amusement down a bit. "I've never been kicked out of the library before."

 

                Oh, Merlin. No matter how solemn or serious a boy was, I guess you can never really remove that bloody troublemaking male spirit.

 

                Psh.

 

                What a pity.

 

                "Getting kicked out of the library isn't a _good_ thing, MJ," I tried to reason with him, but I don't think he was listening. "The last thing you want is for Pince to hate you."

 

                "But she hates everyone."

 

                "Yes, but in different _degrees."_

 

__

 

"The degree symbol was originally an ancient character representing the sun," was MJ's response. "Did you know that?"

 

                I was quickly getting _very_ tired of those four words.

 

                "What do you think?" I replied dryly, because I hadn't known any of the other _million_ useless facts he had thrust upon me all night, and really, why should we start changing that now? Another small grin spread across MJ's lips and I gave myself yet another nice pat on the back for so brilliantly pulling this supposed-recluse out of his shell. He was really a rather friendly sort. Just a bit...solemnly shy, I suppose. But that's not a _bad_ thing. He just as to get out there a bit more.

 

                I can help him with that.

 

                I mean, it's the least I could do. I _did_ think the boy was going to kill me, after all. 

 

                It's only fair after my mental slander of his character.

 

                "Well, I suppose that's enough for tonight," I sighed, glancing over at the clock on the wall, seeing the minute hand creeping ever-so-closer to the twelve. "Do you think you got that last bit? Just quit jabbing so much. You've got no control like that."

 

                "I can't help it," MJ insisted. "My wand likes to jab."

 

                I rolled my eyes. "It's not your _wand_ , MJ, it's your _hand._ And last time I checked, you had full control over that, yeah?"

 

                He muttered something under his breath, shooting a disgusted look at the limb in question and I patted him comfortingly on the arm. "Don't worry," I assured him. "You'll get it. It's just going to take a bit of time...which we unfortunately don't have tonight. I do have my own tutoring to go and suffer through now, you know," I added with a teasing grin.

 

                "I wasn't suffering," MJ instantly corrected, shaking his head.

 

                "Only when Pince came about and threw her conniption fit," I responded flatly, throwing him a look. MJ began shaking his head furiously at that.

 

                

 

                "No, no, no," he insisted again. "I liked it all–I mean, the Pince part was particularly brilliant–but the rest wasn't so bad, either. Even if it _is_ Charms." He suddenly turned a shade of bright red as he looked up at me once more and quietly offered, "Perhaps your tutor just isn't as good as mine if you're suffering so much."

 

                _Perhaps your tutor just isn't as good as mine if you're suffering so much._

 

                Aw.

 

                

 

                Did I mention how much I _adore_ this boy?

 

                This delusional, yet flattering, young boy?

 

                "Well, thanks for that," I stammered, turning a bit red myself. "But it's not my tutor that's such a bore–it's Transfiguration. He's quite fine, actually. Very good at what he does."

 

                "He?"

 

                I nodded. "James Potter," I told him. "The Head Boy. Do you know him?"

 

                "He's Quidditch captain," MJ replied with a shrug, as if out of all of James's vast and brilliant accomplishments, that was the only one of any import.

 

                Psh.

 

                Blokes and their sport.

 

                Merlin help them all.

 

                "He's rather talented at Transfiguration as well," I added sarcastically, holding back another rather well-deserved eye-roll. MJ shrugged again, looking perhaps as if he was thinking very hard about something and considering tutoring had just ended, I found that a rather questionable action. "What's the matter?" I asked.

 

                "Nothing," he answered quickly, but even he sounded quizzical about the whole thing. "It's nothing." 

 

                Then, as if suddenly sparked into action by some hidden force, all amusement dropped from MJ’s face and he began blankly gathering together his things. "I'd better go," he told me. "I still have to finish Potions."

 

                "Do you need any help?" I asked, because he was suddenly acting rather strangely and I didn't know what else to say. He shook his head without a word. Then, with just as much communication, he gave me a quick and serious nod before scurrying off out of the library.

 

                Just like that.

 

                He was gone in a matter of seconds.

 

                And all I could think was: _well, that was strange._

 

__

 

But then again, hadn't the entire session been a rather strange affair?

 

                Yes, yes it had.

 

                And really, it only got stranger after that.

 

                But not for the same reason.

 

                And perhaps only for me.

 

                James just barley missed crossing paths with MJ, sauntering into the library all but two minutes after my tutoree had left. He seemed a bit anxious as he strode on over to the table, and I suppose the fact that I was glaring at him quite profusely didn't help matters much.

 

                But really, he deserved it.

 

                "I am going to kill your mate," was the first thing I said before James even managed to reach the table, let alone open his mouth to say something himself.

 

                "What?" he asked, dropping down into MJ's previously occupied seat next to me. "What happened? What's wrong? What about my mates?"

 

                "You don't like him much, do you?" I asked rather venomously, ignoring his questions, my face nearly as serious as MJ's. "I mean, on a necessity scale from one to ten, he's really only about a five, yeah?"

 

                "Who?"

 

                "The corpse formally known as Sirius Black."

 

                James let out a frustrated groan. "What’d he do _now_?" he muttered.

 

                "Oh, not only him," I corrected quickly, glaring even harder now. "It was the whole lot of you. Black was simply the ringleader. I'm afraid you're all going to have to go. In very _slow and painful ways!"_

 

__

 

_"_ What are you _talking_ about, Lily? And what happened with your tutoring? Where is the little bastard?"

 

                " _That's_ what I'm talking about!" I practically screamed (or, you know, as much of a scream as is possible in a Nazi-esque library with lots of eager eavesdroppers simply waiting to overhear (which equals not much of a scream at all, but very _angry_ tones)). "He was _not_ a _little bastard!_ The boy was in fact a nice, quiet, rather intelligent but also perhaps a bit off his rocker, _thirteen-year-old boy!! WHO DIDN'T WANT TO KILL ME!"_

 

__

 

James looked more than a bit flabbergasted at my outburst. "What?" he nearly croaked.

 

                "That's right," I went on, still rather hysterical. "The whole mad, stupid lot of you had me in here practically _crying_ in devastation, thinking my _very life_ was coming to an end with your stupid 'Evan Rosier's brother' and 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree' rubbish, and as it turns out _you know nothing at all!"_

 

__

 

_"_ What are you saying?" James asked, suddenly perking up. "Rosier didn't try anything?"

 

                "Unless you count trying to successfully pull off a Cheering Charm," I answered flatly, "then no. No, he didn't _try anything._ "

 

                James sat there very still as he digested all this information, and I sat there very still, trying to calm down. But really, it felt good to tell him off–to tell _anyone_ off. Because they're all prats that need a good telling off, you know. They're all really big gits with stupid ideas about not-stupid people and sometimes I think it's best if they would just learn to keep their stupid ideas about not-stupid people to their stupid selves.

 

                If you know what I mean.

 

                I sat there for a bit, seething to myself as James continued to come to terms with my revelations about Maurice John Rosier. And then–because I'm not sure who's the bigger prat now, him or his stupid mate who _started_ all this–James glanced up and me and my seething face and said in a very calm and very cool voice, "I don't trust it."

 

                Yeah.

 

                Just like that.

 

                _I don't trust it._

 

__

 

"Don't trust _what?"_ I snapped.

 

                "Don't trust _him,"_ James answered back, but for some reason or another, he didn't get angry at my being angry. He was still as cool as a cucumber. "There's something wrong there, Lily. I don't know what you think you know about this kid–"

 

                "What I think? _WHAT I THINK?"_

 

__

 

_"_ Yes _, what you think_!" James shot back, losing his cool for a moment. "There's a history here that you can’t even begin to understand! It’s not–" But he stopped himself there, perhaps seeing me beginning to get even more than a bit cross over the fact that he was still trying to make MJ out to be some sort of devil's spawn. Instead, he sighed heavily, leaning his arm against the table and rubbing at his temples gently as he glanced up at me with an odd sort of look. "Let's forget about it for now," was what he said. "Let's just forget about it. The kid's fine. That's brill. We don't have to worry over it any more. Great. Fine. Let's get started, yeah?"

 

                "But–"

 

                "Let's get started," he interrupted. "Let's just get started."

 

                But I didn't want to get started. I wanted to prove to him–to everyone, but mostly some reason to _him–_ that MJ wasn't what they were making him out to be. He was a good kid. Despite his family, despite his heritage, despite the rumours and his shyness and his severe lack of mates, _he was a good kid._

 

                Because when James said he didn't trust it...

 

                ...well, it sort of meant that he didn't trust _me_.

 

                And maybe, in his perspective, I wouldn't trust me, either. I'm not exactly what we'd call the brilliant judge of character that I thought I was. But still...

 

                He didn't trust me.

 

                "Will you meet him?" I asked quietly, just as James was opening his books and getting ready to start. "You don't have to believe me, you don't have to trust me, but will you just meet him and tell me I'm not mad? He's a good kid, James. He _is."_

 

__

 

For a second, I didn't think he was going to agree. He just sat there with this hard look on his face, staring at me as if he was trying to figure out some big, complex puzzle. Then, he gave a quick jerk of his head. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'll meet him." Then a few seconds later, "And I do trust you, Lily. Don't think I don't trust you."

 

                Which sort of made me feel better, even though I don't think he really does.

 

                So now I'm sitting here, writing in this which I'm assuming James believes to be some sort of detailed notes, looking up at him every so often to keep up the farce, not really listening as he goes on and on and on about something that I really couldn't give a wit about. I'll probably have to ask him to re-explain everything he's blabbering on about now tomorrow, and he'll probably give me that look of his–the kind of cute one that's all ' _Why are you asking me this because we DID this, weren't you listening?'–_ but he'll go over it again anyway because that's just the sort of bloke James Potter is. He goes over things twice if you need him to. He'll give you that look and his other looks, but no matter how cross he gets, you know he'll probably be over it in the morning because I think he's perhaps a bit bipolar. He'll meet your tutoree, even if he doesn't trust you. He'll get you rice and come find you in North Towers and wears comfortable shirts, you know, just in case someone might need one. He–

 

                Erm.

 

                Eh.

 

                Enough of that.

 

                Quite, quite enough of that.

 

                _Bugger._

 

__

 

Amos, Amos, Amos, Amos, _Amos_.

 

_______________________

 

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
 **Observant Lily: Day 23**  
 **Total Observations: 151**

 

****

 

****

 

                Came back to the common room with James and saw Sirius lying on the couch. I then promptly gave him a right good smack over the head with my Transfiguration textbook. He screeched and howled and bristled at the abuse, but I really didn't care about all his yapping because he deserved it.

 

                Life is so much better when your tutorees aren't trying to kill you.


	14. October 9th: The Consequences of Quidditch and Alcohol

**Author’s Notes:** *dances around* Finally, FINALLY, yes, here it is for all of you, chapter fourteen. I know it’s been a long time in coming and I apologize for the delays, but they couldn’t be avoided. Still, the chapter is insanely long and contains some…erm…much awaited situations, so I hope it’s compensation enough! Thanks for this chapter go to Lynn, my fabulous beta reader, and Dina, the “vunder-vuman” of my world, not to mention every single one of my patient reviewers and readers—I owe you all my life. REMEMBER TO REVIEW and let me know what you think!!! =)  I hope you enjoy it! (I think you will!) *grin* -Bee

[P.S.— Yes, that is Beer Pong—or as us LIers refer to it, Beirut—they are playing. Har, har, harrrr. =P ]

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

"Is there anything more beautiful than a beautiful, beautiful flamingo, flying across in front of a beautiful sunset? And he's carrying a beautiful rose in his beak, and also he's carrying a very beautiful painting with his feet. And also, you're drunk."

-Jack Handey-

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_______________________

**Thursday, October 9th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 153**

Dreams are utter and complete rubbish.

                Seriously, they are. And despite what Professor Freeman may insist in Divination, they don’t _mean_ anything, either. They really don't. They don't have any significance here in the real world. I mean, I once had a dream that I'd joined the circus, but instead of it being a normal circus, it was an ant circus. But I wasn't an ant. So I ended up stepping on and killing all of my coworkers and spectators. And remember the tea and limbo one? Does anyone remember that? Did that have _any_ relevance to _anything_?

                No.

                No, it didn't.

                Except maybe to relay the fact that my back can be quite bendy when I put my mind to it.

                But that's all.

                I've never taken any dream I’ve ever had seriously before, so why should I start now? I shouldn't. I totally shouldn't. Because no matter what I've been... _reluctantly_ considering—but still, of course, am not ready to talk about—these past few days, I do _not_ want to do what I just did in that dream. I _don't_. At least not with the person I was doing it with. I'd do it with Amos, certainly, but not with anyone else. 

                No, no, _no_. 

                Not with anyone else.

                Though one must admit, I am rather creative in my wickedly slaggish dreaming ways. Sometimes I surprise myself.

                Merlin, maybe I _am_ a Rook Whore.

_______________________

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 153**

                All alone again for breakfast, it seems. A very sad state of affairs indeed, though perhaps I'm a bit better off this way, what with my subconscious creating mad and blatantly slaggish mental images such as the ones I experienced last night and all. Distance from certain people probably wouldn't be the worst idea I ever had. And despite all appearances, I'm not really _lonely_ right now. I mean, if I were, I suppose I could just call over my young, good-looking mate Thomas Dunn from the Hufflepuff table to keep me company...but then again, he seems to be having quite the time over there down the way, spouting pumpkin juice out of his mouth like a fountain with his mates, aiming for a group of girls sitting a bit father down his table.

                Ah, young love.

                Was it ever that simple?

                Yes.

                And it would have remained that simple if _some_ people would have just kept their bloody _stupid_ anecdotes about their bloody _stupid_ letters to their bloody _stupid_ selves.

                Bloody stupid people don't deserve any sort of affection from others. Except perhaps friendship. But that's all. That's really _all._

Because, honestly, he's really not all that attractive. Physically or otherwise. He's not.

                Well, except—

                No.

Not talking about this. Am _so_ not talking about this.

_______________________

**Later, Herbology**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 153**

                Accosted Emma before Herbology and inquired whether or not Mac had ever written her any letters over the summer and what she thought about such a practice. I had no underlying motives with the asking of such questions, it was simply my inquisitive nature. 

                And where I was expecting some sort of curious look or rolling of the eyes, perhaps accompanied with a drawling, "Hm, perhaps. They were rubbish, though, and held no significance to either me or him," I was desperately disappointed and aggravated when instead of nonchalance, Emma got all dreamy-eyed and nodded wistfully.

                "Oh, yes," she said with a sigh, practically losing all sense of direction as we walked over towards the greenhouses. If I hadn't been there to guide her properly, she probably would've walked into a tree or something. "The entire time I was in Rome. They were wonderful. I...well, I was always rather excited to get them."

                "I wrote you letters while you were in Rome," was my response. "Were you rather excited to get those _?_ "

                Emma rolled her eyes and shot me a dirty look. "It's not the _same_ , Lily," she said, then stomped over to her seat in a bit of a hissy-fit.

                I can only conclude that Emma is obviously mad and has absolutely no idea what little value letters actually hold in the world. I would have told her, but I didn't want to be responsible for breaking her poor, delusional heart.

                Hey, wait a second...

                Letters.

                _LETTERS._

It's so mad, it just may _work!_

_______________________

**Later, Still in Herbology**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 153**

_You have to write her a letter. -LE_

**What? Who is this?**

_Lily. You have to write her a letter, Mac. Like the ones you wrote to her when she was in Rome. Whatever you said in there, say it again. Got it?_

**I... aren't you supposed to be paying attention?**

_I am. Rapid attention. Rigsbee's roots and all the sort. I'm quite the multi-tasker. Now write the letter._

**Lily, I can't.**

_Write it now._

** Now ** **_?_ **

****

**** _That's what I said, didn't I?_

**But we're in the middle of Herbology!**

_Um, yeah. So?_

**I don't multi-task.**

_Well, there's no time like the present to learn, yeah?_

**I thought you were going to leave this alone?**

_Where would you get a mad idea like that? If you're going to be dating my best mate, Mac, let's get something clear now—I never let anything alone._

**I'm not dating your best mate.**

_You won't be if you don't GET WRITING THAT STUPID LETTER._

**I can't write the letter.**

_Yes, you can_.

                **It's not that simple.**

_Why does everyone keep saying that? Yes_, _it is that simple!_

**Lily...**

_Look, just think about it, all right? I'm handing you the girl's heart on a silver platter and if you're too much of a coward to go and take it, then fine, live your life alone and miserable. But let me tell you something, Fulton McDonough...I'm going to make_ damned _sure that Emma doesn't stay that way...with or without your help._

**Is that a threat?**

_Yes. Yes, it is._

_______________________

**Still Later, Gryffindor Common Room**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 153**

Mac dashed out of the greenhouse far too quickly for me to go and try to catch him in order to threaten him some more, but that's all right because I think he got my point the first time around. And I really don't think it's wrong to give him such an ultimatum. After all, a meddler has to do what a meddler has to do. It's not my fault that Mac's a huge prat and wouldn't agree to my brilliant letter-writing plan. Maybe if he had, I wouldn't have had to resort to such measures.

                I mean, I'm _trying_ to help him, for Merlin's sake. Why can't he just cooperate?

                And I just don't think that—

                Oh, bugger.

                What does _he_ want? Doesn't he realise that I just can't be hanging around him right now?

                Double bloody fucking shit.

                Amos. 

                Amos, Amos, _AMOS._

_______________________

**Still Later, Gryffindor Common Room**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 154**

"What are you up to now, Infallible?"

                I was going to ignore him—really, I was—but he had on that face that told me that despite my every attempt to prove otherwise, pretending he didn't exist really just wasn't going to be an option (regardless of any mad ideas about him that might currently be flying through my head for no explainable reason). And while that normally wouldn't have stopped me even a whit, he then decided it would be a good idea to sit down on the couch next to me. After that, my brain pretty much stopped functioning properly. Which, you know, not good.

                And he's _really_ not that good-looking, all right?

                _Merlin._

                "I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied innocently, shrugging my shoulders in a sort of careless fashion that I certainly wasn't feeling inside. James shot me a look.

                "Don't try to hide it now," he scoffed, looking a touch annoyed, which perhaps I would have cared about if I myself hadn't been a touch annoyed with _him_ at that moment for thinking that it was all fine and dandy for him to just sit down next to me...close to me...to even _talk to me_ , when I am presently so emotionally and mentally imbalanced. "Emma may not have noticed, but I sure as hell wasn't the only one watching you maneuver yourself in order to get your notes to Mac behind her back." He stopped and gave me that pointed look of his. "I thought you learned your lesson the last time, Lily. _Stay out of it._ "

                Oh, blah, blah, blah.

                Really, doesn't he realise it's like talking to a brick wall? I'm a _meddler._ This is what I _do._

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I repeated stubbornly, then promptly buried my face in one of the Charms books I had scattered around me. It seemed as good an answer as any. James let out an exasperated sigh.

                "I don't understand you," he muttered, now getting a bit testy. 

                I glanced at him questioningly from behind my book. "I never expected you to."

                " _I_ expected me to."

                "Don't be too hard on yourself," I told him with a comforting pat on the arm, before I remembered that perhaps it wasn't the most brilliant of ideas to be touching him right then, and then therefore subtly pulled away. "I oftentimes don't understand myself. Now are you going to go on telling me off because, if you are, I'd best warn you now, you'll be no better off when you end than when you began and I think we both know it."

                This perhaps was a bit of an idle threat on my part because James can be tremendously persuasive when he wants to be, but he didn’t seem to take it as one.

                "That's because you don't _listen_ ," he muttered instead.

                "Hm? What was that, James? I wasn't listening."

                That one got him to laugh, even if he did look a bit put out for having done so. Sometimes I think it's best just to let yourself revel in my extreme wit and hilarity. Sometimes I am just too funny for my own good.

                "You're going to be the death of me, Infallible," he told me with a sigh.

                "Well, there are worse ways I could think of going," I replied with a smirk.

                Then we both laughed like a pair of right loons because sometimes when things are extremely uncomfortable and you're not entirely sure why your body is reacting to another body in a quite different and quite sudden—though startlingly not quite entirely _unpleasant—_ sort of way, what else is there to do other than just sitting there and laughing?

                Nothing. That's what. 

                Because the alternate option is to actually sit there and _think_ about why it's happening, and I'm most certainly not going to do _that._

Most certainly _not_.

                Hmph.

_______________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 155**

Asked Grace what she thought about slightly sudden, slightly unnerving, though surprisingly not entirely slightly unpleasant feelings towards other human beings. She glanced up from her trashy book and grinned wickedly.

                "Feeling some unresolved sexual tension, there, Rook Whore?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

                "Um, no." I don’t think. "This is a hypothetical question, Gracie. I am simply searching for various opinions."

                "Well, my opinion is that you should jump his bones," she replied.

                "It's not...you know what?" I cried with a very nasty glare in Grace's grinning direction. "Never mind. Just never damn mind. You are officially from this point on, _worthless_ to my life!"

                Then I huffed and puffed and went off sulking on my bed until Grace decided to make things even _worse_ by asking, "I thought Amos Diggory was the light and life of your world?"

                "He _is."_

"Doesn't sound like it, Lil."

                That's what I'm afraid of.

_______________________

**Even Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 24**

**Total Observations: 155**

Sometimes I think that all I really need is just a nice shove in the right direction. 

                Leaving me to my own devices never really works out too well, does it?

                I wasn't planning on going down to dinner, finding the prospect of sitting in such close proximity to so many... _controversial_...people for an extended period of time not all together appetizing when there's presently so much on my very delicate mind. I had therefore planned simply to remain inside my dormitory, burrowing myself inside the comforts of my own bed-hangings, finishing the mountains upon mountains of schoolwork I just haven't felt like doing these past few days. I would've been perfectly content with such a plan, but as always, that just didn't seem to be happening. Unfortunately for me (and perhaps humankind), Carrie Lloyd and Elisabeth Saunders appeared to have taken permanent residence up there, doing Merlin only knows what. And considering I was still striving very hard to stay clear of Saunders and her undoubtedly smug self because of the whole not-really-dating-James thing, I managed to sneak out of the room while the pair of them were in the loo. I'd save _that_ confrontation for another day. 

                Not to be made crestfallen, however, I figured that I could just as easily avoid the masses in my very own home-away-from-home, the library. As mad as it sounds, I would much rather spend a significant amount of time with mad Madame Pince than I would with okay-she-hasn't-said-anything-yet-but-she- _has-_ to-know-I'm-not-really-dating-James-by-now, Elisabeth Saunders.

                Life is just so much simpler that way. It really is.

                Avoid and Ignore. 

                The story of my life.

                So with that plan firmly plotted out inside of my head, I grabbed my books and needed materials and set off down the stairs, making the familiar trek towards the library. My mind was relatively at peace, what with this _particular_ familiar trek not being made with the prospect of death at the end, as I so foolishly thought about previous ventures. 

                It's shocking how much such a thing can change ones perspective. 

                Psh.

                Somewhat distracted I admit, I was dashing down the stairs to the fourth floor when I ran into him.

                And can I just say what a _relief_ it was to see him?

                Serious relief. 

                Enlightening relief. 

                Much _needed_ relief.

                Like a breath of fresh air, there stood my love, Amos Diggory, looking quite dashing in a nice red jumper and his school robes, ginning at me as he made his way down the stairs, assumingly on his way down to the Great Hall for dinner. If it's even possible, I was even happier to see him than I usually am. Stopping on the steps alongside him, I grinned right back and very nearly melted from all of his beautiful gorgeousness.

                "Lily!" He smiled like a god. "Heading down to dinner?"

                I shook my head, still smiling like a mad loon. "The library, actually," I answered with a shrug, showing him the pile of books I was carrying along with me. "I've got a bit of work I've got to finish. How about you? Dinner?"

                Amos nodded, his brown hair falling a bit in his face at the motion. "Yeah, I'm starved." He glanced at me, glanced at my books, and then cocked his head down the stairs. "Why don't you come grab some dinner with me?" he asked, looking far too adorable than should really be allowed. "The library will wait, won't it?"

                My smile froze in its place.

                Dinner with Amos?

                _Dinner with Amos?_

                Library?

                What library?

                "Oh! Er, yeah. Yeah, I suppose it can wait," I muttered lamely, though I was astounded I managed to get anything out at all considering the smile of catastrophic proportions that was covering my entire face. "Dinner would be great. Brilliant."

                I found, quite suddenly, that perhaps I was a bit hungry.

                I mean, I can always make room for rice.

                And Amos.

                I can never get enough of Amos.

                So off I went with my love down to the Great Hall, over to the Hufflepuff table where I can't say I've ever eaten before, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience in the least. I mean, everyone was perfectly nice and I got to sit next to Amos (!!!), brushing his side sometimes (!!!!!)...so really, rice and Amos, what more could a girl want? I mean, granted, the conversation mostly surrounded around Quidditch, but I do think that I'm learning to tune all of that out now. An acquired skill, you see, from all the abuse I suffer over at the Gryffindor table.

                And who needs conversation when there's Amos Diggory to look at?

                Certainly not me.

                Certainly not.

                "I think we can pull it off," Amos was saying to one of his Quidditch mates as we were all finishing up our dinner. He'd been blabbering on for ages and ages and I had rather stopped listening and was instead admiring his fine eyebrows. “We’re in pretty top form." Then, quite out of nowhere and just as I was mentally dreaming of jumping his bones right then and there on top of the Hufflepuff table in the middle of the crowded Great Hall, he turned to me. "What do you think, Lily?" he asked, grinning a bit. "Do we have a chance of beating your squad?"

                A bit startled at being addressed during my period of naughty reveries, my head snapped over to Amos and his mates, all of whom were looking at me with rapid attention. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked, staring at them all blankly.

                "First-years say Potter's buckling under the pressure," one of the boys sitting around us said, looking right at me. I didn't like him. He just gave off that...I don't know... _hate me_ sort of air. "Head Boy and Quidditch Captain—they're saying it's just too much." He puffed out his chest in a rather pompous manner before declaring rather loudly, "We'll trounce his lot soundly come Saturday!"

                Lots of hoots and hollers were heard around the table as the entire Hufflepuff house seemed to be reveling in James's downfall. I threw a look at the idiot who had started the whole thing, who was still looking high and mighty in his seat across from me. 

                I thought it my personal Gryffindor duty to take him down a few notches.

                "You know, that's rather funny," I said, idly tapping at my chin as the hoots and hollers died down a bit.

                "What's funny?" Pompous Boy asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

                "Well, it's just that...well, from what _I've_ heard..." I stopped, feigning a rather troubled look as I went on, shaking my head, pushing at the remaining rice on my plate with my fork. "Oh no. Perhaps I shouldn't say anything..."

                "What?"

                "What is it, Lily?"

                "Yes, go on, tell us!" Pompous Boy called out, looking greedy.

                It was all rather pathetic when one thought about it. I had them eating out of the palm of my hand.

                With a slight mental pat on my back, I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. "Well...it's just that from what _I_ hear—and I have connections, you know. Some of my very best mates are on the Gryffindor Quidditch team--well...it's just..."

                "Just _what?_ " Amos asked, joining in with the enraptured group of listeners. For a second I paused, not sure if it was in my best interest to go on with this little ruse. It was okay to feed lies to Pompous Boy and the rest of the stupid Hufflepuff crew, but Amos?

                I just wasn't sure.

                But then Pompous Boy let out another one of his 'Victory for Hufflepuff!' cattle calls and Amos joined right in with all the ruckus. And even though I love him desperately, one just can't have their good house's name being slaughtered by insolent Pompous Boys and their mates. Even if one of these said mates is one's future husband.

                It would have been an insult of the highest regard to good old Gryffindor had I not done something. Really, it would've been.

                "So what's this you hear?" Amos asked again after the cheering had once more died down. I hesitated for just one second, then thought of poor Godric turning over in his grave in shame before tossing my doubts aside and just letting my mouth go on and do what it does best.

                Lying.

                It's oh so very _brilliant_ at lying.

                "They've got your number with your defense," I blurted out quickly, nodding in what I hoped was a very convincing manner. All around me, eyes opened wide and I took that as enough encouragement to go on. "James said that you moved...er...Carlyle, yes that was it, Carlyle...well, he said you've moved her up front and that's she's utter rubbish. Gryffindor knows not to pay any attention to your offense, only your defense. So I'd watch out if I were you, yeah?"

                I hoped the lot of them couldn't see right through me. I was lying something dreadful. I mean, honestly, what do I know about Quidditch? But luckily, none of these blokes seemed to be aware of my complete Quidditch ineptitude. And they obviously didn't know me very well, for if they did, would they truly think that I would go on and feed information to Gryffindor’s opposing team? Ha! Hardly! In a way, this was a fine payment for thinking such horrid things of me. I mean, I may not know much about Quidditch, but I _do_ know that at the conclusion of their breakfast conversation a few days ago, James and Marley both soundly ignored my brilliant advice to watch out for both Hufflepuff's offense and defense and decided upon keeping their attention mainly focused upon their offense. 

                I didn't see what the harm was in telling this lot a slightly altered version of that conversation.

                I mean, they shouldn't be digging around for tips, anyway.

                Yes. 

                Yes, indeed, they shouldn't.

                Shame, shame, on all of them.

                I knew my lie had hit its mark when the whole table bursted out laughing and Pompous Boy called for another toast to his brilliant team. His face shining with merriment, Amos turned to me after smashing goblets with a few of his mates and threw me another one of his brilliant smiles. I felt remorseful for lying for only the briefest of moments, but then thought of the fact that Amos _also_ seemed to think I would rat out on my own house, and then thought maybe he deserves a bit of a lesson.

                It was obvious I had a bit of whipping into shape to do before I became Mrs. Amos Diggory.

                Dinner was a rather merry affair after that, with none of the prats sitting around me realising that I had just lied to them rather unmercifully. I tried not to look too proud of myself, but really, how could I not when I had just so cleverly tricked an entire house? I mean, a girl has to give herself _some_ sort of kudos. It's not as if I do kudos-worthy things very often.

                No one seemed to be showing any sort of inclination in leaving the Great Hall after that, despite the fact that they had all finished eating eons ago. And even though I would have very happily remained at Amos's side for the rest of the night (and the rest of my life), I knew that it was getting late and that 'I was basking in the glory of my love' wouldn't exactly play over as an appropriate excuse for not finishing my school work. So it was with an extremely heavy heart that I softly informed Amos and the rest of the daft mates that I would need to be getting on my way.

                "Don't go!" was Pompous Boy's alarming cry as I started to rise from my seat. He seemed to have warmed up to me considerably since he thought I had handed Hufflepuff Saturday's match on a silver platter. "I've got a joke! Don't you want to hear the joke?"

                Um, no.

                "Maybe another time," I responded diplomatically, because getting on the wrong side of one's husband's mates—even utterly mental ones like Pompous Boy—is never a plausible option. Pompous Boy looked very disappointed at my answer, but he soon got over it when the Hufflepuff cattle calls started up again. Grabbing my books from the floor, I shrugged my rucksack onto my shoulder and turned to Amos, who had stood along with me.

                "So...see you in Runes?" I offered with a smile. Amos nodded.

                "See you in Runes," he said.

                But that's not all he did.

                Nope.

                He also kissed me.

                KISSED ME!

                HE. KISSED. ME.

                !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                And, I mean, okay, it was just sort of a peck on the cheek, not one of those real, dramatic, film-worthy snogs that I could play over and over inside of my head as I fall asleep at night, but that's not the point. The point is that his god-like lips touched my person. TOUCHED MY PERSON.

                I'll probably never bathe again.

                ...or, you know, maybe I will, but I'll be _really_ careful not to get my cheek too wet.

                But maybe the best part about Amos's delightful-if-perhaps-a-bit-chaste kiss, is the realization that it brought along with it.

                Because honestly, how can I even begin _considering_ fancying someone else when a simple brush of the cheek from Amos has me in fits of raptures? How could I?

                I can't.

                I just can't.

                And _that_ , my friend, is why I just sometimes need a shove in the proper direction. 

                Because by myself, I come to all the wrong conclusions.

_______________________

**Friday, October 10th, Breakfast in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 157**

I do believe that it's hardly a surprise to find me in a right chipper mood this morning, despite the fact that I am once again eating breakfast by my very lonesome self. 

                I actually wish James and Marley were here for once, though. Not because I have suddenly acquired an interest in rubbish Quidditch chatter—please, as if _that_ would ever happen—but because I do think that they would get a nice kick out of my fooling the entire Hufflepuff house on their behalf. I can just imagine Marley's delighted laughter and James's shocked expression at how devilishly clever their seemingly-innocent, seemingly-Quidditch-inept mate, Lily Evans, is. 

                No one can say I don't do things for my house now.

                I wanted to tell Grace about it last night, but by the time I got back from the library, she was already asleep, and she had left for practice before I got up this morning. I did tell Emma, though, and even though she gave me one of those 'Lying isn't a _good_ thing, Lily' looks, I knew she found it rather hilarious as well.

                A few lies here, a few kisses there...I'd say my outlook on today is looking pretty brilliant.

                Yes. 

                Yes, it is.

_______________________

**Later, Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 157**

Grace didn't show up late for breakfast as she usually does after practice—starving and reeking of Quidditchness, a stench that I've often found cannot be eliminated, even with multiple showers and scrubbings. I was concerned for about half-a-second, then decided she was probably all right and that James the Mad Quidditch Captain probably just decided to let practice run extra long, what with the match tomorrow and everything. I mean, none of them—Grace, Sirius or James—had come to the Great Hall as they usually did. They had to be together, doing whatever it is they do at Quidditch practice.

                I wasn’t worried. I really wasn’t.

                "She's got to come to class," Emma said as the pair of us made our way down to the dungeons for Potions. Gracie was still missing. Emma didn't seem too worried about the lot of them, either, and that was comforting if nothing else. "We'll wait for her outside the classroom," she added logically. "I mean, she's got to enter through the door, doesn't she?"

                "Or so we hope," I responded dryly, because if anyone could find another way, I knew it was that mad group of nutters.

                But we waited...and waited...and waited for what seemed like years and years, watching what had to be everyone else in the entire seventh-year pass through the door to the Potions classroom, but the Gryffindor Quidditch Team still remained MIA. And I didn't _want_ to get worried over the whole thing. I mean, I knew that once I started panicking, thinking about all the mad things that could happen out on that Quidditch Pitch, I'd simply drive myself into a useless fury of pointless conniptions and at the end of the day, it would all be for nothing because Grace and James and even Sirius—who I'm not even sure I've completely forgiven for the whole MJ thing yet—would saunter into the dungeons a few mere seconds before class is set to begin with small innocent grins and helpless shrugs, perfectly healthy with lame excuses about malfunctioning broom sheds or something like that. And then I'd have to kick myself because I'd _yet again_ made a huge to-do about absolutely nothing and I've promised myself that I'm really going to stop doing that so often.

                They were _fine._

                I knew they were.

                "Let's just go inside," I said to Emma in what I hoped was at least a semi-confident voice, after we had waited another ten minutes in vain and the seconds remaining until class began dwindled away. Emma shot me an uncertain look.

                "Where are they?" she muttered, sighing gently as she gave the corridors another quick once-over. I tried not to notice that she seemed worried. We had no reason to be concerned, after all. No reason at all.

                I shrugged my shoulders, trying to look as carefree as possible, even though Emma continued to look more than a bit distressed over the whole thing. I was about to let out a reassuring tirade on the uselessness of pointless worrying when quite suddenly, two heads poked out of the Potions classroom and into the corridor. 

                Two familiar heads.

                Two not-even-remotely-reassuring heads.

                "They here yet?" Remus asked, stepping out into the corridor, Peter close on his tail. I shook my head, ignoring quite avidly the blaring alarms that rang ' _Why don't the Marauders know where they are? Why don't they know?'_ and the looks Peter and Remus were sending each other that were saying the very same thing.

                Because they were fine.

                I knew they were.

                “I’m sure they’ll be right along,” I said, nodding my head in a very decisive manner, though I’m not entirely certain just who in the group I was trying to convince of this fact. I looked towards Remus and he was nodding as well, though he didn’t look like he believed it, either. “They’re fine,” I said, grabbing Emma’s hand and tugging her towards the door. “Let’s go inside. They’ll be right along. Right along.”

                I don’t know what it was—whether it was my saying it, or just another strange force of nature—but just as the words ‘right along’ came from my mouth, the miraculous sounds of feet running reverberated through the corridors. Almost as one, the whole group of us—Emma, Peter, Remus and I—turned towards the echoes. And to all of our vast and eternal relief, Grace and Sirius appeared at the end of the hall.

                They were fine.

                ...or they were until I got to them, anyway.

                I guess I was more worried than I thought I’d been because just as I saw them, I suppose I went a bit mad.

                But really, is that hardly surprising?

                “Where have you _been?”_ I cried, meeting the panting pair halfway down the corridor, scowling fiercely. But really, they deserved it. They should realise by now what an uncontrollable worry wart I am. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Abbott will be calling role any minute and the lot of you decide to choose today of _all days_ to be late?” When neither seemed to have a response, I scowled even harder. “Well? Haven’t you anything to say?” Neither of them seemed to. Or perhaps it was just the fact that neither was able to breathe properly yet, I don’t know. Frustrated at their silence, I turned to a new target. “And where’s the other prat-and-a-half?” I demanded. “Where’s James?”

                No one seemed to have an answer for that one either. Still scowling, I was about to continue to chew out both of them until I started to get some proper answers when Grace finally managed to come out of her hyperventilating state to wheeze out two rather disheartening words.

                “Hospital Wing.”

                The reaction was instantaneous.

                “ _Where_?” I cried.

                “What happened?” Emma implored.

                “Fuck,” Remus swore, looking very much as if he wanted to toss himself off the Astronomy Tower. Sirius and Grace were silent for a few moments, Grace shaking her head sadly and Sirius looking very much as if he wanted to punch his fist into the nearest wall. His angry eyes darted up to the rest of us, anxiously waiting to hear what had happened.

                “Smashed up his hand,” he finally told us through clenched teeth. “A stray Bludger. You should have seen it. The damn thing crushed half the bones in his hand.”

                There were winces all around as the information sunk in. 

                James was in the Hospital Wing…there’d been an accident…crushed half the bones in his hand…

                And all the while, I’d been trying not to worry. The one time I manage to get semi-control over my overzealous emotions, someone gets hurt. _Seriously_ hurt, if Sirius’s reaction to the whole thing is any indication.

                It would just figure.

                It would just bloody figure.

                Sirius started talking a bit more after that, giving a brief retelling of the accident to everyone else, but I didn’t hear much of it. All I could think of when I thought of poor James was idiot Pompous Boy yesterday, telling his mates that it had all been too much for him—that James couldn’t handle Captain and Head Boy. I thought about how stressed James had seemed the night of our tutoring, even through his teasing. I thought of how much work and effort he had put into this match, only to have it snatched away at the last second.

                It just didn’t seem fair.

                “Was it his right hand?” Peter questioned, breaking me out of my own morbid thoughts. Sirius shook his head.

                “Left,” he muttered, and the boys looked up in happy surprise for a moment, but Sirius simply shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter,” he went on bitterly. “McGonagall’s up there throwing fits left and right, trying to talk some sense into Pomfrey, but it’s not doing shit. Prongs won’t bloody talk to anyone—I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s thrown himself out the nearest window by now. Pomfrey says he should be more than fine by tomorrow, but who knows?” His voice trailed off as he scowled heavily. “All that work,” he muttered. “All that _fucking_ work for _nothing._ ”

                At first, I didn’t know what to say. What did I know about Quidditch injury recoveries? What did I know about left hands or right hands or what they have to do with any of it? But I felt the words falling from my mouth, even as I knew they’d probably make no difference in the end.

                “He’ll be all right,” I attempted with a falsely-decided nod. A few nasty looks were shot my way, but I ignored them. “He will!” I insisted again. “Pomfrey knows what she’s doing. And James wouldn’t let one stupid injury stop him from playing, would he? No. No, I just don’t think he would! He’d be out there with no limbs and chronic pneumonia if he had the choice!”

                It appeared to be a sound argument to me, and Merlin only knew it was true. Come hell or high water, James Potter didn’t let things like crushed bones stop _him_ from playing _his_ Quidditch matches. The bloke would rather stab himself in the heart, and _that_ I was sure of. But for some reason or another—despite the fact that of all people, _she_ should understand the extent of James Potter’s Quidditch insanity—Grace started shaking her head regretfully.

                “He may not have a choice,” she explained with a sigh, shrugging her shoulders. “If his hand doesn’t heal properly, Pomfrey won’t clear him to play. She told us she wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter if it’s not his throwing hand. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to be out there. The mad wench doesn’t care a whit about any of it.”

                “McGonagall won’t stand for that,” Emma insisted, because of course we all knew McGonagall wouldn’t. The fact that Sirius had already mentioned that she was up there causing riots was enough proof of that, but Grace simply shook her head again.

                “She’s trying to fight it,” she admitted. “But she has just as much control over the situation as we do.”

                And that appeared to be none.

                No one seemed to want to talk much after that, and there was still class to get to. With heavy hearts, we all shuffled our way into the Potions classroom, ignoring Abbott’s warnings about coming into her class late. If she noticed James was missing, she didn’t say anything. 

                It all just doesn’t seem fair, James in the Hospital Wing. He doesn’t deserve it. He deserves to be out on that pitch, playing his little mad heart out and winning for Gryffindor. Perhaps it _has_ been too much for him. And perhaps it’s partially my fault, for not being a good enough partner…I don’t know. All I know is that he doesn’t deserve it.

                I just don’t know what any of us could do about that, though.

                

_______________________

**Even Later, Transfiguration**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 157**

McGonagall looks like someone's killed her pet.

                It all just seems so sad, and I don't even _like_ Quidditch.

                I didn't get to go up and see James after Potions because stupid Abbott—who I'm sure had this whole thing planned in her twisted, stupid mind—had it so that us poor, helpless Gryffindors couldn't go comfort our mate and captain in his time of need by making me, Grace and Sirius stay after class to clean up because she insisted we were 'disrupting her teaching' or some rubbish like that, even though we weren't. We were simply conversing about poor James and his present injured condition and how we must all go up to the Hospital Wing immediately and cheer him up a great lot before his extended period of time with Madame Pomfrey and her band of evil elves drives him to such lengths of madness that he simply just kills himself from the pure torture of it all. But did Abbott care about any of that? Did she care that it wasn't disrespect that was driving us to talk, but true and understandable compassion for a fellow human being?

                No.

                She just handed us some cauldron brushes and smiled her sardonic smile and walked away.

                And then she wonders _why_ no one likes her?

                Psh.

                Double psh.

                And now we'll all have to wait until after classes to go see him because Madame Pomfrey’s got this new thing about not letting anyone in to visit during lunch on account of this sordid affair that went down with Vicki Linton's boyfriend coming into the Hospital Wing to shag her while Pomfrey was on her lunch break and Pomfrey walking in on them and the whole castle shaking from the strength of her wrath and everything. But by the time classes are over, James will probably be out of the Hospital Wing, or perhaps he'll have already committed suicide.

                Poor James.

                Poor McGonagall.

                Poor Gryffindor.

_______________________

**Even Later, Lunch in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 157**

Oh, it's all just too sad. Look what's arrived for me during lunch:

                _Dearest Lily,_

_Hello, love, and thank you for your lovely note. It's always nice to know how you're doing. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to write back to your previous letter, but Daddy's been very busy over at the office and I've taken on a few more responsibilities over at the Women's Club, and I just haven't the time to sit and breathe anymore! But that doesn't mean I don't love you and miss you tremendously!!_

_You know, what a coincidence it is that you'd be asking for some fudge because I have to tell you, your Auntie Mae was over just the other day and I said to her, "Mae, you know what we haven't done in a long time? Made Fudge. Let's make some fudge, Mae." And your Auntie Mae, she went right along with the idea and we made fudge galore! This was just the other day, I swear to you. So I have more than enough fudge to go round if your mate James is as hungry as you say he is. And speaking of your mate James...you know what they say, don't you, love?_

_The way to a man's heart is through his stomach!_

_Is he_ that _kind of mate, love? I don't think you've had that sort of mate in a very long time. Last time was...that Davies chap, wasn't it? And a Head Boy...well, that'll sit well with Daddy, don't you think? Not that I'll tell him about any of this, of course! A woman's heart is her own prerogative! Besides, you know how Daddy gets. No one's ever good enough for his Lily. But I'm sure this James is splendid and that I will like him very much, even if Daddy refuses to._

_I love you and I miss you. Look after yourself, Lily._

_Love,_

_Mum_

My mum is so completely mad it's almost silly.

                Honestly, ' _the way to a man's heart'_...what utter rubbish. I've only mentioned Amos to her half-a- _billion_ times, but does she ever say anything about _him?_ Ever pick up on the fact that, 'Hey, this is the twelfth time my daughter has mentioned that boy. Could he hold some significance in her lame-excuse-of-a-life?' No, of course not! She completely ignores me then. But one mention of the _Head Boy_ and, oh, suddenly she's planning a wedding and sneaking me into James's bed from behind Dad's back. 

                It's all _very_ late-night television.

                But I'm sure James will be very very glad to have his fudge, regardless of whom my mother is or isn't sneaking into his bed. I'm sure it will make him feel very happy and much less suicidal once he realises that the world—including my mother—loves him, regardless of whether the injury to his non-throwing-hand costs us tomorrow's match or not.

                Or at least, _I'll_ love him regardless. The rest of them might take a little while to get over the whole thing, but as I’ve said, that's what happens when you mess around with Quidditch. It's not good for the health.

                Oh, it's all just too sad.

_______________________

**Even Later, History of Magic**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 159**

I saw Pompous Boy waltzing around the corridors doing his 'Victory for Hufflepuff!' cattle calls again, which made me believe that perhaps despite our best attempts to keep it from the world, the lot of them have found out about James anyway.

                And really, it's not my fault that I hexed him.

                The kid deserved it.

                He was really being unnaturally loud. Disturbing the peace and all.

                And it's not as if anyone _saw_ me do it, anyway.

_______________________

**Later Later, Still in History of Magic**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 159**

                All right, that was a lie. Maybe someone _did_ see me. This just came flying over to my desk from behind me:

                **You know, for such a prudish stickler, you really do have great creativity with Charms, Evans. Cheers. -SB**

Ahhhh, _damn_.

_______________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 161**

                James has locked himself in his dormitory.

                And it doesn’t appear as if he’ll be coming out any time soon, either.

                I came back to the common room after Charms with Grace and Emma, getting ready to meet up with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who were all planning to come along with us down to the Hospital Wing to cheer James up. I’d brought along my mum’s fudge from lunch, figuring that if worst came to worst and James’s non-throwing arm failed to make its proper recovery and he’s utterly depressed because he can’t play and will therefore be letting himself down, his team down and ultimately his entire _house_ down…well, you know, he could probably use some fudge then. Not that it will make things right, of course, but it’ll probably make him feel a little better. For the few minutes it takes him to scarf them all down, anyway.

                Perhaps I should write Mum again for back-ups…

                But when Grace, Emma and I entered the common room, we were rather perplexed to find that the only people waiting there were the Marauders, who were brooding over on the couches by the fire. Confused at this, though not exactly upset because I hadn’t exactly been _relishing_ in the fact that I had to spend time with the mad Quidditch team and all their Quidditchy insanity for any extended period of time, I looked towards Grace and Emma, seeing if they knew why there was a sudden lack of madness, but they seemed to be as puzzled as I was.

                “Where is everyone?” Emma asked, looking at the lonely Marauders as well.

                “Perhaps they’ve gone already?” I suggested, slightly hoping that it was so. But from the way the Marauders sat huddled together, looking none-too-pleased about something, I was thinking that that probably just wasn’t going to be the case. Following Grace’s lead, the lot of us went to go see what was going on.

                “Hey,” Grace called as we came near the boys. “What’s going on? Where’s—”

                But she didn’t get to finish her question. It wasn’t necessary. Looking quite pained in his expression, Peter cut Grace off before she could ask where everyone was when he said, “He’s locked himself in the dorm.”

                “Who’s locked himself in the dorm?” I asked, at that point still thinking of the several ‘he’s that were on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Then—rather late on the uptake, I’m afraid—I realised that only one ‘he’ locked in a dormitory would hold any significance to our plans. “James?” I questioned with a wince. 

                No one answered, but I suppose it wasn’t necessary.

                “Is it that bad?” Grace asked next, looking very discouraged.

                “Who knows?” Sirius bit off caustically, glaring at nothing in particular. “We went up before Charms and Pomfrey said he’d been released. He’s been up there ever since.”

                “Have you tried to get him out?”

                “We’ve done everything but knock down the door,” Remus answered, looking very tired.

                “Have you attempted to _bribe_ him?” I asked, because I really couldn’t imagine James—even in his very despaired state—being unbribable.

                “Bribe him with what?” Grace asked.

                Oh, my naive little mates.

                They obviously don’t know the power of fudge.

_______________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 161**

                _James—_

_This is a RANSOM NOTE._

_I am currently in possession of something you WANT/NEED/CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT. If you ever want to see it again, you will contact me AS SOON AS IS PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE and I will set up a meeting place to bargain._

_Signed,_

_A Mate_

\--------------------

                _I’m really not in the mood for your games right now, Lily. Sorry._

_\--------------------_

_James—_

_Your first mistake was thinking this is a game. Your second, calling me by that name, for I clearly have no idea who this ‘Lily’ is. For if I were such a girl as she, would you not recognize her handwriting, which this note is clearly not written in? Or would you not recognize her owl, for the owl delivering these messages is clearly not hers, either?_

_If you ever want to see your prize again, you will no longer hold these false pretenses. I am still waiting to bargain._

_Still Signed,_

_Still A Mate_

_\---------------------_

_Now is really not the time. I’m not kidding._

_\---------------------_

_Neither am I._

_\--------------------_

_First of all, I know a Forging Charm when I see one. Yours, though perhaps a bit better than others, is still in essence a Forging Charm. If I took off said Forging Charm, I would surely find very familiar handwriting. Secondly, you can not toss a few kerchiefs all over Winnie and call that an adequate disguise. That is possibly the worst disguise I’ve ever seen in my entire existence. First-years could do better._

_All right? Okay? Are we done playing now?_

_And what is it exactly that you have, anyway?_

_J._

_\----------------------_

_James—_

_You try to make a mockery out of me, but I will not allow such things. You are clearly delusional and therefore do not understand that there is no Forging Charm and there is certainly no owl named Winnie covered in green and yellow kerchiefs delivering these messages. This is my true handwriting and this owl is simply a very rare breed. So there._

_Have sent along a small piece of aforementioned prize to convince you that this matter is VERY SERIOUS. If I do not hear back from you quickly, I will assume you no longer hold any interest in obtaining this prize and will therefore TOSS THE REMAINING PIECES OUT OF MY DORMITORY WINDOW._

_Consider your decision carefully._

_Still Still Signed,_

_Still Still A Mate_

_\-----------------------_

_Was that fudge?_

_\-----------------------_

_Uh-huh._

_\-----------------------_

_Oh, now, come on. That’s entirely unfair._

_\----------------------_

_Meet you in the North Tower during dinner, then?_

_\----------------------_

_Too far. I’ll meet you in the common room._

_\----------------------_

_It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter._

_\----------------------_

_You’re lucky I like fudge, Evans._

_______________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 25**

**Total Observations: 162**

I pretended that my bribery tricks hadn’t worked (though really, how could there have ever been a doubt?) and told Grace and Emma to go on to dinner without me. There was instant skepticism as a result, but fortunately enough, it was not about James or my brilliant plan to lure him out of his solitude. It was something entirely different. 

                “If you’d rather go eat dinner with darling Amos again,” was Grace’s flat argument, giving me a very over-dramatically hurt look, “you can just say so, Lil. Emma and I understand when we’re being _replaced_ in your heart.”

                 It seems that she still hasn’t quite gotten over the whole saying-I-was-going-to-the-library-but-I-was-actually-eating-with-Amos thing just yet, despite the fact that I had all but put my relationship on the line in order to help her Quidditch team during that said dinner (which I still have yet to tell her about, actually. It quite slipped from my mind throughout all the day's drama). And honestly, it was _Amos._ How was I supposed to pass such an opportunity by, schoolwork and full stomach be damned?

                Psh.

                Mates.

                “You’re not being replaced,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “I’m really not hungry this time. Honest.”

                Which wasn’t _technically_ even a lie—the part about me not being hungry, I mean. I’d been munching on James’s ‘prize’ all afternoon, and fudge tends to fill you up rather quickly, if I do say so myself. I wasn’t even thinking about Amos when I had a very depressed James on my hands.

                Well, I mean...not _much_ , anyway.

                What I _was_ thinking much about, however, was the fact that I knew that the very _last_ thing James would want was one big pity party thrown in his honor with everyone harassing him about his hand. That’s why I was sending Grace and Emma off. Because regardless of their good intentions, I knew that Grace—if perhaps not Emma—wouldn’t be able to help herself. She’d interrogate James something fierce. Plus, she’d probably tell the Marauders, and then _they’d_ come and harass him.

                I was trying to make the bloke feel _better_ , for Merlin’s sake, not worse.

                “It’s all right,” Grace went on, still blabbering nonsense, though I had pretty much stopped listening at that point. “We understand. Diggory comes along and what are we best mates?” She gave a very dramatic sigh. “Rubbish!” she cried with anguish. “Complete rubbish!” She went on sulking as Emma and I rolled our eyes at each other. “Whatever happened to us girls sticking together?” she demanded.

                “Yes, yes, we know,” Emma muttered, pushing at Grace’s back to lead her out the dormitory door. She looked over her shoulder at me, ignoring Grace’s continued mutterings out in the stairwell. “Try and figure out that last History question, would you? It’s been driving me mad. S’later.”

                Then they were both gone.

                And really, I had never been so thankful for sane Emma before.

                This is why I keep her around.

                I waited a bit before heading down to the common room after them, figuring that the more time I gave people to go down to dinner, the less likely it would be that the place would be swarming with unnecessary masses. James and I hadn’t set a specific time to meet, but I knew he wasn’t exactly jumping for joy to be down there—I mean, the bloke _had_ locked himself in his dormitory. If it hadn’t been for my tempting fudge bribe, who knows how long he would’ve been playing the Boo Radley game?—and wasn’t exactly going to be rushing downstairs. I was determined to be the second one down there, though. I was rather hoping to keep him waiting for a bit, thinking perhaps it better to let him get comfortable for a few moments, lest he come down, see me, grab the fudge, then go right back on upstairs. _That_ would have hardly helped my cause. Then I’d just have fat-depressed-James, instead of regular depressed-James. 

                Not a good thing.

                One of the few downsides to fudge, though, I’m afraid.

                Hm.

                Preparing myself for whatever personality bipolar-James decided to launch upon me this time, I grabbed the box of fudge (a bit lighter than before, I admit. But honestly, it’s _my_ mum. My mum, my fudge. And I was hungry. He’s not the only one with cravings, you know) and made my way out of the dormitory. I didn’t exactly know what to expect, but I wasn’t discouraged. I could deal with James—angry James, happy James, annoying James…the list goes on and on—I’ve done it all before. Depressed James shouldn’t be too different. Even fat-depressed James, if it came down to that.

                I’d had seventeen years of dealing with my sister, after all.

                After that, even fat-depressed James seems like a walk in the park.

                Sad, but true.

                As I hoped, the common room was nearly empty by the time I got down there, save for a few stray studiers who were far too absorbed in their books to pay any attention to anything going on around them, anyway. Giving the room a quick once-over, I spotted James almost instantly. He was sitting on one of the chairs near the corner of the room, gazing rather dully down upon his left hand, which was wrapped lightly in some sort of tan gauze. And even though I rather hate to admit it—because although I am entirely certain in my devotions to my husband-to-be, a girl’s naturally doubting, I suppose—seeing James sitting there and looking so down bothered me… _really_ bothered me. More than perhaps it should have. And maybe I should be concerned about that, I don’t know, but for that moment, the only thing I could think about was getting over there as soon as I possibly could with as much fudge as I possibly could.

                Because that’s just what mates do.

                Really.

                “Hey there,” I said with a smile, taking the empty seat next to him. The air simply radiated with quiet melancholy, and _that_ I knew wouldn’t do. Barley even acknowledging my friendly greeting, James simply glanced up at me from out of the top of his eyes. He looked a bit more ruffled than usual, as if he had just rolled out of bed, which under the circumstances, probably wasn’t too far from the truth. Silently, his tired eyes carefully scanned my face, then the box in my hand, then my face again, looking expectant. Rolling my eyes slightly, I held out the box to him, which he took without the smallest hint of a smile. Flipping over the top, he still didn’t say anything.

                Quiet James.

                That was a new one.

                I feared that if I opened my mouth and spoke too soon, the boy would simply rush off like a startled fawn, so I didn’t attempt to say anything more. It was a weird feeling, seeing James Potter of all people looking rather timid, but it was what it was. I simply watched silently as he plucked one of the small bits of fudge out of the box and popped it into his mouth, looking quite content with eating his fudge and ignoring me completely. I didn’t mind sitting there in silence as he ate if that’s what it took to turn him back into a human again. I’d let the fudge work its magic.

                ...or, you know, I _would’ve_ been content to stay silent, if he hadn’t started eating like a crazed, starved lunatic.

                “Merlin, James, take human bites!” I cried, watching as he popped another piece of chocolate into his already quite full mouth. The idiot bloke seemed determined to inhale half the damn box in just a mere few minutes. “The fudge isn’t going anywhere. I promise.”

                “Hm-hm,” was his barely-an-answer response. It sounded like consent, but it obviously wasn’t, because he still continued shoveling piece after piece into his mouth at an unbelievably rapid pace.

                Um, ew.

                “I’m going to take that away if you don’t quit it,” I warned, completely serious. I mean, honestly, I felt dreadful for the boy and all, but how long is a girl expected to put up with this sort of disgusting display? “You’re nauseating the children.”

                “What children?” he asked, finally speaking, though with his mouth so full, I was for once hoping that perhaps he wouldn’t.

                “The ones trying _very_ hard to study,” I explained with a pointed look, motioning around the common room to the other Gryffindors in the vicinity, “but are presently unable to do so because they are all too distracted by your _disgusting_ _eating_ _habits_!”

                I chose to ignore the fact that the two or three other kids in the common room were still actually quite engrossed in their books. 

                It didn’t seem relevant.

                James looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing around at the kids about the room, then turned back to me with a cocked eyebrow, as if to point out the obvious. My heart skipped in my chest at that brow. Finally, a small trace of the James I know! “I think you’re supposed to be nice to me,” he finally replied, eyes slightly narrowed. “I’m injured. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to the injured?”

                “Um, no.”

                “Yes, you are.”

                “Hm. No.”

                “Brat.”

                I grinned. “Prat.”

                Oh, my James.

                He’s come back to me.

                I couldn’t help it then—I burst out laughing like a damned drunken loon right there on the spot. For a second I thought that perhaps that wasn’t the most intelligent of things to be doing—would me being happy only serve as a reminder to James that he _wasn’t_ happy, and therefore throw him even further into the depths of despair?—but I knew that acting like my normal, madwoman self had been just the ticket when James managed to swallow his immense amount of fudge and joined right on in with me. I was so relieved that Plan Bribery had worked that I started laughing even more. 

                We must have looked pretty insane, sitting there like a pair of St. Mungo's escapees.

                But then again, since when was that something new?

                “Thank Merlin!” I very nearly shouted, throwing my hands up as the pair of us continued to cause quite a ruckus with our bursts of hilarity. “For a moment there, I thought I’d lost you.”

                James shrugged his shoulders and shot me a grin. “No,” he laughed. “Still me.”

                “Well, good,” I said with a happy nod, finally cooling my laughter a bit. I did an insanely good impression of Pompous Boy and puffed out my chest haughtily. “I knew I could pull you out of the depths of despair.”

                “I wasn’t in the depths of despair.”

                “Um, James,” I started flatly. “You locked yourself in your dormitory.”

                “So? I like my dormitory.”

                I snorted. “Oh, yes. And I suppose this sudden infatuation with your living space had absolutely _nothing_ to do the bit of gauze wrapped around your left hand, eh?”

                The words tumbled out of my mouth before I really had a chance to think about what I was saying. I nearly kicked myself ten-times over when I realised that the one subject I really shouldn’t have been bringing up so soon, I had. This became even more apparent when all of the laughter seemed to disappear from James’s face and he glanced sullenly down upon the aforementioned hand. A slew of stuttered apologises slipped up onto my tongue, but I swallowed them all down as an idea suddenly popped into my head.

                Maybe saying something so wrong…well, maybe it was _right._

I mean, I knew we were crossing over into dangerous territory and everything—and what in the hell did I know about the devastating effects of Quidditch injuries, anyway?— but I _also_ knew that when life comes and kicks you in the arse…well, you’ve just got to go get it all out and kick life right back. Even if it’s wretched. Even if it hurts. You just have to get it all out.

                James had had hours to brood by himself in this dormitory.

                It was time to get it out now.

                And if I had to drag it out of him, kicking and screaming, that’s what I was going to do.

                Swallowing any lingering apologises, I set back my shoulders and leaned back in my chair, eyeing James with steady determination. “Do you want to talk about it?” I finally asked.

                To my surprise, James didn’t completely lash out at me at the mere mention of such a thing. He was a stronger person than I was for keeping his frustration in check—and he _was_ frustrated, I knew. I could see it in the set of his jaw and the sternness in his eyes—but he was holding firm to his control. Merlin only knew how many things _I_ would’ve broken in my temper already had I been in his position. But not James. Instead, he just let out a kind of painful sigh, bringing up his bandaged hand and rotating it back and forth in front of his face. For a few seconds he stayed silent, watching his hand through slightly narrowed eyes, before dropping it back down to his side. He looked back over at me tiredly.

                “It doesn’t even hurt,” he murmured quietly, letting out a long breath. His eyes darted down to his hand, then back up to me. “That was a lie,” he confessed with another sigh. “It throbs like a bugger.”

                Oh, jeez.

                He’s caught my lying bug.

                “Well, of course it does,” I replied comfortingly, my heart going out to the poor bloke. For both his injury _and_ for picking up my dreadful ways, of course. “You can’t expect miracles, James. From what Grace and Sirius told me, you smashed your hand up rather badly.”

                “I was an idiot,” he muttered in response. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

                “It was an _accident_ , James. Accidents happen.”

                He scowled darkly. “Not the day before Quidditch matches, they don’t.”

                He looked so cross now about the entire thing, I considered for a moment just abandoning the whole ‘let it all out’ plan and simply trying to make him laugh again. But in the long run of things, I knew that this mini-therapy session was going to be better for him than a few short-lived chuckles. It might not be fun or particularly happy, but at the end of the day, it would be better than letting his bitterness eat at his insides, wouldn’t it? I mean, as a girl who tends to let it all out when she gets cross at the world, _trust me_ , I know it makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better…if, you know, perhaps a bit worse for those on the receiving end of my frustration. But I’m _volunteering_ to be James’s punching bag. The boy has to let it all out on _something_ , after all.

                I think I make a rather good punching bag.

                “What’s going to happen if you can’t play tomorrow?” I asked gently, getting my resolve back. James gave a defeated shrug. 

                “I don’t know,” he answered miserably, and from the way his voice pitched just a tab bit lower, I knew he already doubted his ability to play. “I…I don’t mean this arrogantly,” he started quickly, his eyes shooting up to mine, “but… _Merlin_ , Lily, I just don’t know if they can _do_ it without me! There are so many plays—and the reserve’s hardly anything special…” He let out a soft groan, lolling his head back as he considered the possibilities. “If we lose this game,” he went on slowly, the aggravation apparent in his voice now, “it’s going to _murder_ trying to fight our way back to the top. I don’t know if we can do it. It’ll be…it’ll just be…” He trailed off, ending with a giant sigh as he fixed his eyes on a point just above my shoulder. He stared, hardly blinking. “This is _shit,_ ” he muttered. “Total fucking _shit._ ”

                Wrong.

                This was good.

                Very good.

                “Let it all out,” I instantly prodded him, happy to finally have some sort of response. “Swear your bottom off. Tell me how shit life is.”

                James smiled, his eyes moving from that one spot for the first time as he looked at me, shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he sighed. “Once I start, I might not be able to stop.”

                “That’s all right,” I told him. “Go on. Impress me with your vast dirty, swearing vocabulary. Give it your best.”

                He laughed instead of swore, which I wasn’t certain was exactly a _good_ thing, but I wasn’t really about to go on and complain about it, either. “Do you know what?” he asked, still laughing as he looked at me very peculiarly.

                “What?” I asked him.

                “You’re good.”

                Er...good?

                What?

                I threw him a confused look. “Er, good at what exactly?”

                James grinned, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses with his right hand. “You come out,” he started, still laughing, “with your little ransom notes and potent fudge and I tell myself, ‘James, don’t listen to her. Don’t give in to her’. I say it over and over again and keep telling myself that you’re full of rubbish and none of it matters. And yet…and yet where do I find myself half-hour later?” He shook his head, as if he himself couldn’t quite believe it. “Down in the common room,” he finished disbelievingly. “Down in the common room laughing my arse off.” Then, as if to prove his point, he started howling like a loon again. “You’re good,” he managed to repeat through his laughter. “You’re _good._ ”

                Which, you know, he didn’t have to tell _me_ because I already _knew_ that.

                But it’s still nice to hear it from others now and then.

                “Well,” I said, laughing along a bit uncomfortably as James continued to hoot and holler. “I’m glad that my rubbish talk has…er…improved your disposition some.”

                Or turned him completely mad.

                Which, by his current state, I wasn’t ruling out as a possibility.

                It took him a little while to control his laughter, though I have no idea why he seemed to find the whole thing so utterly hilarious. I thought perhaps that along with my lying bug, he might have caught a bit of my insanity as well, but then I figured that he already _had_ a bit of his own madness, so no one could really blame that one on me. It was nice to see him laughing, I suppose, if not a bit odd. I just didn’t understand _why_ it was so damned funny.

                But I never claimed to understand James Potter, anyway.

                “Are you nearly through yet?” I asked, bored, a few minutes later, when James’s laughter seemed practically endless. It had died down a bit, but had by no means ceased. “Really, James, you’re disrupting the children again.”

                But James didn’t seem to care a whit about who he was disrupting. He just went right on staring at me and chuckling to himself as if there was some particularly funny joke nailed to my forehead. I let out a huff of frustration, rolling my eyes at his antics before inspiration suddenly struck.

                Oh, this was going to be good.

                “You know,” I started slowly, ignoring the still relentless twittering going on in front of me. “Even if _you_ can’t play tomorrow, you might have a shot at winning, anyway, you know.”

                Still not shutting up, James merely cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Oh, yeah? And how in the hell would you have any idea about that?" With a self-satisfied smirk, he leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Hate to break it to you, love, but you don’t know a Quaffle from a foot stool.”

                Um, harsh.

                I mean, _true,_ but harsh.

                “Be that as it _may,_ ” I shot back with a bit of a glare, ignoring the smug look that James had _finally_ substituted for his endless laughing, “ _I_ know something that _you_ don’t know.” I crossed by arms and matched his haughty look. “About Hufflepuff.”

                That caught his attention, just as I thought it would, even if he did look a bit skeptical about the whole affair. Not giving him another second to continue on with his smugness, I donned my own haughty air and then proceed to relay—rather animatedly, if I do say so myself—my infamous (or, you know, it _would_ be infamous, if more than a handful of people knew about it) and rather genius Pompous-Boy-Offense-Defense lie to the injured Gryffindor captain.

                And if my intention was to get him to stop laughing, my plan failed miserably.

                The bloke went simply wild with glee.

                “You _whhaat?_ ” he cried, laughing so hard there were tears coming to his eyes. “Y-you…y-you…”

                Then he was off again.

                I would’ve gotten annoyed, but, you know, he was laughing at my pure brilliance, so I couldn’t really muster up much irritation at that.

                “Oh, t-that’s rich,” James went on, still howling like a loon. “And they _believed_ you?” he questioned again, all smiles and glee. I nodded with a grin myself.

                “They apparently aren’t aware of the whole Quaffle-footstool dilemma,” I replied with a shrug, a few chuckles of my own filtering out. “I felt bad for lying to Amos, but really, James, you should have _heard_ the lot of them! Complete and utter rubbish the entire dinner! I _had_ to defend my Gryffindor honor somehow.”

                “So you cheat.”

                “It wasn’t _cheating_. It was simply giving some information—all right, some _untrue_ information—to a few people.”

                “ _Deliberately_ untrue,” James corrected, grinning widely.

                I scowled. “Well, yes, perhaps—”

                “And to _Diggory_ of all people!” He was getting far too much entertainment out of this. “I don’t know, Infallible,” he muttered, _tsk_ -ing at me. “This can’t be good for the married life, can it? Perhaps there are some cracks in your most blissful union?”

                Cracks?

                CRACKS?

                Psh.

                Psh. Psh. Psh.

                “I’ll have you know that Amos and I are _perfectly content_ in our present state,” I said in a huff, glaring at James’s happy face, “and that just because I may have told a _bit_ of a lie about _one_ , stupid Quidditch match, it _most certainly_ doesn’t mean that there are any _cracks_ in our relationship, all right, Potter?”

                Or there wouldn’t be if we actually _had_ a relationship. Right now we’re just sort of on the brink. Or if I didn't stop daydreaming about... _other_ blokes (none of which we are discussing right now). But I was hardly about to tell _him_ that. But despite my hostile tone and strong defense, James still smiled knowingly. 

                “All right,” he said.

                I wanted to throttle him.

                And I would’ve, probably, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to stand up.

                “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, rising up with him. If he thought he could just _walk_ away after making comments like that, he was _sorely_ mistaken. I may generally be a pacifist, but that doesn't mean I don't know some positively _wicked_ hexes.

                “Back up to my room,” James replied with a grin. “I have a lot to think about.”

                “What do you have to think about?”

                He shrugged, but his mischievous little grin told a whole other story. “Life,” he insisted. “Fudge,” he claimed, holding up his box. Then the grin spread across his face. “My little, redheaded mates who seem to enjoy lying to their potential mates, perhaps?”

                “James Potter, I’m going to _kill_ —”

                “Yes, yes, I know,” he muttered, still grinning. “Kill me and butcher me and hang my bloody body up in the Great Hall for the world to see. I _know_.” He shouldn’t have looked so delighted by the idea. I scowled darkly at his back as he began waltzing away towards the boys’ staircase, apparently content with his last word. As he reached the first steps, me close at his heels, he suddenly seemed to remember something as he turned about and faced me. “You going to be up early tomorrow morning?” he asked.

                “Why wouldn’t I be?” I responded, still a bit miffed, but also perplexed.

                “I have to go see Pomfrey before breakfast,” James answered, his voice losing a bit of its glee, but not entirely discouraged. “Just wanted to make sure you’d be awake to cheer me up when I come down to the Great Hall sobbing like a child because she refuses to clear me.”

                The simple image of it made me smile.

                Honestly, crying like a child. James?

                That was _my_ role.

                “Oh, there’ll be none of that,” I insisted with a careless wave of my hand. “She’ll clear you—if only so that she doesn’t have to hear McGonagall bite her ear off about it.”

                James laughed, a nice, pleasant sound in the midst of a rather dreary subject. “Yeah, well, here’s hoping.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. He began climbing the steps back up to his dormitory and I let him go, figuring my goal of cheering the bloke up had been accomplished, even if he still insisted on hiding out in his dormitory and even if he really deserved a good punch for insinuating Amos and I are anything but perfect for each other. I shook my head at the madness of it all and began walking back the girls’ staircase. Suddenly, I heard him call out, “Lily!”

                I turned around to see his head poking out from around the boys’ stairwell.

                “Thanks,” he said, his voice oddly deep. “I tend to say that a lot to you, don’t I?”

                “Don’t worry about it,” I called back, sending him a grin. “You’re welcome.”

                Then he disappeared up the stairs.

                And _that_ was the end of yet another successful mission on my part.

_______________________

**Saturday, October 11th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 26**

**Total Observations: 163**

                Oh, bugger.

                It’s here. It’s finally here.

                Match Day.

                _Why_ did I even bother to get up this morning?

                _I hate Quidditch._

_______________________

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 26**

**Total Observations: 163**

                

                I was mighty surprised—though perhaps I shouldn’t have been. I suppose she’s up like this every Quidditch Match day, only I was just never up to notice it—to see Grace up and about when I was getting ready to head down to breakfast early this morning. She was driving me absolutely mad, looking around the room all wild-eyed, fidgeting with her hands something fierce, pacing back in forth in front of my bed as she nervously watched me slip on my trainers. I wanted to stick her with a tranquilizer and just be done with it, but I’m told that that’s just not the sort of thing best mates do.

                Psh.

                “He’s going to be cleared,” she kept muttering, though whether she was talking to me or going on to herself, I don’t know. “I mean, you saw him yesterday, yeah? You said he looked fine. Completely recovered.”

                I had twisted the truth a bit and told Grace and Emma that I had just happened to accidentally run into James down in the common room while they were at dinner. I didn’t think it necessary to tell them the whole truth, or the fact that James himself had said that his hand was still bothering him. Grace was jumpy enough as it was already.

                “Uh-huh, fit as a fiddle,” I agreed instantly, grabbing my cloak and my Gryffindor scarf, just in case I didn’t make it back to the room before heading down to the pitch, which was most likely going to be the case. “Quit fretting, Gracie. Everything will be fine.”

                Grace seemed to take a slight comfort in those words, however untruthful they were. But I was happy to spread the supportive lie if it meant that she wouldn’t be panicking all morning. I didn’t know if she was aware that James was most probably at that very moment in the Hospital Wing, deciding the fate of the entire match, but if she didn’t, I wasn’t about to tell her.

                “Come on,” I said, grabbing my jumper with one hand and Grace’s hand in the other. “Let’s go down to breakfast, yeah? We can’t have you beating my husband on an empty stomach, now can we?”

                Looking a bit less anxious, Grace nodded her head and followed me out of the dorm.

                I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the Great Hall a bit more crowded this morning, but I still took a few steps back when Grace and I got down to the hall and there were quite a few more people already up and chatting animatedly than I’ve ever seen all year. And it wasn’t simply the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs, either. There were droves of Slytherins and Ravenclaws waltzing about the hall, as well. What I _wasn’t_ surprised to see, however (or wasn’t surprised after seeing don’t-you-dare-wake-me-up-a-minute-before-is-absolutely-necessary-Grace up and about, anyway), was that along with the ever-constant Marley, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team—minus James, of course—seemed to have made themselves comfortable in our usual spot.

                Not a single one of them was smiling.

                “Are you sure he’s up there?” Chris Lynch is asking now, talking of course to me because as sick as it sounds, _I’m_ apparently the information source on James this morning.

                “Yes, he’s up there,” I answer. And honestly, I’m rather sick of all the questions. James will be down in a few bloody minutes. Can’t they wait and simply ask _him?_

                Now Sirius is saying that he can’t take it any more and he’s going up there to see what’s going on. I try to point out that there’s nothing much to see—Pomfrey’s just examining his hand to see if he’s fit to play or not—but my wise words are dutifully ignored and now Sirius has gone off. I don’t suppose it’s really a _bad_ thing, his being up there, though. I mean, James will probably need his best mate around if the worst occurs. Just as long as the rest of the team stays put, I think we’ll be okay. None of them seem to be moving anywhere. They all appear rather too depressed to do anything more than eat.

                Really, have they no faith at all?

                And I just know—

                Oh.

                _Oh._

Well, look over there! If it isn’t my dear love and heart, Amos Diggory! And I do believe he’s waving me over!

                Well, we best not keep him waiting, then, hm?

_______________________

**Later Later, the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 26**

**Total Observations: 165**

                Blokes are a mighty fickle lot.

                I mean, seriously, the entire thing really just baffles me. What is with their constant need to see who can piss the other one off more? What’s with all the rubbish mental games they insist on playing? Is any of it honestly necessary? Can’t we all just get along?

                Really, it all just _extremely_ immature.

                I left the Gryffindor table amidst mutters of “Traitor!” and conspicuous groans, but I ignored them all because unlike _some people_ , I don’t put stupid Quidditch before true love. Amos was looking his very best in a crisp Hufflepuff-coloured jumper, with a large, perfect grin spread across his lips, and really, I wasn’t about to give that lovely image up just because a few of _my_ mates were going to be flying around fifty feet in the air ramming into a few of _his_ mates in a few hours. It made no difference to me. If they wanted to kill each other like that, who was I to stop them?

                But enough of my demurs against Quidditch.

                If they won’t illegalize it, it’s not my problem.

                All around my darling love, Pompous Boy and the rest of the motley crew cheered as I slid into the seat next to Amos. And while I’m sure that the lot of them wouldn’t have been as eager to welcome me had they known the truth about the whole offense-defense fib, until they found out, I’d take my love where I could get it.

                “Well, you’re all up and eager this morning,” I said with a grin, watching the rowdy bunch continue on with their mini-breakfast celebration. I tried not to get too offended by the fact that the lot of them seemed to believe they had won the match before it had even begun. Music to my ears, Amos let out a nice, god-like chuckle as I shook my head at his mad mates’ antics.

                “What a perfect day for Quidditch!” he cried, taking in a large, deep breath of air as if he could quite literally suck the day up with his nostrils. “Nice, crisp, _perfect_ day.”

                Sitting there in my thick jumper with my scarf and cloak close at hand over at the Gryffindor table, practically shivering, I really couldn’t help the slight crook of an eyebrow in my love’s general direction at that rather off statement.

                I never claimed that he was the _brains_ of this relationship.

                 “Um, Amos,” I started very gently, trying very hard not to damage his tender feelings, “you are aware that it’s practically below _freezing_ outside, yes? I mean, it’s cold. _Really_ cold.”

                Not to mention the winds. And the high altitude up there on the pitch.

                Perfect day, my arse.

                “Who cares about the weather?” Pompous Boy called out before Amos could answer (though I’m sure if he had been able to, it would’ve gone a little something like, “Well, gee, love, you’re right! Let’s just cancel Quidditch then and go snog underneath the stands!”). Ever his natural stance, Pompous Boy sat in his seat with his pompous chest thrown out pompously. Pompous Boy the pompous pompous. “We’ve got this match in the bag!” he shouted.

                Oh, Merlin. Not this rubbish _again._

                I very nearly groaned aloud.

                And, I mean, all right, the lot of them _did_ sort of have the right to think they’d practically won the match already—what with my lie about Gryffindor looking at their defense instead or their offense and James’s injury being public knowledge and all—but, I mean, _honestly_ , don’t they have any respect for a girl’s house? Even if I am the future wife of their Quidditch captain, until that ring is on my finger, I am true and loyal to _Gryffindor_. I don’t have to love, honor or obey any Hufflepuffs until then. And seeing as I am _so_ loyal to my house, don’t you think these…these… _children_ , should have a little respect for me and my house, despite any advantages they may or may not think they have? I mean, you just don’t stand there and _insult_ me like that! You just don’t! I can forgive darling Amos because he is so lost in his own Quidditchness that he couldn’t help it—plus, he was only  _participating_ in those ‘Up with Hufflepuff, down with Gryffindor!’ cheers. It was the idiot with the overly-large head that was starting all those up—but the others… _those_ I took as a personal insults.

                Pompous Boy was going down.

                Without having really any control over what my body was already planning and perusing, I cocked my eyebrow and knew that I was going to start spouting off any number of lies at any moment, but didn’t particularly care because sometimes in life, we just have to accept the faults in ourselves. And my main fault…well, it’s clearly pathologically lying.

                And I accept that.

                “In the bag?” I heard myself say, the skepticism practically dripping from my voice. “Do you?”

                “With Potter out of the picture?” was Pompous Boy’s still haughty response. “Absolutely.”

                “Who ever said James wasn’t playing?”

                The entire table went silent.

                Really, it was as if I’d just told them Christmas had been cancelled.

                Pathetic.

                “What are you on about, Lily?” Amos asked, his voice low and serious. His eyes scanned my face quickly as if were looking for the answers to his questions right there on my nose. “Potter smashed up his hand. Everyone’s heard. Robbie down there even saw Potter in the Hospital Wing himself. Of course he’s not playing.”

                With a slight inner smirk at my own brilliance, I glanced towards the younger boy—Robbie—who was sitting a bit farther down the row. “You were in the Hospital Wing this morning, Robbie?” I question him in my most innocent voice, knowing full and well that he hadn’t been. Looking as confused as his housemates, Robbie shook his head.

                “No,” he answered. “Yesterday. I saw him there yesterday morning.”

                Really, they were all making this _entirely_ too easy for me.

                “Yesterday,” I repeated slowly, pursing my lips as if in a very concerned way. In all reality, it was the only thing that was keeping my laughter inside. I mean, I could practically _see_ the sweat drops forming on their brows. It was _classic._ “Yesterday…hm…”

                They all started whispering frantically amongst themselves and I knew my uncontrollable-liar-of-a-mouth had hit its desired mark. The panic rose in the air like a wretched smell out of a dungbomb, and though I am a bit ashamed to admit it, I _relished_ in it.

                It's hardly surprising I have such bad karma when _this_ is my ultimate form of entertainment.

                “Now, wait a second.” This came from poor, sweet Amos, who, yes, I hated to torture (despite the malarkey lies that James Potter comes up with about me _enjoying_ lying to Amos. I mean, psh. He’s my future _husband_ ), but really, hanging out with these blokes? The boy obviously needs to be taught a lesson about what happens when you let your mates insult your future-lover’s house. “Lily…do you know something we don’t know?”

                Um, _yeah_.

                I could feel even more lies building on the tip of my tongue. I was about to open my mouth to go on and on about how James had made this miraculous recovery and was, in fact, playing _even better_ than before, due to his near chance at never playing again and all (because naturally in my story, James’s injury was practically fatal), when—quite suddenly, but also quite thankfully—I realised…well, perhaps this wasn’t the most _intelligent_ of things to be doing. Lying, I mean. Because what happens if I tell them all this rubbish and then James isn’t cleared? I mean, sure, I’m certain Amos will probably be jumping for joy at his good fortune, but after the plethora of jubilation wears away, it’s going to be pretty obvious that I had lied to him something fierce. And at this crucial point in our budding relationship, I just don’t think it would be in my best interest as the future Mrs. Amos Diggory to let him know about my traitor-of-a-mouth’s slight fibbing problem. I mean, later on in life, I’m sure that Amos will be able to understand that lying just seems to come naturally to me, and will in fact probably be able to determine whether he should be taking anything that comes out of my mouth seriously, like Grace and Emma and, on the occasion, even James can do. But as of right now…yeah. I just don’t think the time’s right to be letting those skeletons out of my closet.

                So even though it pained my traitor-of-a-mouth to do so—and even though deep down inside, I still _really_ wanted to reduce Pompous Boy to the brink of tears—I let out a slight mental sigh, took my independent mouth fully in hand, and reduced myself to doing the one thing I  really can’t say I do too often.

                Telling the truth.

                …or, I _intended_ to, anyway.

                “Well, the truth is—“

                “ _VICTORY FOR GRYFFINDOR!”_

I very nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the Great Hall doors being thrown open and Sirius Black’s ridiculously loud victory chant. Whipping around in my seat along with ever single other person in the hall—including the gaping lot of Hufflepuffs sitting around me—I could practically feel my heart jump out of my chest and couldn’t quite properly conceal my own grin as a beaming Sirius strode arrogantly into the hall, followed most dramatically by Gryffindor’s very own Quidditch captain… _without_ his hand wrapped.

                He’d been cleared.

                HE’D BEEN CLEARED!

                “Oh, buggering _shit,_ ” Amos muttered beside me.

                And really, I must have more Gryffindor pride than even I expected, because at that moment, I couldn’t really muster up enough sympathy for my beloved and his now pretty much destroyed team. James had been cleared. James had been cleared and he was going to play. 

                We were _so_ going to kick some Hufflepuff arse.

                Not the only one aware of that particular sentiment, the entire Gryffindor table seemed to be up on its feet, dancing around the Great Hall in rather ridiculous fashions, shouting and yelling as if the match was over and we’d already won. From up on the professors’ platform, Dumbledore continued to eat his porridge as if nothing in particular was occurring and ¼ of his student body wasn’t jumping around like drunken fools all across the Great Hall. 

                Ignoring the cheers and screaming coming from the general Gryffindor direction as well, I turned back to the flabbergasted Hufflepuffs, who were all looking quite like fish out of water at that point, and couldn’t quite hide my _own_ pompous tone as I sighed gently and said, “Well, I guess that explains that.”

                And very nearly laughed myself silly when I looked over at Pompous Boy and he was decidedly mistier eyed than he had been before.

                Ah, _sweet_ victory.

                “I can’t _believe_ this!” Amos shouted, slamming his fists down against the table. I leaned back slightly, just in case the Quidditch-beast inside of him took over and went for the nearest Gryffindor-related thing in the vicinity—namely me. “His hand was _smashed!_ They said it was fucking _smashed!_ ”

                “Calm down, Amos,” I tried softly, though I didn’t dare touch him. Blokes are very irritable when they rouse themselves into these sorts of states. “The match hasn’t even begun. What are you fretting about? Before yesterday, James was playing all along, wasn’t he?”

                But Amos didn’t seem to want to answer that. He just stared moodily down at his half-eaten breakfast and muttered incoherent things down into his plate. I pursed my lips and tried not to get annoyed, but really, haven’t I always said that blokes take this Quidditch thing far too seriously? And I _was_ right. The match hadn’t even started yet! What was he whining over already? They were fairly matched now, seven versus seven. Didn’t he want a fair match?

                I was about to ask him as much, trying to push some rationality into his obviously presently _irrational_ state, when I felt it. Something was being tied around my neck.

                Around my _neck_.

                And naturally, my first thought at feeling this was: double bloody fucking _shit_. 

                The crazy Hufflepuffs have decided to go on and lynch the nearest Gryffindor. 

                Shit.

Because, really, who wouldn’t have thought that?

                But I forced myself not to panic. I refused to be the crazy woman yelling and screaming as the equally crazed Hufflepuffs strung me up and hung my dangling body from the ceiling. I forced myself to stay calm, even in the face of death, and thank Merlin I did because in my state of rationality, I soon came to realise to my everlasting relief that it was not a _rope_ tied around my neck. 

                It was a _scarf_.

                A _scarlet and gold_ scarf.

                Thank _Merlin!_

                I whipped around in my seat, grabbing at the Gryffindor scarf wrapped securely around my neck, only to find not a group of angry, blood-thirsty Hufflepuffs ready and foaming at the mouth for a nice Gryffindor-themed lynching, but rather the quite happily smiling face of Gryffindor’s very own recent-drama-causing Quidditch Captain.

                What was he up to _now_?

                “You take it off,” James told me in a rather surprisingly stern voice for one who was smiling so brightly, securing the scarf around my neck now that he could properly reach the front of me, “and I can personally promise that I will disown you.”

                I stood there gaping at him like a mindless idiot, trying to figure out just what in the hell the bloody moron thought he was doing. Disown me? Ha! As if he _could_! I was about to go on and tell him and his prattish self off, but in the end, I didn’t have to.

                Amos apparently decided to do it for me.

                Though not in the decisively good-humored way I was going to go about it.

                “What are you _doing_ over here, Potter?” he bit off scathingly, which was hardly surprising considering his completely irrational state at the time. Glaring fiercely, Amos stood from his seat and strode up next to James, trying to intimidate him by his mere presence (which, although, yes, I do love him to bits and pieces and it was a great attempt, would have _probably_ been a bit more effective had James not had a good two inches on Amos. But, you know, it was the _attempt_ that counts). I thought James was going to start glaring and shouting right back at Amos and I was prepared to give them both a good telling-off if they started any of that, but James rather shocked me when he simply ignored Amos and his attempt at intimidation and leaned down a bit so that he was eye-level with me.

                “Got it?” he said.

                That’s when I realised what he was doing. Mind games. He was playing those stupid bloke mind games. The only thing worse than actually _confronting_ Amos and his attempt to start something up was efficiently _ignoring_ it. James knew that. I knew that. And from the way Amos’s face had begun to turn a wretched darkening shade of red, it seemed as if he knew it as well.

                Oh, bugger.

                This was not going to end well.

                There may be a lynching after all.

                “I have my own scarf, James,” I murmured quietly, shooting him a pointed don’t-you-dare-even-think-for-a-second-that-I-don’t-know-what-you’re-doing-and-you’d-better-stop-it-this-very-moment-or-else-you-big-wanker look, trying to avoid the fists that would most definitely be thrown if someone did not stop all of this at that very moment. James simply grinned, his eyes twinkling.

                “It’s cold outside,” he told me plainly, still ignoring Amos and still grinning ridiculously. “You could use two. Besides, I need you to keep mine warm.” Then, as if to prove his point, he grabbed the ends of the scarf and started wrapping them about me again.

                That’s when Amos pretty much blew his top.

                Which, you know, if it had been under any other circumstances, I probably would've enjoyed. Jealousy was usually a pretty brilliant sign. But it was rather early for murder, and I hadn't even finished my waffles yet.

                No killing on an empty stomach and all that.

                “You’re fucking shitting me with this, aren’t you, Potter?” His sneer alone was enough to make me cringe. It was happening. The mind games had gotten to him. Now he had something to prove. And stupid, _stupid_ James just sat there grinning, making it even worse. I wanted to smack the beaming fool upside the head, but I didn’t know if that would make it better or worse. “You’ve got to be fucking _shitting_ me.”

                But James didn’t seem to be ‘fucking shitting’ anyone. Knowing he still held the upper hand, he simply leisurely extended to his full height, barley glancing at Amos and his red-faced fury. He looked towards his right where Amos stood for but a second, then turned back to me.

                “I’m serious, Infallible,” he warned, looking solemn. “I’m trusting you to keep it on.”

                “I don’t _need_ to keep it on.”

                “ _Yes,_ you do.”

                “No, she bloody well _doesn’t_!” Amos shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. I winced at the pure look of hatred sketched across his face as he took another furious step towards James. “You can take your fucking scarf and shove it up your bloody _arse,_ Potter!”

                Really, I never knew Amos had such a _mouth_ on him.

                We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?

                James had the audacity to look over at Amos as if that was the first time he had noticed him standing there and was quizzically wondering why the bloke was raving like a mad lunatic. As I’m sure was his aim, this only seemed to infuriate Amos even more, especially when James stupidly threw Amos a superior look and went in a very calm voice, “For Merlin’s sake, Diggory, sit down. You’re going to pop an artery.”

                Which, you know, was probably true.

                Amos had gone a bit _too_ red in the face, if you know what I mean.

                But I was hardly going to add _my_ two sickles on that one.

                Amos looked as if he was about to pop _James_ and that’s when I knew that it was time to intervene. Jumping up to my feet, I purposely placed myself in between the two of them, standing in front of James and facing Amos. Putting on my biggest and most reassuring smile, I placed my hands firmly on Amos’s shoulders, trying to get his attention. His angry eyes turned down to me.

                “He’s trying to get a rise out of you,” I told him pointedly, giving James a subtle kick in the shin behind me to let him know just what I thought about that. I heard him laugh instead of groan, “and you’re letting him do it, Amos. Sit down.” Not waiting to see what Amos thought of that, I pivoted on my heel and turned to James, glaring fiercely at him. James, naturally, was smiling. “ _Stop,”_ I bit out. “I’ll wear your bloody scarf. Just go back to the table. _Please._ ”

                I expected James to shake his head and then shoot off another provoking remark at Amos, in which case all hell would break loose and I was pretty sure no one would make it out alive, but he quite startled me when instead he simply continued smiling down upon me, adjusted the scarf just a bit, and said quietly, "That's all I wanted."

                My eyes narrowed. "Yeah?" I asked.

                "Yeah," he said, then began to walk away. I stood there, baffled, as he waltzed back to the Gryffindor table, fingering the ends of his scarf in my fingers. Suddenly, though, he turned about and looked towards me again. "Hey, Infallible!" he called.

                "Yeah?" I called back.

                James's grin was brilliant. "Your boyfriend looks like he's going to blow a fuse. Perhaps it's time for a joke. The one about the Quaffle and the footstool, I think. Had me in _stitches_ last night."

                Then he turned about and walked off, laughing to himself.

                "I haven't heard that one," Pompous Boy said from the table. "How's it go?"

                And at that moment, I really wanted to kill James Potter.

                If Amos didn't do it first.

_______________________

**Later Later, the Girls' Stairwell, Gryffindor Common Room**

**Observant Lily: Day 26**

**Total Observations: 165**

                I used to think that I was immune to the maddening effects of Quidditch. 

                I mean, I know everyone else gets a bit giddy and mad when Quidditch matches roll around—saying things they wouldn't normally say, doing things they wouldn't normally do—but me? _Please._  I don't even _like_ the bloody game. Why should I be affected? I never have before. Even in my endless states of Amos Quidditch love, I've never behaved out of the norm. Never. Not once.

                But as I sit here now upon the girls' staircase in the common room, quietly thinking about the last few hours, I know something has to be wrong. And regardless of any previous evidence to dispute my conclusion, I'm well, ready and prepared to blame everything on Quidditch. Because these... _things_...that I'm saying... _feeling_...they're not normal. They're just not. They're not me. And I don't know what else to blame _but_ Quidditch. There's no other explanation. Unless...well, I mean, unless...

                Unless they _are_ just me.

                And that, unfortunately, can't be good.

                But I digress...

                I could waste a whole lot of precious time and precious paper in a paltry attempt to try to describe the sort of... _insanity_ that the Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match actually was, but I really have neither the skills nor the inclination to go into any sort of detail, so I don't think I will. I mean, in all actuality, half the time I spent watching the match I was simply trying to figure out just what in the world was going on, and the second half of the time, I was just trying not to go deaf, so I'm not really sure what the accuracy of any retelling of mine would be, anyway. One thing I _do_ know, however, is that I don't think my eardrums will ever be the same.

                One never truly realizes just how _loud_ we Gryffindors can actually be until you give us something to holler about.

                And there were certainly many things to holler about.

                It was rather apparent after Gryffindor managed to score the first point of the match four seconds into playtime—then quickly followed that up with their second at twelve—that the match just wasn't going to be going Hufflepuff's way. My heart ached for poor Amos, who looked completely shocked (though also completely edible up on that broom of his!) when James scored that first goal and absolutely deflated when Marley succeeded with the second. I also tried not to feel guilty when I saw the rather startled looks upon much of the Hufflepuff team when Gryffindor seemed to ignore their defense and instead practically charged at their offensive players. I tried not to think too much about the fact that it was my fault they did. They seemed to recover quickly, anyway. Not that it really helped much. They were still going to lose.

                Hufflepuff, however, didn't seem to plan to go down without a fight.

                And fight, they did.

                Quite literally, actually.

                I swear that I have never seen so much... _bashing_ in my entire life! Every two seconds, one player seemed to be _bashing_ into somebody else. And more often than not, it was my dear heart's squad who were on the offensive end of this pummeling. Now, I know this _bashing_ is sort of the norm in Quidditch, but even Peter and Remus—who are very up and informed on their Quidditch—were shouting and yelling for Hooch to call something. It was _that_ bad. And even though I love my dear future husband with all my heart, my _mates_ are on that Quidditch team he was so carelessly ramming into, so I couldn't quite help myself from screaming in outrage along with the rest of my housemates. I knew it must have been hard on them, what with their obviously not winning the match, but _honestly,_ there are better ways to deal with their grief! 

                No more nice Hufflepuffs, that was for sure.

                Ah, but all is well that ends well, I suppose. It took them a mighty long time (my ears were nearly frostbitten, as well as ringing), but the Gryffindor Seeker finally managed to catch the snitch, ending the game at the rather embarrassing score of 410-90.

                And we Gryffindors...well, I suppose we went a bit mad.

                Or, you know, more than a bit mad.

                But like I said, it's the Quidditch, you see.

                On the pitch, the team went positively wild, letting off whoops and screams (one very _loud_ cry I knew distinctly as Gracie's) and dancing around atop their brooms (very dangerous, but no one seemed to notice). Over in front of the goalposts, Chris Lynch very nearly toppled off of his broom in the midst of his own little victory boogie. And though I'm a bit ashamed to admit it, we in the Gryffindor stands weren't much better. We innocent bystanders cried our victory, hugged and shouted and cheered as the team took a quick victory lap around the pitch, acting as if it were the last match of the season instead of simply the first. And while I am happy to say that I was one of the few who were able to manage a semblance of rationality during the madness, I can't quite truthfully say that I didn't do a little celebrating myself. It was hard not to. 

                I blame it on too much fresh air.

                Thankfully, everyone soon grew tired of screeching and jumping—though actually, I think it was probably just the cold that really did them in—and soon the partying was set to move to the common room. Following the leading masses, Em and I started making our way down from the stands and to the pitch where Grace and the rest of the Quidditch team (as well as most of Gryffindor) were currently making their last bit of outside celebrations before heading to their respective locker rooms and common rooms. Through the masses, I quickly spotted Gracie standing over in the center of the pitch. 

                She was gross and sweaty, but best mates have to do what best mates have to do, I suppose.

                "Spiffing match, Gracie!" is what I said when Emma and I finally managed to reach her. I gave her a very big hug (ew) and she grinned from ear to ear. "You did magnificently! Beautiful bat work! Brilliant flying! Really. It was quite riveting."

                I had no idea what I was talking about, but I'd picked up a few nice phrases during my time in the stands and I thought to put them to good use.

                I'm very resourceful like that.

                "You're mad," Grace muttered, but she was laughing as she said it and looked positively giddy. "Thanks, though. It _was_ a rather brilliant match, wasn't it?"

                I wasn't technically positive what qualifies as a brilliant match and what didn't, but Gryffindor had won and Gracie seemed to think it was, so I just nodded profusely.

                It seemed like the right thing to do.

                "I can't believe the number of fouls, though," Emma cut in, shaking her head after giving Grace a quick hug as well. "It was a rather dirty match."

                "Hufflepuff was desperate," I said, trying half-heartedly to defend my husband's actions. My Gryffindor pride wouldn't let me put up much more of a fight than that, though. I thought my love would understand.

                Grace answered with a shrug. "Quidditch will be Quidditch," she said. Then she grinned a bit wickedly. "Besides, we still thoroughly trounced them. How pathetic is _that?"_

                We all laughed it up before Grace started going on about some, what she deemed, "rather kick-arse" match moments (as if Emmeline and I hadn't just been watching the entire match and needed the detailed recap), so I naturally zoned out a bit, not really wanting to hear any more Quidditch. I started glancing about to see if I could spot Amos, but it was nearly impossible to see two feet ahead of you with the masses of people who had now convened upon the pitch. I glanced around for James then, thinking I should probably go and congratulate him, as well. Surprisingly enough, I spotted James rather easily, even through the throngs of people. 

                But once I had spotted him...well, I rather wished I hadn't.

                This is where it started, you see.

                The Quidditch-madness-but-perhaps-its-not-Quidditch-madness-perhaps-its-just-me-madness-and-I-don't-know-how-to-feel-about-that dilemma.

                Because James was standing over by the locker rooms, laughing it up with his mates and looking quite happy with his place and self. And that would have been all fine and dandy with me if it hadn't been for the fact that right there along with him, tucked neatly under his arm and laughing along as well, was Elisabeth Saunders.

                Quite suddenly, I felt like vomiting. 

                There were about a billion reasons why that could be. None but one came to mind at the time and if I were ready to discuss that singular reason, I would, but seeing as I'm not quite mentally/physically/spiritually/etc. prepared for such a thing, I simply feel better blaming it all on the Quidditch.

                That excuse did not, however, make my stomach unclench.

                Thankfully though, at the precise moment I successfully managed to swallow my upcoming vomit and tore my gaze away from the appalling scene over by the locker rooms (though if I could still hear Saunders loud giggles and quite avidly wanted to hit something, that's not my fault), I caught sight of a very familiar face striding towards the Hufflepuff locker rooms.

                Amos.

                I nearly cried with relief.

                He was distraction enough.

                Well, I mean...he wasn't exactly looking like a particularly _jovial_ distraction at the moment, but I would take what I could get.

                I wanted to go and talk to him, to comfort him in his time of need, but I wasn't sure what I could say. I didn't know if he was cross with me, you know, for the whole offense-defense thing. He probably wasn't. I mean, for all he knew, the whole lie was simply just an unintentional mistake. I knew differently, of course, but that's not the point. The point is that _he_ doesn't know. But then again, the bloke _was_ rather upset—he could be looking for someone to blame. And right about then, I probably looked like a pretty brilliant scapegoat.

                But perhaps I'd be a brilliant comfort, as well.

                Bugger.

                Decisions, decisions, decisions.

                I had just started to make my way over to Amos, deciding I would face his possible wrath if I had the chance of cooling his misery, when quite suddenly, I felt a quick tug on my scarf—or, you know, James's scarf. I whipped around.

                "Let him mope alone, Infallible. Come be a Gryffindor for a while, yeah?"

                James stood there before me— _sans_ Saunders, I immediately noticed—with the silliest sort of smile on his face and the merriest sort of twinkle in his eyes. He was gross and sweaty and smelled like leather and grass, but from the way he was standing there like he'd just been named king of the world, it didn't seem to matter. I quickly glanced over his shoulder, but while Remus, Sirius and Peter were now animatedly talking with Grace and Emma about the match (or I assumed it was about the match. I couldn't really hear), Saunders was no where in sight.

                I personally hoped that she had perhaps taken a wrong turn into the Great Lake.

                Preferably the bottom of it.

                And didn't know how to swim.

                At all.

                "But look at him," I said to James, finally finding my voice and shaking off my rather homicidal thoughts (though they were perhaps rightly earned). I motioned over to Amos, who was getting closer and closer to the Hufflepuff locker rooms. "Don't you think I—"

                "No."

                "No?"

                "No."

                That's when he laughed. He laughed just like he had been laughing before and more than that, he threw his arm around me, holding me just as he had held Saunders only mere minutes before. And at first I was going to shrug off his embrace, not wanting to be reduced to Saunders's status or have her germs mingling with mine, but then I realized that by pushing away, I'd be sending out the message that Saunders had one up on me. I'd basically be saying that she and James were better mates than we were, that she liked him more than I did, could touch him more than I could, could do other things more than I could...and I'll be damned if the mere thought of that didn't make me feel like casting up my crumpets all over again. And while in my head I kept saying, 'It's the Quidditch. It's the Quidditch,’ the mantra didn't make me feel better. Instead I tried to comfort myself with the fact that James clearly likes me much better than he does 'Lizzie', and that our mateship blatantly dominates over any sort of feelings of lust (because that's clearly all that it was) that previously stood between them. 

                I mean, Saunders clearly only liked him for his great bod and profound snogging skills—or at least, I _think_ they're profound. If rumors are true, they are. I don't exactly have any first hand experience with this skill. I mean, besides that one time where, you know, he pecked my cheek and such, but that doesn't really count. That wasn't a snog. It was a perfectly innocent 'thank you' peck. Not a snog. No way.

                And I wouldn't _want_ to snog him either, even if it was only for experimental reasons to see if the rumors are true.

                He's probably crap, anyway.

                But yes, she was just using him.

                And I wasn't.

                Mates over dates, and all the rubbish.

                "Come on," James said, snapping me out of my thoughts, his arm still slung across my shoulders. "We're missing the party. And by the way, you still haven't congratulated me on my utterly brilliant performance and I'm afraid I will be indefinitely crushed if I don't get some sort of praise soon."

                I rolled my eyes as he grinned wickedly.

                Oh, jeez.

                What a nitwit.

                A nitwit, bad snogger.

                "I would give you some praise, certainly," I responded, looking up at him innocently, ready to wipe that stupid grin off of his face, "but I'm trying this new thing, you see. It's called telling the truth."

                "Vastly overrated," James instantly replied, and I burst out laughing at his completely serious face. Instead of disappearing, the stupid grin increased in size and James continued on with his slurs against the truth. “Yes, highly overrated. Don't bother with it myself." He nudged me in the side with his hip. "Come off it," was what he said next. "You _know_ I kicked arse."

                I didn't much see the point in telling him he had indeed done some pretty fair 'arse-kicking' (a Quidditch phrase, I'm assuming?) because I had a feeling that if his head got any larger at that moment, we wouldn't be able to fit him through the front doors. So instead I simply shrugged, earning another grin from him. I decided a quick change of subject was due then. "How's your hand?" I asked.

                "Killing me," James replied, and though he said it quite casually, I had the feeling he was telling me the vastly overrated truth. "Why do you think I've gone and slung it up around your shoulder?" he asked next. "You're keeping it propped up for me."

                "Is that why you had it slung around Saunders, as well?"

                I don't know why I asked. I don't remember sending a signal to my brain to send a signal to my mouth to make those stupid words come out, but somehow, they did anyway. I couldn't explain it, except to say that the Quidditch had obviously kicked my traitor-of-a-mouth into gear, which had once again decided to take over. When I turned to look at him, James looked shocked at the question. I blushed ridiculously hard and would've shoved away from him and ran off in utter embarrassment if I didn't already know for certain that James would come right along after me.

                I no longer wanted Saunders to be the only one drowning at the bottom of the lake.

                I have always enjoyed the water.

                "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked me.

                I didn't know—perhaps didn't _want_ to know—so I just shrugged. James refused to let it go, though.

                "Liz and I are mates, Lily," was what he told me, sending me this strange look. He said it as if this was comment was suddenly supposed to make me feel better. "Just like you and I are mates."

                "Better mates than you and I are?"

                I couldn't stop my mouth. The stupid questions just kept coming. If it were possible, I felt myself blush harder. I could only imagine the blaze of red I must have appeared to be at that moment.

                This wasn't good.

                Not good at all.

                "Not better," James answered slowly, his voice oddly deep for some reason. "Just different. I've known her longer than I've known you."

                "And you dated her."

                I want a new mouth.

                I WANT A NEW MOUTH!!!

                "And there's that," James answered quietly, nodding. He stopped walking and his arm fell from my shoulders. "Lily—"

                I didn't know what he was going to say—what _could_ he say really, when I was standing there sounding like such a bloody prat? He didn't look angry, just...confused, I suppose, but there was something else there as well, something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. And even though I wasn't sure what it was, I knew I didn't want to know what he might say next. Whatever it was.

                I couldn't.

                I really just couldn't.

                "You had better shower." The words tumbled out of my mouth quickly—too quickly, I knew, but perhaps also too slowly as well. 100% stupid no matter what the speed. "Merlin only knows the party's probably started in the common room already.”

                I was fidgeting so much that I'm surprised James didn't think to stick me with one of those stunning pens that steady epileptic fits, but I couldn't help it. He must have thought I'd gone absolutely daft because I blatantly refused to look at him and instead stuck my eyes on a point just beyond his shoulder. My head was pounding, my stomach was in knots, and once again my traitorous mouth had gone on and said a bunch of stupid things that it shouldn't have. But unlike any time before, I'd been _thinking_ everything my mouth blurted out. I just didn't want to say any of it. Not out loud, anyway, and certainly not to James.

                It was all very worrying.

                "Are you all right?" James asked me, his hand dropping down onto my shoulder. I stiffened, but if he noticed, he didn't say anything. I would have answered, but I didn't trust my mouth not to go and say some prat comment again, so I simply nodded in return. I got a skeptical glance in response. "Lily, what's—"

                I don't think I was ever more thankful than I was at that present moment when, just as James was about to question me again on my mad actions and before I just started babbling on about everything and anything going on inside my head because my karma has once again struck in the form of my traitorous mouth, Grace, Emma and the rest of the Marauders chose that precise moment to come along, saving me from total and utter disgrace.

                Thank _Merlin._

"Oy!" Sirius called, siding up next to James and throwing his arm about his shoulders (ever the popular stance nowadays, eh?), grinning at him and then at the rest of us. "We've decided that it's probably in your best interest to take a small trip soon, mate."

                That wicked smile spreading across Sirius's lips implied this 'trip'—whatever it was—wasn't going to be good.

                Oh, brother.

                What's this lot up to _now_?

                Looking as confused as I undoubtedly did, James furrowed his eyebrows at his mate. "Trip?" he asked blankly. "Padfoot, what are you—" Then, suddenly, he groaned. "Oh, come on," he whined, pulling a face. "Why me? Why can't Pete go?"

                "I went last time!" Peter cried, the indignation heavy in his voice. I still had no idea what they were talking about. "I'm not going through this cold," he added firmly, crossing is arms over his chest.

                "I say we take a vote," James tried again, ignoring Peter's still shaking head.

                "We already voted," Remus piped up cheerfully. "You lost."

                James scowled.

                I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer.

                "Er," I started slowly, looking from one grinning face to another (or in James's case, one grimacing face). "Where exactly is it that you're going?"

                "Butterbeer run," Sirius informed me, taking a whole lot of joy out of James's obvious displeasure. He looked positively delighted at his mate's misfortune. "It's dirty business, but someone's got to do it."

                "Let's send the sixth-years," James insisted, looking miserable. Sirius looked scandalized at the suggestion.

                "Send boys to do a man's job?" he scoffed, shaking his head at James. "I'm disappointed in you, Prongs!"

                James rolled his eyes, but sensing the defeat, scowled once more before turning about and stomping away.

                "Such a child," Sirius said, before merrily following along behind James towards the locker rooms.

                "See you in the common room?" Grace asked, nodding her head towards the locker room in the implication that she too would go head to the bathing facilities. Emma and I both nodded in agreement. She scurried off behind Sirius, leaving us all to our own devices.

                "We'd better get up there," I said to Emma with a sigh, motioning towards the castle. "Merlin only knows what the mad lot has set on fire already."

                A Head Girl's job was never done.

                But surprisingly enough, nothing was flaming and/or falling and/or destroyed and on the verge of toppling the castle over when Emma and I finally made our way up to the common room, Remus and Peter trailing along with us until they dashed away to get food from the kitchens. And while I can hardly say that the party was very calm or dignified, no one seemed to be climbing the walls just yet, so I counted my blessings. The music was playing, the food was good, everyone was in a spiffing mood, and it generally seemed to be turning out to be a rather fun party.

                Then the team stumbled in.

                And while it's hardly fair to blame them for the chaos...well, if the wand fits.

                The entire Quidditch team—minus James, who I'm assuming was still out on  his butterbeer quest—plowed into the room and like a mighty whirlwind, left a path of destruction in their wake. The party turned a bit mad then, and even though my Head Girl sensibilities really should have been annoyed at the fact that the party suddenly was kicked up a rather large notch on the insanity scale, I really couldn't help but laugh along and join the fun.

                I took this as a good sign.

                After all, what prude would do that?

                Perhaps I'm finally improving.

                It was a very comforting thought.

                Everyone was having fun and we older kids all sat around the fire, eating our food (James had yet to come back with the butterbeer) and listening to Chris Lynch regale us with one of his many mad summertime escapades—this one set just outside of Diagon Alley, and included an old Polish woman and Chris's boxer shorts—when we heard it for the first time.

                It was loud, it was blaring, and it ended with a loud _thump!_

                "What's that?" Chris asked, stopping mid-sentence. Most people mirrored his confused sentiment, glancing around towards the sound, but I knew exactly what it was. After all, one did not live in the girls’ dormitory for seven years and not become familiar with that sound at least once in their Hogwarts career.

                The alarm on the girls' staircase. 

                 And sure enough, when everyone glanced over in the direction from which the sound was coming, laying precariously in a messy tangle of arms and legs was a baffled 5th-year couple and a sliding-staircase that was shouting its displeasure.

                Unfortunately, this was only the beginning.

                At first, everyone just laughed. The embarrassed 5th-years scurried off to find somewhere else to snog and we all went back to listening to Chris and his tale of the scandalous elderly. No one thought too much of it.

                Until it went off again.

                This time, a pair of 3rd-years.

                The laughter was a bit strained this time, but still there. We all regarded them with amusement, they ran off blushing, and we went back to listening to Chris.

                The third time, it wasn't funny.

                The fourth, it was annoying.

                And before I knew it, I was sitting here on the girls' staircase, making sure no other dim-witted kids decided to have the brilliantly original idea of sneaking up into the girls' dormitories. Because despite the fact that the alarm had gone off more times than I can count, the Gryffindor population didn't seem to understand that if they really needed to go sneaking off to find some place to snog, the _boys’_ staircase was clearly the best option.

                Once again, I blame it on the Quidditch. It's gotten to us all.

                I was still sitting on the stairs, about to crack this open and pour the last few hours into words when, quill ready on page, a bottle of Butterbeer suddenly obstructed my vision. I looked up, and James stood there, smiling.

                "I figured the guard needed provisions."

                "Thanks," I said a bit awkwardly, because of course I had just been about to relay our previous completely embarrassing conversation in here so it was therefore fresh in my mind which therefore made me fresh in my embarrassment and thinking about what a prat I had been and why I had been a prat and whether or not I wanted to admit why I was being a prat, and—

                Well, yeah, awkward.

                Among other things.

                "When did you get back?" I asked, watching as James took a seat on the second stair, just below my seat on the third. I knew for a fact (after the last hour's extensive evidence) that the alarm wouldn't go off until the testosterone had reached the fifth, so we were all right. I'm not sure whether or not I should've been thankful that James knew that as well, or hoping that it was just a coincidence.

                "A few minutes ago," he answered, taking a swig of his own Butterbeer. "One of the damned passages closed in—don't know when. I haven't used it for a while—but I had to go all the way back to Hogsmeade to get back through another. And it was bloody _freezing_."

                "If you had your scarf," I pointed out reasonably, lifting the end of the slightly frayed object in question, which was still slung comfortably around my neck, "perhaps you wouldn't have been as cold, yes?"

                "Perhaps," James answered. "But then we wouldn't have won."

                "Wouldn't have won what?" I asked.

                "The match," James answered. He pointed towards the scarf with his bottle. "That's my lucky scarf you're so carelessly wearing around your neck, Evans. That thing's the reason we win."

                I stared at him blankly. "Your what?"

                "Second-year," James responded, taking another quick sip, not looking at me but rather out at the party, which seemed to be reaching full-swing. "I tried out for the Quidditch team wearing that _exact_ scarf. It wasn't even really that cold out, I just felt like I should be wearing it. The next day, Derrick Kings—he was the captain at the time—came and told me I'd made the reserves. I was a bleeding _second-year_ and I'd made the reserves." He turned away from the party and looked at me, a smile on his face. "Lucky," was what he said. "It's very very lucky."

                I nodded my head, because even though I found these sorts of superstitions rather funny (Gracie had a pair of socks she wore at every match. I laugh every time she pulls the smelly things out), James seemed quite serious about this, so I thought it best to keep my amusement to myself. 

                Plus...well...

                "But if it's so lucky," I started hesitantly, voicing my thoughts aloud. "Why...why weren't _you_ wearing it?"

                He didn't miss a beat. 

                "Because you're wearing it," he answered.

                "But _why_?" I asked, frustrated.

                "Because I wanted you to."

                It was a stupid answer. Evasive, obtuse, not at all informative in any way, shape or form...but my stomach jumped when he said it. Not so much because of _what_ he said, but because of the _way_ he said it. It was...I don't know. Odd. Different. Rather like the look he had given me on the pitch before that I hadn't been able to quite place. I couldn't place this distinct sound, either. All I knew was that it made me nervous. And more so than that, he was looking at me with this sort of serious expression that just seemed so out of place for the partying going on around us. It was just...not right.

                _I_ wasn't right.

                Something wasn't right.

                And I've just now bothered to notice it.

                "You've been acting very strangely today," I muttered quietly, taking a quick swig of my Butterbeer to stop me from saying anything else.

                "So have you," James countered, shooting me a sidelong glance. I could have denied it, but it would have been pointless because we both knew it was true.

                "I know," I said instead, shaking my head. I looked over at him, a slight smile on my face. "I think it's probably all this Quidditch. It messes with the head, you know. Makes people loopy."

                "But I thought you're _always_ loopy," he teased.

                "Not _this_ loopy," I responded flatly.

                We both laughed, though it was short and it was awkward and I didn't like it at all. I don't know why it had to be that way—Merlin only knows I've done and said insanely stupid things in front of him before, but this suddenly seemed like the stupidest, even though all I did was question him about the git that is Saunders. And he shouldn't have felt awkward either, because in all actuality, all he'd done was give me a few odd looks and made some off-sounding comments. We were both acting strange and so that should have cancelled out both of our awkwardness, but it didn't. I think maybe it made it worse.

                I was about to say something about it, about to make a joke about how stupid we were being, or make a funny face or _something_ to get the madness of the moment away, when suddenly it was done for me. With the ever familiar call of, "Oy!" Sirius appeared before us, smiling like a maniac, an empty mug in one hand, and two open, slightly discoloured bottles of Butterbeer in the other.

                What in hell was he up to _now_?

                "We've been challenged," he announced, his madman-like grin focused directly on James. "Lynch and Carter think they can take us on. Can you _believe_ that?"

                "Challenged you at what?" I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know, but asking anyway. It didn't much matter in the end, though, because Sirius chose to ignore me. He went on ranting about the travesty of it all, instead. James listened somewhat uneasily and kept taking furtive-that-weren't-so-furtive-because-I-clearly-noticed glances at me.

                "Er, Padfoot," he tried to interrupt, cutting off Sirius mid-rant and giving me a decidedly pointed look. "Perhaps now isn't—"

                "Oh, come on," Sirius scoffed, taking a swig out of one of the bottles in his left hand. "We'll wait until the first-years run off. Evans won't care."

                "Won't care about _what_?" I asked, exasperated.

                "About our game," Sirius answered simply.

                I very nearly throttled him then.

                " _What game?"_ I nearly shouted, but this time I looked towards James, because I clearly wasn't getting any suitable answers from the loony-bin-of-a-person that is Sirius Black. "What are the pair of you on about?"

                "Er...it's nothing really," James responded, scratching idly at the back of his head. "Just...you know...a quick game of...er..."

                And then, suddenly, it all clicked.

                The mugs.

                The slightly green tinted Butterbeers.

                The _very_ guilty looks.

                Oh, no.

                Mugs.

                They wanted to play _Mugs_.

                Over my dead body.

                Over my _dead and bleeding_ _body_!

                "Are you _mad?_!" I all but exploded, glaring furiously at the both of them, but mostly at James because I can't say I really expected more of Sirius. "Are you totally and completely _out of your mind_? Do you know what McGonagall will do if she finds out? No. _No!"_

                "Aw, come on, Evans—"

                " _You are not getting drunk on my watch!"_

                Because, of course, that’s what they wanted to do. They wanted to play that stupid game—the one in which people throw little balls at mugs of strongly tainted Butterbeers and then chug them and then proceed to get bloody _plastered_ , which in today's society is somehow considered entertainment, and they wanted to do it on _my watch_.

                Nuh-uh. Not happening.

                "It's not that big of a deal," James tried reasoning, but of course it wasn't reasoning at all because in order to be reasoning, the argument has to be reason _able_ , which playing Mugs is most certainly not. "No one really gets _drunk_ from playing Mugs, Lily. Unless you play, like, forty-two games."

                "Or use straight Firewhisky," Sirius muttered.

                "Which we _won’t!”_ James quickly added, and at that moment I wasn't the only one glaring at Sirius Black. "Come on," he said again, turning back to me. "If we don't start it, you _know_ someone else will. And then we can't regulate it."

                "You can't _regulate_ drinking," I muttered angrily. "You're _Head Boy_ , James. You're supposed to be _stopping_ these things, not _beginning_ them!"

                "I know, but—"

                "But what? How can you possibly say but?"

                "I don't know. It's just—"

                "You want to get smashed," I finished off for him, incensed. "You can't possibly have any bit of fun without some sort of alcohol in your system, and therefore absolutely _need_ to prove your manliness by chugging down any number of tainted mugs of Butterbeer in order to prove your...your...I don't know, your _prick_ still works properly or something! Am I _right?_ "

                They were both quiet for a few seconds, though whether that was because they were being all properly contrite and guilty for even considering the thought of Mugs, or whether they were just too shocked to speak due to the fact that I had just shouted the word 'prick' at the pair of them, I'm not entirely sure.

                I'm thinking more the ladder, though. I quite startled myself a bit with that vulgar outburst.

                "Jeez," Sirius finally muttered, looking a bit put out. "Who shoved the stick up your arse, Evans? It's just _Mugs._ I thought you'd moved past being the perpetual prudish, stick-in-the-mud?"

                "I am _not_ a prudish, stick-in-the-mud!"

                "Then _what's the big problem?_ "

                I shouldn't have let him get to me. I shouldn't have. Sirius may have been right the first time—yes, a few weeks ago, I _may_ have seemed a bit prudish, a bit conservative, but not _now._ Not _now._ How dare he even insinuate that? I _wasn't_ a prudish, stick-in-the-mud. I _wasn't_. I just didn't want a repeat of the 'Duck, Duck, Drink' episode of fifth-year. Was that so wrong? But even though I know I shouldn't have let it get to me...it did. It really, really did. Because as it turns out, I have a rather major Achilles Heel complex when it comes to me and my prudity. One comment and bam, I'm down for the count. Because even though I knew it was the stupidest thing in the entire world and we'd get in so much trouble if we were caught, I started hesitating, anyway.

                There was already alcohol at the party. That much was evident from the tinted Butterbeer bottles Sirius was presently holding in his hand. I could try to collect it all and toss it out the nearest window, but Merlin only knew that someone, some way, would find more and then I'd spend the entire party being the prattish Head Girl who was trying to ruin everyone's fun. And I suppose James _was_ right. It did take quite a while to get drunk off of spiked Butterbeer, and you really weren't drinking _all_ that much during Mugs, unless you lost spectacularly or something, but it's rather hard to do that.

                But still...

                I couldn't...

                Or perhaps...

                Oh, bugger.

                "If I see," I started slowly, already hating myself, "so much as _one_ mug out before _every single_ first-year and second-year—and you know what, third-year, as well!—is in bed, I swear to Merlin that I will march down to McGonagall _myself_ , is that perfectly clear?"

                Sirius let out a delighted whoop. "Spot on, spot on, Evans!" he cried, grinning wickedly. He threw me a wink. "I knew we'd corrupted you properly!"

                I already felt like nauseous.

                I felt James's hand drop down on my shoulder and I turned to him, seeing him smiling as well. "I'll stay here with you if you want," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "You're right. I'm Head Boy. I probably shouldn't be playing."

                He was saying one thing, but his eyes were telling a whole other story. Of _course_ he wanted to play _._ He was _James Potter_! Before this year, he wouldn't even have _waited_ for permission. In fact, he probably would've been halfway to the world of the dizzy and stumbling, by now. I knew I should probably tell him to stay, but for some reason, I couldn't do it. Take away his fun, his very personality. I mean, what sort of James Potter sat on the sidelines while there were Mugs games to be played?

                Not any sort of James Potter.

                Only Lily Evans.

                "Go," I said, rolling my eyes at his pathetic attempts at responsibility. "Go before I change my mind. But I'm serious, James—keep it away until later. The younger students—"

                "Yeah, yeah," Sirius interrupted, getting impatient. "We'll keep it out of sight. We've got to go practice anyhow. Come along, Prongs. Time to brush up on your tossing skills." Then he sauntered off, singing some sort of Irish drinking song at the top of his lungs. James laughed, but I couldn't muster up the same amusement.

                "We really _have_ corrupted you, haven't we?" he said, still laughing a little bit. He ruffled my hair, which earned him a good glare because now that he's finally seemed to stop messing with his own hair, he's somehow managed to move on to ruffling _mine_ , which was anything but an upgrade. "I'll keep an eye on everything," he assured me, standing up from his spot on the stairs. He threw me a wicked grin, then leaned in, as if to share a secret. "I'm the best Mugs player this school has ever seen," he whispered, still smiling. "I've got this _locked._ "

                "Sure," I muttered, though the way he was grinning like a mindless idiot, acting quite like a silly Pompous Boy, I couldn't help but smile a little bit. "Come find me later when you're drunk, yeah?"

                "You wish," James laughed, before he too sauntered off, though not in the particularly loud fashion that his mate had.

                And so now I'm still sitting here, wondering how it's possible for one girl to be so stupid about so many things in such a small amount of time. It can't be normal. Can't be normal at all.

                But since when have I ever been normal?

_______________________

**The Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 26 (27?)**

**Total Observations: 165**

Lie.

                That's all I ever asked of anyone—simply to lie to me.

                It's not that much to ask when you really think about it. I mean, others have probably asked much more of the world population at various points throughout history. My request, by comparison, isn't all that strenuous. It doesn't even take all that much effort, really—trust me, I'd know. Lying is actually quite easy. Try it out and see. And when you do this—when you follow my dictates and you lie to me and make me believe things that just make my life _so_ much simpler, all I ask—no, not ask. Beg _. Plead_ —is that you just keep on lying to me. Don't stop. Just keep going. Don't get guilty or think I'd be better off knowing the truth, because most of the time, I'm just better off left in the dark. Really, I am.

                Merlin.

                Double bloody fucking _Merlin._

My head is spinning so much, it hurts. I feel as if I'm going to cast up my crumpets right here on my bed and if I did, I don't think I'd even move to get out of lying in my own vomit because that would just be too much.

                It's all just too much.

                How? _Why?_ Merlin, this makes no bleeding _sense._ And they all bloody _knew_! And I—

                No. 

                No, I can't say that. 

                I can't say I didn't know, because in all truth and honestly, I think I _did_ know. I think I've always known, I just haven't wanted to admit it. Instead, I just went along and ignored every sign, every gesture, and made up stupid tests to prove to myself that it couldn't possibly be true. Tests that he blatantly _failed_ , even though I managed to convince myself otherwise because he...he...

                Oh, _god_.

                I think I'm going to talk about it now.

                What I haven't been able to talk about before, I mean.

                I think I _have_ to talk about it.

                _Ugh._

Guarding the girls staircase from lusty lovers quickly grew rather tiresome after James had left to practice with Sirius, I had no one to distract myself with, and nothing left to write in here. I stayed put for a little longer, though, just to be sure that the wave of endless hormones had ebbed, but after ten or fifteen minutes, I had rather stopped caring who was or wasn't sneaking upstairs and left to rejoin the party. It seemed as if Chris Lynch was just about to start up with another one of his stories—this time, an old Wireless, a pair of trainers, and curiously enough, a pelican zoo—and Grace and Emma were both waving me over. I figured the lusty lovers could control themselves for a few minutes so that I could go and spend some time with my mates. After all, Head Girls need to have a spot of fun sometimes, as well.

                The party went on from there as normal, I suppose. True to their word, I saw neither James nor Sirius with even a spot of alcohol until much later on into the night when the first and second years had finally started to retire, though it seemed as if everyone knew about the impending game of Mugs and the challenge extended from Chris Lynch and George Carter to James and Sirius, anyway. Everyone seemed rather anxious to get the younger kids up to bed then, which was rather pathetic if you ask me. I really tried hard not to laugh as a whole slew of them—apparently aware of the younger-students-no-alcohol deal—started bribing the stubborn third-years to go upstairs, but I could hardly help it when one particularly stubborn girl managed to wrestle a quick kiss out of Sirius in trade for her impromptu curfew change.

                Really, it was quite priceless.

                I laughed like a right loon.

                "I really don't like you," Sirius muttered as the happy third-year all but skipped up the girls' staircase. He looked as if he could use a quick swig of alcohol about then, which really made me laugh all the harder. He scowled. "I really, _really_ don't like you."

                "Oh, come now, Black," I responded with a smirk, probably taking too much pleasure out of all of this, but I could hardly care. "Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud."

                I really admire my own brilliant cleverness sometimes.

                "Oh, what wit," Sirius scoffed, shooting me a glare for turning his words back on him. Then he turned his sharp gaze onto the rest of the common room, giving it a quick scan. "Is that the last of them? It better be the last of them, because I _swear_ , Evans..."

                "It's the last of them," I responded, finally taking pity on the pathetic bloke, even though I wasn't entirely certain whether or not all the third-years had really gone up to bed. I am perhaps too compassionate for my own good. "Go on," I said, rolling my eyes and giving a wave of my hand. "Start your game. Get drunk. Toss yourself out the nearest window, I don't care."

                Which I really didn't. 

                As long as I didn't have to clean up the gore.

                "Thank _Merlin!_ " Sirius cried, looking very much as if I had just told him NEWTs have been cancelled rather than that he and his stupid mates could begin their stupid game. Then he went hollering off. " _Oy!_ Lynch! Ready to get your pathetic _arse_ kicked?"

                Chris's face lit up like a twinkling Christmas tree as he completely abandoned his listeners (he was in the midst of another story—marmalade, a futon, and some sort of windsurfing expedition) as _he_ then went hollering off in search of his partner, George Carter.

                Blokes are so pathetic.

                Psh.

                "Coming to watch?" James asked, coming up along behind me. I turned, a bit startled at his sudden presence. He'd gone missing earlier in the midst of his finagling with one particularly mule headed third-year, who I do believe was hoping to get his hands on James's broom. I snorted and threw him a look, letting him know what I thought of the stupid excuse for entertainment.

                "Come watch you all get smashed?" I scoffed, taking a sip of my Butterbeer. "I think not, my friend. I can think of quite a few _hundred_ more beneficial ways to spend my time."

                Like swallowing poison.

                Or eating a live spider.

                Or taking a quick trip to Azkaban.

                Watching a group of rowdy blokes throw balls at mugs while laughing rambunctiously, acting quite like they're drunk, even though they aren't, though they probably will be soon? 

                Not exactly my cup of tea.

                Because honestly, what a waste of bloody _time._

                "Aw, come now," James said, pulling a jokingly-hurt face as we walked across the room. "You have to be my cheering section! Lynch and Carter have built up quite the fan base. I'll be completely lonely over there."

                "You have a _partner_ in Mugs, James," I reminded him flatly, throwing him a look. "It's not possible to be lonely. Besides, your partner, might I add, has just stated that he dislikes me very _very_ much, so..."

                "Give him a few rounds," James insisted with a grin, "and I _guarantee_ you his feelings will change."

                Oh, brother.

                "Yes, when he's _drunk,"_ I miffed.

                James rolled his eyes, finishing off his latest Butterbeer with a manly chug. "How many times do I have to tell you, Infallible? You don't _get_ drunk from playing Mugs. A bit tipsy, yeah, perhaps, but we're only playing with spiked Butterbeer."

                He said this now. He said it as if he actually meant it, as well, which I think at the time, he did. But he of little knowledge had no idea what sort of damage some 'spiked Butterbeer' can actually do.

                Some serious, _serious_ damage.

                I know that now.

                I didn't then, though.

                _Naturally._

                "Yeah, yeah _,_ " I drawled in my ignorance, making a joke out of the whole thing. "But you just wait. Don't come passing out all over me when you can't walk properly."

                "Are you coming to cheer or not?" he asked, exasperated.

                "Are you giving me a choice?" I countered.

                "Not really," James admitted with another grin. He leaned over close, lowering his voice as if in secret. "I'm just making it seem as if you have one so that your independent sensibilities won't be nearly as offended when you're somehow manipulated into watching. A brilliant plan, yeah?"

                Oh, yes.

                _Brilliant_.

                Who can argue with logic like that?

                Me, probably, but I wasn't given much of a choice in the matter. James then latched onto my arm and began physically _pulling_ me towards the makeshift Mugs table that someone had managed to conjure up on the far side of the common room. I was muttering all the way about dictatorial tyrants and how if they don't watch out, someone will probably murder them in their sleep or something, but James pretty much ignored me except for the occasional snort here or there. I was firmly placed on the left side of the table where Grace and Marley were already standing (I don't know where Emma had gone off to), and though I was complaining and pulling faces left and right, everyone pretty much disregarded all of my protests.

                Surprise, surprise there.

                Just goes to show how important I am to the world.

                "I'm intrusting you two to keep her _right there_ ," James told Grace and Marley, sticking me between the pair of them, acting quite as if I wasn't standing _right there_ two feet in front of him, hearing every direction he dictated. Instead of being offended at his manhandling like a proper best mate, Grace grinned and latched onto my arm.

                Bloody, rotten traitor.

                "Gotcha," she said.

                I scowled at the lot of them, but it really had no effect. I don't know why I ever thought it might.

                So that's how I ended up spending the next hour or so, standing there between Grace and Marley, watching along with half of Gryffindor as our fellow housemates battled it out across the Mugs table. It really is such a stupid game, when one really thinks of it, but I can't lie and say I didn't enjoy watching the smallest bit. I mean, they may be utter prats, but our Gryffindor boys are actually quite funny when they get all competitive and such. I'd never seen Sirius Black get so agitated over a simple few tosses of a ball. They acted as if the very fate of their lives rested on who shot whose ball into whose mug!

                Quite like Quidditch, Mugs is maddening and _unbelievably_ unhealthy.

                James and Sirius quickly finished off Lynch and Carter, proclaiming themselves champions of the world, which in turn gained them at least six new challenges from various pairs across the common room, including their very own partners-in-crime, Remus and Peter. We all watched as the four mates ducked it out across the table, tossing balls and insults with quickening haste and good-humor as one game turned into two, two into three, three into best out of five. No one seemed to mind their hogging the table as another one was set up just a little ways off from the first, and Marley and one of her sixth-year mates took a whack at playing champions of their own game.

                As pointless and stupid as it undoubtedly is, it was actually quite fun, though I dare not mention that to anyone. I do have a reputation to uphold, you know.

                We were just about hitting an hour or so into play time (the Marauders were still going at it, two games all, and Marley and her partner had just been defeated by a pair of coordinated fifth-years), when Grace began slowly needling away at my defenses, trying to get me to agree to partner up with her against the cocky fifth-years that had just taken over at the second table. But I wasn't having any of it.

                " _Please_ , Lil," she whined, tugging at my arm, which, true to her word, I don't think she'd ever really let go of since the moment James had stuck me to her side. She gave her best pleading face. "It'll be completely brilliant! You've got hand-eye coordination! That's all it takes!"

                "I'm not playing," I told her for what had to be the millionth time. I crossed my arms defiantly over my chest and shook my head firmly. "I don't even support _others_ playing, why the bloody hell would I play myself?"

                "Because it's _fun_ ," Grace returned, quite matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes at her pathetic antics. And even though he had absolutely no part in the present conversation, he merely chanced overhearing it because he was standing nearby, James had to open up his big, stupid mouth and get on my back about not playing, as well.

                Honestly.

                And _these_ are supposed to be my mates!

                Psh!

                "Don't be such a coward, Infallible," he jibbed, turning towards Grace and me with a small smirk. He had just finished chugging his second mug of the game after Peter managed to toss his ball into it, and was now dutifully ignoring the on goings on his side of the table as Sirius lined up his shot. I stuck him with a good glare for that comment, for my Gryffindor pride took quite a bit of exception at being called a coward merely because I didn't care to indulge myself in gallons of spiked Butterbeer. But as usual, James seemed hardly affected by my hostility, so I socked him hard in the arm, as well.

                Violent tendencies and all, you know.

                It's part of what I do best.

                Besides lying, of course.

                "Hey!" he cried, pulling his shoulder back, though of course he was laughing instead of wincing, which made me want to take another go at him. He'd probably deserve it.

                He looked like he was about to say something else—probably something along the lines of 'you're such a prudish, stick-in-the-mud, you stupid girl', which I probably would have murdered him for because then I'd feel _obligated_ to play, even though I had zero interest in doing so. But before James could manage to voice his comments aloud, what should happen at that very moment but the sound of a loud, very _familiar_ screeching alarm going off somewhere to my left.

                Oh, yes.

                They were at it again.

                And honestly, _just how stupid can people get??_

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, regarding the couple laying in the awkward pile at the bottom of the girls' staircase with something I'm pretty sure bordered on hatred. But you know, they totally deserved it. All around the room, laughter rang through the air, for people seemed to be in much better spirits since the beginning of the Mugs tournaments. Following the masses' lead, James found the whole thing utterly hilarious and started chuckling it up to himself. But those of us that _hadn't_ been indulging in the various sources of alcohol around the room didn't quite find the situation a chuckling matter. And since I couldn't take my frustrations out on the moronic couple, I took them out on James instead, getting much pride out of his wince when I punched him in the arm again. "This is not funny!" I snapped.

                "Oh, it's a little funny," James responded with a grin, rubbing at his injured arm, though not looking the slightest bit harmed. "Not funny, of course," he went on, throwing me a pointed look, "that you're entirely _violent_ and I think perhaps we should start an anger management support group just for you, but funny in that I know for a sure fact that you're now going to go over there and sit your bum down on those stairs just to make sure no one else goes up there, using it as an excuse to get away from here before Grace finally convinces you to throw _all_ of your scruples aside and actually join in on the game. How does that sound?"

                Like a pile of rubbish.

                It sounded like a big, moronic, pile of rubbish.

                True, though.

                However, that's not the point.

                I didn't have anything remotely resembling an eloquent response for that (because when faced with the truth, I so often don't), so instead I just muttered a bitter, "Shut up," and went stomping off towards the girls' staircase, ignoring James and Grace's loud laughter sounding behind me, because sometimes I am just very immature like that.

                But really, it can't be helped.

                I wondered momentarily as I once again found myself sitting on the steps of the girls' staircase as everyone else in the common room continued on with the party, just how in the hell I had come round full circle from an hour ago, but no remotely sane answer came to mind. I suppose I could blame my penchant for giving into peer pressure, which in my strives to avoid, I somehow ended up completely excluding myself, but that just rather got me depressed when I got to thinking about all my crap karma and crap personality flaws, so you will see where my protests about such a train of thought came in. I didn't know how I planned to entertain myself, though, now that plan Avoid-Peer-Pressure had been pulled off. The plan, you see, had ended at this precise point.

                Not exactly a _solid_ plan, was it?

                Hm.

                "It's estimated that at any one time, 0.7% of the world's population is drunk. Did you know that?"

                My head whipped up from where I had had it firmly looking towards the ground at the rather familiar ' _did you know that?'_ query. Even before I looked I knew who had to be standing there, though. Who else says things like that, really?

                It's a rather singular attribute.

                "MJ." I blinked up at the young mop of messy hair curiously. "Aren't you supposed to be upstairs?"

                MJ shrugged, leaning against the wall next to the stairs, a neat stack of books stashed under one hand, his wand being idly played with by the fingers of his other. "Maybe," he told me. "I was in the library," he explained.

                "What were you doing there?" I asked. "Didn't you go to the match?"

                MJ nodded, still twiddling with his wand. "I went, but I had work to finish after."

                "You didn't miss much," I assured him, then nodded towards the chair that was not too far off from where MJ was standing, motioning for him to pull it over and take a seat. Talking to my slightly odd tutoree, after all, was much better than sitting by myself, silently dissecting all of my faults. "Sit down," I said to him. "Talk to me. You're lucky, you know. The mad lot over there bribed all the third-years upstairs an hour or so ago. You're _officially_ at an upperclassmen party." I shot him a grin. MJ smiled back, but only slightly so, doing as I asked and taking a seat on the chair he'd just pulled round. He rested his books on his lap and finally stopped playing with his wand.

                "Why aren't you playing Mugs?" he asked me softly, nodding behind him towards the drunken festivities. I cocked an eyebrow at his question.

                "You know what Mugs is?" I asked, baffled at the fact that this poor, innocent child should have ever been exposed to such a dastardly game at the tender age of thirteen. MJ simply shrugged again.

                "My brothers like to play it sometimes," he answered casually, turning his head slightly as he regarded the two heated matches still going on at the Mugs tables. He turned back to me. "If even the smallest amount of alcohol touches a scorpion, it goes mad until it stings itself to death. Did you know that?"

                Oh, jeez.

                "Nope," I answered with a bit of a sigh. "But then again, I haven't encountered many scorpions in my lifetime. However, if I do, I'm now aware. Thanks for that."

                MJ nodded, obviously not understanding that I was clearly teasing him, which just goes to show how much distance socially we need to cover in order to get this kid ready enough for some proper mates. His conversational skills are also...somewhat lacking.

                You know, if by conversation skills, you mean anything not ending with the phrase, ' _did you know that?'._

                Yes, quite a ways to go.

                "I was doing my Charms essay," MJ started up, lifting up the textbook that sat on the top of his pile— _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 3_. "I got the first bit," he went on, pulling his parchment out from in between the textbook pages, "but the last part..." He shrugged helplessly, then looked towards me for assistance.

                Though it was hardly the time or the place, I took pity on the poor boy and his slightly desperate look and took his parchment from him, reading over the question at the top and what he had written so far. Maybe it wasn't exactly what you would usually find at a Quidditch party—sitting on the girls' staircase with a third-year, reading Charms work—but I never said that MJ was the only one with a slightly distorted social personality.

                Really, it's rather like the pot calling the tea kettle black.

                How astoundingly pathetic.

                Psh.

                I don't know how it happened, really. It started out with me just simply looking over his essay, flipping through his textbook to show him where he could find the information he needed to finish the last bit of it off. I didn't intend to provoke any questions, didn't intend to answer the ones that were provoked, didn't attend to provoke _more_ questions from _those_ answers and so on and so forth, but one way or another, it happened. I'd like to blame it on the fact that I'm clearly the biggest Charms nerd in the whole of England and when poor, unfortunately lost boys like Maurice John Rosier look up at you with those big blue eyes and say things like, "But _why_ do you flick forward on the Cheering Charm? How do I do it?", well, I suppose I rather melt on the spot. I just go on and let him know you flick forward because the reverse would misguide not only your aim, but your concentration, and then somehow proceed in showing him how to properly do such a thing for the next half-hour.

                Yes.

                I know.

                Socially challenged, thy name is Lily Evans.

                But what's a Charms addict to do?

                "There!" I cried happily, watching as after a good fifteen minutes of intense practice and guidance, MJ finally managed to flick his wrist forward in just the right way on his own. "You've got it now! Not all that difficult once you learn what's what, yeah?" I smiled widely at him. MJ grinned back.

                "I'm going to forget," he muttered wiry, flicking his wrist repeatedly. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

                "You will not," I said. "You'll remember it perfectly well. Besides, it's not as if—"

                But MJ was never quite able to find out just what it was not as if, for at the precise moment when I was about to indulge him with this information, an extremely loud—though thankfully enough, _not_ an alarm—sound reverberated throughout the common room, followed almost immediately by a rambunctious chorus of laughter from nearly everyone in the room. My head whipped up to where a group of Gryffindors stood over by the Mugs tables.

                "What on earth was that?" I muttered, rising to my feet to get a better look. MJ didn't move from his chair, but turned about and craned his neck in an attempt to see what was going on, as well. I couldn't see a damned thing through the throngs of people, but everyone was laughing, some clapping, and I managed to spot a somewhat dented end table on the floor, which led me to believe someone had fallen over it, which resulted in the loud bang. I didn't know who because I couldn't see, but whoever it was, everyone else seemed to find it perfectly hilarious.

                Those drunkards _would_ find injuries funny.

                Psh.

                I was about to sit back down on the stairs so that I could continue on with my nerdish lessons with MJ, knowing I was no help to the injured party while I couldn't even manage to see through the milling crowds to find out what had happened. I had just about taken my seat when quite suddenly, I caught a quick glance of a stumbling creature rising to his feet out of the corner of my eye. More applauding from onlookers went off as the injured party in question grinned wickedly and swayed momentarily on his feet.

                Well, shit.

                Double bloody fucking shit.

                It was James.

                _James_.

                What was that about not getting drunk on Butterbeers?

                "Oh, good lord," I muttered, slapping a hand to cover my eyes as I regarded the pathetic scene. But quite like a car crash on the side of the road, I couldn't keep my eyes off the disaster for long. When I quickly looked back up and regarded the scene again, James—looking quite more disheveled and quite more giddy then I ever remember seeing him—was looking straight at me, a wide, stupid grin covering his face. Slowly, he began stumbling his way over.

                Oh, brother.

                He was drunk.

                Totally, completely, three sheets to the wind, head over arse, sloshed, foxed and drunk.

                What a coot.

                "Looks like we're going to have a visitor," I muttered flatly, though when I looked down at the place where MJ had just moments ago been quietly sitting, there was only an empty seat.

                Well, where the buggering hell had _he_ gone?

                "You scared away my mate," I told James with a quick glare when he finally managed to stumble on over towards the girls' staircase. He was leaning lazily against the frame of the stairwell, his hazel eyes rather blurry, his grin more stupid than his usual idiocracy, looking positively high. This, you see, is what becomes of those who drink. I rolled my eyes and threw him a pointed look. "I see you had a bit of a tumble," I muttered dryly, motioning towards the broken table, which of course no one had bothered to right. James simply grinned.

                "I lost," he told me.

                "I can see that," I said.

                "I wasn' losing 'fore, y'know," he stuttered, giving a little bit of a pathetic laugh, which naturally caused _me_ to laugh because of the whole patheticness of it all and everything. "Nope," he went on with a giant sigh, his unsteady hand coming up to his head to rustle his hair slowly. "Wasn' losing 'fore. Was winning, y'know. Then...humph...dunno...s'ppse..."

                It was really quite priceless.

                I really did adore a drunken James.

                Then.

                Not later.

                Very much not later.

                "...you lost?" I finished for him slowly, not really able to hide my amusement. James made a slight sound of agreement and finally dropped his hand from his hair. It was now sticking up at every odd angle imaginable, looking untidy even for James. Carefully, he wrinkled his nose in distaste, then looked at me.

                "Was t' _Firewhisky_ ," he whispered regretfully, shaking his head as if in deep remorse. I let out a laugh and shook my head as well, though at his pitiable antics, not at the travesty of it all.

                "Perhaps you shouldn't have been _drinking_ Firewhisky," I pointed out sternly, shooting him a light reprimanding look that I knew he probably didn't understand at that moment, but it made me feel better to give it anyway. I was actually quite surprised that I wasn't more cross about the whole thing than I seemed to be. I mean, wasn't this what I was most afraid of? Drunken loony toons making messes and walking around stumbling over end tables? I should've been hollering my bum off, but instead I was laughing. Maybe it was because it was James, or maybe it was because I've finally pulled that ever-present stick out of my bum, I don't know, but either way, I found I wasn't panicking over just where this _Firewhisky_ had come from or whether or not McGonagall was going to come up and kill us all. I was simply standing there next to James, hoping he didn't pass out and harm himself or cast up his accounts all over the staircase.

                It's improvement, I think.

                "Lily?" he said a few seconds later, snapping me out of my thoughts.

                "James?" I responded.

                "I have...no...not... _ugh_..." He couldn't seem to get the proper words out, though he tried several more times. I didn't think he even knew what he was trying to say, so disjointed were his verbal mutterings. His face scrunched up in concentration, as if to try to make himself focus on the task at hand. A few more seconds passed with little success on James's part. He finally seemed to give up with his speech altogether and instead made quick time in climbing up four steps until he and I stood face-to-face inside the stairwell. He had the oddest look in his eyes that at the time I simply chalked up as the effects of the alcohol, but I suppose now I know better. "C'mere," he told me, motioning with his hand.

                "Go where?" I asked, regarding the minimal half-meter that stood between us with puzzlement. Just where in the world did the kid expect me to go?

                "Here," he ordered again.

                "Here, _where_? I'm standing right in front of— _oomph!_ "

                I found out where here was.

                Apparently, _here_ constituted as plastered right up against James's person.

                Yeah.

                Right up against him.

                Because that wasn't _completely_ messing with my already fragile mental state or anything.

                Oh, _god_.

                "Erm..." My mouth felt like a desert had just sprung up inside of it. "James...what are you—"

                "Shhh," he whispered, tightening his hold around me as he quietly cut off my pathetic questionings. "Just...quiet," he ordered.

                And that's when he did it.

                Without warning, without preamble, without so much as a quick 'Wotcher, Evans, here it comes’ in his slightly slurred voice, or even a small grunt of foreshadowing. Right there in the well of the girls' staircase in the Gryffindor common room. He just did it. 

                He kissed me.

                HE. KISSED. ME.

                If he hadn't been holding me up, I surely would've fallen right down the stairs. I was shocked. I mean, it wasn't any sort of _mad_ snog or anything, as far as snogging goes, but it was still a _snog_ —chaste enough as not to _completely_ kill me, but firm enough in its conviction to let me know that this was anything but innocent. James Potter was _standing there_ on the fourth step of the girls' staircase _kissing_ me. In theory _alone_ that's enough to send a girl into a complete conniptions. And I...I couldn't _think_. My mind went completely blank until all I could think about was his lips moving against mine and the taste of him my mouth and...and...

                Oh, hell.

                Bloody, flistering _hell_.

                If I can't say it in here, where _can_ I say it?

                I...

                I liked it.

                James Potter was kissing me, and I _liked_ it.

                This fact should have shocked me. I mean, there was my mate—my _mate_ —snogging me in the girls' stairwell, and I was standing there _letting_ him—no, _more_ than letting him, really. Standing there _enjoying_ it!  Who _does_ that? Honestly, _who_? What self-respecting, Amos-loving, prudish, stick-in-the-mud sort of Head Girl wouldn't be the least bit negatively affected when something like that happens?

                _WHO?!_

                And really, I would have sincerely just _loved_ to blame the whole thing on James's reputed brilliant snogging skills—after all, how could I possibly _not_ enjoy it with brilliant skills like those?—but a girl's just got to face the facts sometimes. Because, let's be perfectly honest here, the bloke was _drunk_. He was hardly in his top form. And while he was mighty far from slobbering all over me or anything, I'm rather sure that he's seen better nights than this. There was no way out there. 

                And yet...I still liked it. He wasn't in his top form, and yet I still liked it. Which got me to thinking, you know, because that's not exactly a _normal_ sort of response, is it? It's about as far from normal as it gets. And the more I got to thinking about it, the more I only came up with one conclusion. 

                Maybe liking James's kisses had nothing to do with how well or crap he was doing it.

                Maybe I liked James kisses...simply because it was _James_ doing the kissing.

                And maybe I'm finally ready to admit that.

                I mean...

                Because the thing is...

                I...

                I fancy James Potter.

                I do.

                I don't know the whens or whys or hows of it, and it's not _much_ , I don't think, probably just a passing attraction, but as I was standing there, happily letting the bloke snog me...well, how are you really supposed to _deny_ it? I could convince myself into ignoring it all before, even though I was dreaming about him and going out of my way to make him feel better and feeling like I should probably vomit up my entire stomach's contents when I saw him and Elisabeth Saunders together—but when a bloke is standing there snogging you and you don't do a single thing about it...it's time to face the music. However mad it may seem, however off you may think it...it's true.

                It was true.

                I fancied _James Potter_.

                And it would just bloody _figure_ , wouldn't it?

                That's when I knew my karma had yet again struck its perfect revenge. I mean, here I am, scheduled for a _date_ with the bloke that I have been completely fawning over for the last year and a half, possibly even _more_ than a date if I play my cards right and don't completely blotch everything up, and what do I do?

                I START FANCYING HIS WORST ENEMY.

                Who else do things like that happen to?! Who?! Because I adore Amos, I _know_ I do, but that doesn't change the fact that I was standing there kissing James Potter—and I mean kissing _him,_ because for a few moments there, I think I may have actually been an active participant in these drunken snogs, however accidental or in a small degree my response was. 

                How could I do that to Amos? How could I do that to _myself?_ I didn't _want_ it to happen. I _tried_ to ignore it. I never would've—

                And that's when I realised something.

                I never would've kissed James.

                I _hadn't_ kissed James.

                _He_ had kissed _me._

                HE HAD KISSED _ME_!

                Somewhere up the stairs, a door slammed closed.

                And quite like a slam back into reality, I jumped away from James with a sudden jolt, finally pulling away like I should have several minutes before.

                Oh, _Merlin._

                I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see what I knew I would inevitably see, but my eyes somehow ended up finding his face anyway. His entire demeanor was blank, save for his eyes which, quite different from their drowsy drunkenness of before or the tough indifference of the rest of him, were staring fiercely down at me with a bright, telling light. If I hadn't been having so much trouble merely _breathing_ properly, I would have gulped at that look of his, but as I seemed to be unable to do anything but just stand there and blush, wishing I could somehow turn back time, I didn't.

                James went to say something, but at that moment I knew, almost as much as I knew that those past few minutes had been a horrific mistake, that whatever he had to say to me, I couldn't hear. Not just then. I couldn't take it. It would just be too much. 

                Just too damned much.

                "Lily—"

                I ran.

                I know it was childish—I _know_ —but the second I heard my name drop from his lips, I had to run. I turned and all but sprinted up the stairs, not caring how it looked, not caring what he though, just merely caring about getting myself as far away from James Potter as was physically possible hating the fact that I still had the taste of him in my mouth, that my lips were still tingling where they had touched his.

                Because _he_ had kissed _me._

                And you really only kiss a girl for one reason.

                I could hear him shouting my name from down the stairs, but I ignored the calls and continued all the way up to my dormitory, not stopping for anything. I was breathing heavily, more from emotion than from actual exertion. I was clumsy with the doorknob as I struggled to get it open, feeling a stinging pressure behind my eyes that even as the seconds were passing, got closer and closer to leaking out into tears. With a quiet sob, I finally managed to open the door, quickly going in and closing the door behind me.

                I burst out crying right then and there.

                "Lily? Merlin, Lily, what's wrong?!"

                I made out Emma's blurry form through the distortion of my tears, looking extremely concerned as she rushed over towards me from her bed on the other side of the room. I couldn't speak for a few seconds, partially because I was crying so hard, partially because my mind was moving so quickly, my mouth had no chance at getting its attention so it could work properly.

                _He_ had kissed _me._

                He had _failed_ my test!

                He had failed my bloody fucking _test!!_

_What had happened?!_

                It was all I could think about.

                "Shhhh." Emma put a comforting arm around my shoulder, trying to calm me down, but of course it was to no avail because I was positively _mad_ with tears at that point. "Breathe, Lily. Everything will be all right. Just calm down and talk to me, all right? Tell me what happened."

                I don't know how I managed to find my voice. I was absolutely hysterical, and yet I still managed to get the words out. But when I did, I don't think they were at all what Emma was expecting.

                "When did he stop?" I demanded through my tears, writhing myself from Emma's embrace and standing in front of her, shaking. "When did he _stop_ , Emmeline?!"

                She stared at me blankly, confused. "When did _who_ stop, Lily?" 

                "James." His name fell out of my mouth on a bitter note, and I think if it was possible, I started crying even harder. "He...it was before, wasn't it? He stopped—he _bloody well stopped!_ I...he..."

                "What did James stop, Lily?"

                "FANCYING ME!"

                Emma's face went white.

                And that's when I knew for sure.

                He hadn't stopped before like I'd wanted to believe. He hadn't gotten over me. He wouldn't rather be dead than actually dating me. That test—that _stupid, fouled_ test of mine—hadn't told me a blasted thing. Of _course_ he hadn't gone mad right then and there. Why in the hell would he have tattered his pride to shreds like that? He'd waited until the _next day_ , when the whole thing really hit home, and then led me to believe that I had nothing to do with it. He let me cry into his comfortable jumpers when I had my over-emotional moments. He came to find me in the abandoned north tower when he knew I needed someone to be there. He calls me Infallible and jokes about my inferiority complex. He fights with Amos, _not_ solely because of Quidditch, but for much more _highly personal_ reasons. He...James...

                James Potter still fancied me.

_He still fancied me._

                I dropped down to my knees on the floor, exhausted and drained. 

                I felt like I was going to be sick.

                "Oh, _Lily_." I felt Emma’s hand come down on my back as I continued to cry on the floor, hating myself for acting like a hysterical female, but not knowing what I could do to stop it. No matter what I did, I just went on blubbering like a right, miserable child, like the very world was coming to an end. I knew there was no reason for me to be this upset about the whole thing—I _never_ cry like I was crying right then—but every time I tried to stop, they’d start right up again. Emma's voice was soft and slightly pained when she spoke again. "He didn't want you to know," she whispered tiredly, and I could hear the wince in her voice. "He didn't...want you to know, Lily. What happened? What did say to you?"

                I couldn't explain it to her. Not then, not now. And maybe I wouldn't be feeling as terrible now if I had told Emma about it then, but for the life of me I couldn't get the whole story out. I was drained, totally and completely, and even after I finally managed to stop crying like a madwoman, I just couldn't force the tale out of my system. I just sat there on the floor, staring at the ground, wondering how on earth someone can be so incredibly stupid and foolish for so long as I have been.

                "Please don't say anything to anyone," I pleaded quietly, looking up at Emma for the first time in quite some time. My eyes and cheeks were sore from my tears and my throat was dry, so my voice cracked and rasped in a rather unattractive manner. "I can't...the questions...and James probably won't remember any of it tomorrow, anyway—"

                "Why wouldn't he remember it?"

                "They were playing Mugs."

                "Oh. Well, that certainly explains a lot."

                "Em—"

                "No," she cut me off quietly, shaking her head. "Don't worry. You don't have to explain now. Try to get some rest. You look exhausted. But Lil..." She paused here, sighing heavily. Bringing her face to mine, she looked me straight in the eyes. "It's just...I don't know what happened," she started quietly, "and I don't know what James did, but no matter what happened tonight...I _know_ he didn't mean to upset you. He would never. _Never._ You know that, right?"

                Of course, I knew it. It didn't make me any less upset to be reminded of the fact, but I did know it. 

                I let out a long breath and gave Emma a nod. "Yeah," I whispered. "I know."

                And then I climbed into bed, and here I lay now.

                I've been trying to convince myself for the last hour that I completely overreacted. Compared to the world's problems, my present dilemma really isn't all that big of a deal. So what if the boy never stopped fancying me? So what if, in my complete and utter ignorance, I've probably hurt him in so many ways, he's probably used to torture by now? So what if he may have somehow convinced me to fancy him a little bit as well? So what if—despite the fact that he may or may not even remember tonight—our relationship can never be the same again? So what if I've lost one of my very best mates? So what if this is all happening _now_ , when I'm supposed to be blissfully happy because I'm going on a date with a bloke I've fancied forever?

                So what if I can't breathe?

                So what if I can't think?

                So what if I feel as if my entire world has just dropped out beneath me, all because of the feelings of one bloke?

                So what if I shouldn't be feeling this way if I only fancy the boy a little bit?

                After all, I'm moving to Guam.

                You don't have to worry about things like this on Guam. 


	15. October 12th: Of Indecisions and Family Affairs

**Author’s Notes:** Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!! I know this chapter is months overdue, but first I had a mid-story breakdown (we’re mid-story, by the way. ^_^) that resulted in me changing MAJOR plot points when the ending scene of this chapter wasn’t working, so I had to stop and figure out if these changes were going to mess with anything previously stated or coming up, and then I had to WRITE the changes and…*shakes head* Messiness. I would’ve had this out to you all weeks ago, but I unfortunately was away—for personal reasons, not pleasure, unfortunately—and not only did we stay much longer than we intended, but I had absolutely no internet connection like I thought I would. I am _so_ sorry. But here is chapter fifteen, finally coming to you. It has not been beta read, so if you catch a few (or several) typos here and there, I apologise profusely and feel free to point them out. Again, I am so sorry for this taking so long. I hope you all won’t kill me. And thank you so much for your patience and your devotion. Oh, and Hourglass! Thank you very much for that, as well! *grins* And now…chapter fifteen. =)

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“Just because swans mate for life, I don't think its that big a deal. First of all, if you're a swan, you're probably not going to find a swan that looks much better than the one you've got, so why not mate for life?”

Jack Handey

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____________________________________

**Sunday, October 12th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 165**

It really is just truly, terribly and impossibly unfair that one feeling as rubbish as I am this morning should be having so much difficulty falling asleep. 

                I mean, really, what's with that? Why, even as I lay here in my bed, telling myself to fall asleep, I can't? Haven't I suffered enough over the past twenty-four hours? Aren't the fates of the universe satisfied with the completely devastating _mess_ they've made of me yet? Good karma or bad karma, a girl really only deserves so much. Can't I catch a sodding _break_ here?

                Merlin, my face is all puffed and blotchy and it stings and it's sore and I _hate my life_. And on top of all of _that_ , I am completely embarrassed remembering myself last night. I mean, I really am just incredibly overdramatic sometimes. There was no plausible reason for me to completely break down like that. No one _died_ , for Merlin's sake, though one wouldn't have known it by the way I was carrying on. Emma must have thought I'd gone absolutely mad. I mean, yes, it was an exorbitant amount of realisations to take in all at one time, and yes, I have been rather prone to cry at the drop of a hat these past few months (what's _with_ that, anyway?), but still. I know it seems like a complete and utter mess, but I'm sure once I sit down and sort this all out logically, it won't seem as terrible.

                Yes, logical thinking. That's the ticket.

                And probably sleep, though I don't seem to be getting any of _that_.

                Oh, bugger it all. I'm done with this close-your-eyes-and-wait-for-the-blissful-oblivion-of-slumber-to-take-over-even-though-it-never-will-because-one-cannot-immerse-oneself-in-blissful-oblivion-when-one's-brain-is-spinning-as-fast-as-the-very-earth-we-live-on. I am obviously NOT getting any sleep today.

                I think I'll go outside. Take a stroll or something. Watch the sunrise. I really can't think of a better place to do some serious logical thinking.

                Yes, good plan.

____________________________________

**Later, Walking (Sneaking?) Outside**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 166**

It's not against the rules to be outside at this time of morning, is it? I mean, Filch isn't going to jump out of the shadows and give me detention or anything, right? That would just be the cherry topping on top of the banana split of the ultimate blotched-up day. 

                You know what?

                I don't care.

                I don't even bleeding _care_ anymore.

                Detention, I'm yours. Come and find me!

____________________________________

**Even Later (Though Still Technically Very Early), By the Great Lake (Obviously Not Caught By Filch)**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 165**

** Lily Evans's Logical Thoughts about the Mad Happenings of Last Night  
** ** (Also Know As: Coming to Terms with Her Disaster-of-a-Life) **

**Problem #1) James Potter still fancies me. (Not to mention the fact that OTHER PEOPLE SEEMED TO KNOW ABOUT THIS AND YET NEVER BOTHERED TO TELL ME)**

                This is not a big deal.

                I mean—yes, all right, it sort of _is_ a big deal, considering the fact that for the past two months—or perhaps two _years_ , now that I'm thinking about it. I mean, did he ever _stop_ , or was this just a continuous thing since that stint in fifth year, even though he virtually ignored me all of last year and just _pretended_ to want to be mates this year? Was there ever a pause in these affections? I don't know. No one bothered to tell me. There had to be, though. What about Elisabeth Saunders? What was that, then? I mean, if he truly cared for me, why would he have gone out with her, even if I wasn't exactly his biggest fan at the time? Not that I expected him to wait for me or anything, but I'm just saying. There had to be a pause somewhere in there if he was dating her. Unless it was all just a ploy to make me jealous or something. If that had been it, it certainly hadn't worked (though it would have explained a few things. Like how in the name of Lucy and Ethel the boy had ever found _her_ even semi-attractive). I mean, it's working _now_ , but that's an entirely different story. Plus, he's not even going out with her now—which all I have to say to _that_ is thank _god_ because I really don't think I could handle that on top of all of this. But yes, he's not going out with her because he fancies me. Unfortunately. Or fortunately. I don't know. No, definitely unfortunately. I don't _want_ him to fancy me after all. I don't. I just...

                Oh, bugger.

                What was I talking about again?

                Oh, right. How I have obviously caused the boy needless heartache. 

                But none of that was my _fault_!

                I mean, if someone had bothered to, you know, politely tap me on the shoulder and be all, "Oh, and by the way, Lily, that mate of yours? James Potter? Still fancies you. Yeah. Just thought to let you know", I wouldn't have said or done anything that would have caused him emotional strain! I wouldn't have talked about my love for Amos Diggory, or told his ex-girlfriend we were dating, or cried into his comfortable shirts, or gave him fudge because the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, though apparently I was already in his heart way before I had any effect on his stomach. I don't know what I would have done _instead_ , but...

                _Merlin,_ why doesn't he _hate_ me right now?

                I wouldn't blame him if he did. I would deserve it, the way I've treated him, even though I wasn't aware of the effects my actions were having.

                Because the thing is... I _should've_ known. 

                It wasn't really as if he was overly _furtive_ about it. Naturally he denied it, claimed he would rather be dead than date me, pretended he was happy for me when Amos asked me out, but really...I mean, what sort of bloke let's you _cry_ into his _jumper?_ TWICE? What kind? Not any sort of normal bloke I know. Unless your being upset holds some significance to him, I highly doubt any bloke would willingly stick around for those sorts of dramatics. Even the nicest of them still get all jumpy and jittery around emotional females. But James hadn't. He'd let me cry into his shirt, and he'd rubbed my back and whispered all sort of comforting things and...and...

                WHAT SORT OF BLOKE DOES THAT UNLESS HE FANCIES YOU? 

                WHY AM I SO BLEEDING BLIND?

                I mean, Grace practically _told_ me! She put it out there, she got me thinking it, but for some damn reason, I just went ahead and did everything in my power to convince myself it _wasn't_ true. That stupid test was so full of holes, but I was so happy about James not yelling and Amos asking me out that I didn't even stop to think that James's bad mood the next day could have had anything to do with the fact that I had just trampled all over the poor boy's heart. He'd said it was an off day and I'd accepted it. And all the while, he'd probably been dying inside, and all because I am completely oblivious and didn't notice his obviously-not-platonic feelings.

                Merlin, I'm so _stupid._ For someone who prides herself on having more brainpower than the average Sally-Sue, I really was just a complete _moron_ with this. I mean, did I ever stop to think about _why_ the bloke put up with all of my endless rubbish? Did I ever stop to think about _why_ he'd get so cross when I was mean to him? Did I ever stop to think about _why_ he complimented me, called me Infallible, threw his arm around me in that this-could-be-considered-platonic-but-it-could-also-be-considered-rather-intimate sort of way?

                No.

                Of course not.

                All I thought was, 'Oh, James. What a nice mate’.

                Psh.

                Shit.

                It's such a _mess_ , isn't it?

                And I can't believe no one _told me!_ All of this time while I've been acting like an utter prat, no one said a damned _word_! Emma obviously knew last night, and I know Grace knows because of that time she _sort of_ told me (but then denied it, so that really doesn't count). So what if James didn't want me to know? SO WHAT? He wasn't the only one _involved_ here! Did anyone care to remember that _I_ had a small part in the whole affair, as well? Especially later on when I...I mean...when I started to...

                No.

                Deal with that later.

                One crisis at a time.

                One at a bloody time.

                I mean, they could have at least _hinted_ at it while I was being such a goddamned tart about the whole thing. It was both of their jobs—nay, their _obligations_ —to tell me what I was doing! Why couldn't they have done that? I never thought they would deliberately do something so stupid. I thought they would have at least _nudged_ me in the proper direction. I mean, unless...

                ...unless they had?

                No. No, they couldn't have. I can't possibly be _that_ blind, can I? But then again...

                Oh, Merlin.

                My head is starting to hurt.

                It's just...what am I supposed to _do_ now, exactly? Merlin only knows if James is even going to _remember_ snogging me last night. I don't think anyone saw—we were hidden by the staircase, after all, and everyone was pretty much involved in their own affairs—but what if someone _did?_ What if someone saw us kissing and then they go up and ask James about it? Then he'd know for _sure_ what happened, even if it is all just a blurry vision in his mind. And what if he just plain remembers on his own? What if he wasn't as drunk as he appeared, or perhaps just has a very good drunken memory? What happens then? How exactly am I supposed to go about this? 

                I can't...I can't _ignore_ him, can I? His feelings, I mean? If he remembers, I highly doubt James is just going to sit back idly and wait for me to figure this whole damn thing out. He's going to say something. Confront the issue. Ask me what I think about the fact that he fancies me, he snogged me, and I stood there on the steps, almost-sort-of-technically snogging him back? What do I say then? What do I DO? Because I don't want to hurt him. I think I've done quite enough of that already and I don't think I could handle doing it again, this time consciously. But I don't know how NOT to hurt him. I couldn't possibly tell him what he wants to hear. That would mean—

                Wait.

                Now, wait a damned second...do I even _know_ what he'd want to hear?

                I mean, really, do I even bloody _know_? I don't know what in the hell goes on inside that mad head of his. I don't know his hopes, his dreams, his desires. I didn't even bloody well know I might be _apart_ of any of that until last night! For all I know, James could seriously not _care_ about any of this. Maybe his fancying of me is just some small, insignificant little nuisance that got a little out of hand when he was drunk, and so he snogged me accidentally. Maybe he never intended to make anything more out of this than what it was—a small fancying. Maybe he doesn't _want_ to hear that of course I want him/love him/will marry him/have his children/move into his house/die old with him/etc. or any of that whatnot. Maybe the kid just needed a _snog_. I mean, yes, the duration of this so-called "fancying" (still in question, of course) and his previous actions may undermine that conclusion, but what do I know about the male psyche? Nothing! I know NOTHING about the inner workings of the male mind, but from what I've _heard_ , it's a rather perverted place. So maybe this whole thing is less about the tender ups and downs of James Potter's delicate heart and more about the raunchy ups and downs of James Potter's hormonal system. 

                I don't know.

                I just BLOODY DON'T KNOW.

                And the fact of the matter is, I _won't_ know until I see James. I can't plan what to do or how to act because I don't know what _he'll_ do, how _he'll_ act. I don't even know if he bloody _remembers!_ And I know that's complete rubbish and that leaving things up to fate isn't exactly my ideal way of sorting out my problems considering how fate tends to treat me, but I don't have much of a _choice_ here. As much as I hate it, the ball is in James's court right now. I can't react until _he_ reacts and all I can do is pray for the chance that the boy drank himself into a coma and is now going to doze it off for a couple of years. However, in the off chance that that _didn't_ happen, I have to wait it out and see. See what he does. See how he acts. See if he even _remembers_. 

                However, until then, I am to be the Complete Paragon of Utter Normalcy. You know what—even before I see him, I'm going to be the CPUN, because if I run into him and start acting all jittery and worried and completely irrational, James and I have no chance at ANY sort of relationship—platonic or otherwise—after this. And even though it may seem completely impossible, James really has become a rather essential part of my life in a few short weeks. And I don't mean simply that I would be failing Transfiguration without him—even though I would be—it's more than that. I can...I can _talk_ to him, you know? About anything. It's not like when I speak with Amos and my tongue gets all tied and I say stupid things or I end up acting completely unlike myself just to impress him, or when I speak to any other bloke and I have to put up my mouth filter to make sure nothing mad comes out. James doesn't _care_ if I act mad—he _knows_ I'm completely off my rocker. He doesn't _mind_ that. He's like...he's not like Grace and Emma, per say, but he's certainly up there. And can't...I can't _lose_ that. Not now. And the only way I can see stopping that from happening is to act as if everything is totally normal. Even _if_ he remembers. Even _if_ he doesn't. Just act normal. CPUN. _Normal_.

                I think it's my only hope.

                **Problem #2) I have suddenly discovered that I find myself—however small in proportion—fancying James Potter.**

I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am. 

                Looking back on it now, I suppose it was just ridiculously inevitable. Did I honestly think that I wouldn't succumb? Do I honestly believe I stood a chance? There is a _reason_ so many girls doodle his name in their books, for Merlin's sake, and it is not just because he is often times pleasant to look at. There is _fact_ behind the tales of his perfection. And yes, while he naturally does have his faults—and several, if I might add, which I will—they're not _terrible_ faults. Far less than _mine_ , in any case. And he...the thing is...

                I honestly didn't see it coming. 

                I should have, and I tried to ignore it when I DID finally recognise it, but...oh, bugger. 

                It's all just hopeless. _I'm_ hopeless.

                It's not _much_ of a fancying, I don't think. I'm trying very hard not to panic too much. I mean, really, if this fancying is quite as small and insignificant as I think it is, it could actually just gradually disappear. I'm serious. Just like that. Be there one day, then gone the next. So if I spend all of my time sitting here, panicking over the fact that I may very well fancy a boy who fancies me, while ALREADY fancying ANOTHER boy who ALSO fancies me...well, it's just a headache I'd rather spare. You know, considering it'll probably disappear and all. Probably. Or at least, I _think_ it will.

                Because the thing is...it's _James_.

                And I suppose while it's certainly not exactly _rare_ for anyone to fancy him...it's rare for it to be _me._ I didn't even _like_ him before this year, for Merlin's sake! Before this term, even at the _beginning_ of this term, I genuinely thought the boy was no better than the scum that gets stuck underneath your trainers. _That_ was my opinion of him. And while, yes, I have recently come to the realisation that I am an awful judge of character, clearly—even though he really _was_ a complete arsehole in fifth-year, the last time I actually bothered to acknowledge his existence—some time between then and now, he's changed into a rather all right bloke— _better_ than all right, really, as I do not go on and snog just-all-right blokes. I only snog the best of the best. Even if I wasn't technically the one doing the snogging last night—well, I mean, I didn't _instigate_ it, anyway. I didn't pull away, either, though, which I suppose rather makes me responsible, as well. And I may have _sort of_ participated a bit towards the end. But that's only because I was clearly a bit out of my mind at that point. Or, you know, confused or something. Because James Potter is a very good snogger. Even when he is very drunk and clearly not in his top form. Which rather gets me thinking about what it would be like to snog him when he isn’t drunk. But that is not the point. Even though I'm sure he's rather brilliant. At snogging, I mean. But once again, not the point.

                Oh, sodding hell, now I'm thinking about his snogging skills.

                This is not good.

                Not good at all.

                But this is also the one thing I am most desperately worried about...what if this _doesn't_ go away? This being the whole fancying thing, I mean, not simply my fascination with his snogging skills. What if it stays? What if, despite the fact that I am almost positive that it will, it _doesn't_ disappear? What if James has so tainted me with his drunken snogs that I refuse to let the whole thing go? What if this fancying is more than what I'm making it?

                I should know myself. I should be able to determine how much I fancy a bloke, but for some reason, I just don't know with James. I mean...it's not like _normal_ fancying. I've never fancied one of my mates before—have never really _had_ that many bloke mates in order to give me such an opportunity. Michael Davies—he was my last boyfriend, back in fourth-year—we weren't friends before we dated. In fact, we hardly even spoke. He was two years older than I was, so we were never really given the opportunity. I don't even know why he asked me out. But he did, and we went, and slowly I began fancying him. And then with Amos...well, it was one of those loving-from-afar situations, really. I mean, at least I spoke to him sometimes, in class and at prefect meetings and such, but I didn't really _know him_. Not like I know James. James is in a category all his own. 

                So how do I know where the line is drawn? How do I know where platonic feelings end and romantic feelings start? I mean, I obviously harbor some sort of romantic feelings for him or I wouldn't have been dreaming about him, or thinking about him inappropriately, and I _certainly_ wouldn't have been all right with the whole snogging thing, but... _ugh_.

                Ugh. Ugh. _UGH._

                Emotions suck.

**Problem #3) I have a date with Amos Diggory in one week's time...and I am fancying and snogging other blokes.**

Oh, Merlin, I hope Amos doesn't find out about any of this. 

                I would seriously _die_ if anyone were to tell him—if anyone even _saw_ , I mean. I don't know if anyone did. But that's not the point. Even if no one saw, even if no one tells him... I just feel so damned _guilty_ about the whole thing. Even though I didn't exactly _cheat_ on Amos or whatever—much to my dismay, we have no exclusive claims on each other—it's still not exactly all right to be going out on a date with one bloke and then snogging another. But it's really not my _fault._ I mean, it's not as if I can exactly _control_ these feelings. I did try. I tried so hard to ignore any sort of inkling that I fancied anyone but Amos, but...well...

                It doesn't matter. At least, I don't think it matters. I mean, me having a small crush on James Potter does not affect the supreme amount of love that I have for Amos. It doesn't take anything away from that. They are two very different levels of fancying. They _have_ to be. Amos...I've fancied Amos for _years_. I've fancied James for mere days, if even that! How can they possibly compare? They can't. They totally can't.

                But, you know...it's just...well...

                It sort of feels like my love for Amos is dwindling.

                And maybe it has nothing to do with James, maybe it has everything to do with him, I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just mad and my supreme befuddlement over the whole snogging thing last night is making me antsy and now I'm doubting my affections, but as off as I'd like to think James is with all that concerns Amos Diggory...I _did_ kind of find it funny when I lied to him. And I _did_ choose to waltz off with James after the match, even though Amos was clearly in need of some comfort. And despite the fact that the Most Brilliant Date Ever is set to take place in seven days...I'm not giddy. And maybe that's all right—I mean, would _anyone_ really be giddy after the night I've had?—but I just...I don't...

                Damn _._

                I don't know _what_ I feel any more. I still adore Amos—I _know_ , I do—but this whole James thing...it's not helping me right now. It's giving me a huge, unbearable headache, actually. And no matter how many times I tell myself it doesn't matter...

                Oh, bugger.

                It _does_ matter.

                It really, truly does.

**Problem #4) Logical Thinking is RUBBISH.**

I hate my life.

____________________________________

**Later Later, Gryffindor Common Room**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 167**

Disappointment, I've recently come to find, is an extremely complex emotion.

                One would think that one would realise when one would be disappointed about something. I mean, it's the sort of thing a person should _know_ , what will make them happy and what won't. But I've recently come to discover that disappointment is apparently a lot more complicated than that. Because even though you may _think_ you want something—are practically sure of it, are almost _praying_ for it...well, you could be wrong. You could be _really_ wrong. And before you know it, you're sitting there, watching what you thought you _wanted_ to happen, happen, and suddenly your stomach drops, your hands become clammy and your heart is beating in such a way that you _know_ you're not excited, though you really should be, but rather devastated in the most terrible and perplexing sort of way. 

                And _that_ , my friends, is disappointment.

                He doesn't remember.

                After everything—after all that worrying, all that planning, all that logical thinking—it doesn’t even matter.

                Because he doesn't sodding _remember_.

                And even though I should feel elated right now, should be jumping for joy and throwing parties and doing celebratory jigs up and down the corridors...I'm not. I'm not doing anything like that or anything even remotely close to that because for some insane reason that I can neither change nor understand...I'm disappointed.

                _WHAT THE BLEEDING HELL IS WRONG WITH ME???_

                I must have been outside for longer than I realised because the sun was already up and the castle was beginning to stir by the time I finally felt calm enough to go back inside and face the world. I can't say I was feeling one hundred percent confident about my present situation, but I was no longer hyperventilating or crying or contemplating drowning myself in the Great Lake, so I took all that as good signs and decided to proceed on. I had lulled myself into a false sense of security, you see, outside there by the lake. I thought that I had time before I had to confront the whole issue. What I hadn't realised, of course, was that as I was outside having my mini-mental-breakdown spurred to life by logical thinking, the rest of the world was pretty much going on as usual. No one cared to remind me of that fact. Which is why it came as a rather large shock when I made my way into the Great Hall—calm, collected and believing I was ready to get on with my life—only to find the normal early-risers up and about as usual, and another familiar voice calling out to me.

                "Lily! Hey, Lily!"

                My head whipped around at the sound of my name, rather startled to hear it as I was still digesting the fact that people were _up_ and _moving_ and _normal_. I saw Marley sitting at the Gryffindor table, waving her hands at me in some sort of semblance of beckoning that I'm assuming paired with her hollering of my name meant that she wanted me to come over. And while this in itself probably wouldn't have been a very big deal, it was somewhat hard to miss the fact that sitting right there across from her, his head lying rather haphazardly against his arms as he appeared to be sleeping on top of the table, sat James.

                Which, you know, _was_ a big deal, all things considered.

                It was also when the whole the-rest-of-the-world-is-still-living-as-you're-having-mental-breakdowns-obviously-you-idiot realisation came into play.

                Which, you know, also rather sucked.

                A lot.

                I don't really remember how I managed to get my feet to move from point A to point B (point A being in front of the Entrance Hall doors, away from James; point B being in front of the Gryffindor table, very close to James), but my feet must have somehow received the message that they should be moving, so they did, and so I was there, much to every other part of me's despair. 

                I didn't want to look at him—or rather, didn't want to look at the back of his head, which was all I could see because of his whole sleeping-on-the-table thing. I was wrong. I wasn't ready for him. I wasn't in the least bit self-actualized or prepared to talk to him or even _see_ him. I should still be outside under the tree, making lists and having nervous breakdowns. Why did I think I was ready to come back inside? WHY? Why did I think he wouldn't be here, right here where he always is every morning, just waiting for me? Why didn't I think of that? I shouldn't be here. I _shouldn't_. But even as the hysteria began to grow, I stupidly found myself sneaking glances at him anyway and inside, I began to panic.

                What was he going to do? What was _I_ going to do? He wasn't going to mention the whole thing in front of Marley, was he? This is between _us_. There is no need to get anyone else involved! And when you think about it, it's not exactly _breakfast_ conversation, either. I mean, he can't just be all, "So...snogged you last night, Lil. How about that? Oh, and can you pass the salt?" He just _can't_.

                Oh, Merlin, he'd totally do it.

                He'd totally do it, right between spoonfuls of eggs.

                Shit _._

                I tried to just stare at Marley, a clearly fake and overly bright smile pinned on my face, pretending that I was the Complete Paragon of Utter Normalcy and wasn't internally hyperventilating, even though my heart was beating very fast, my stomach was clenched in tight knots and a film-reel of James questioning me about my feelings between sips of pumpkin juice was playing in my head.

                Oh, yeah.

                Totally normal.

                Psh.

                "Hey," Marley greeted me, naturally very normal herself as she had no idea that there was a certain air of unresolved tension surrounding her. "Where were you? Outside?"

                It's hard to imagine that the back of someone's head could be considered extremely attractive and enticing, but I'm rather sure that most people haven't had the opportunity to look at the back of James Potter's head.

                I was lusting after the back of his head.

                Oh, _god._

                "Er...yeah," I answered slowly, trying to ignore my perverted thoughts about the back of the stupid bloke's head—his _head_ , for Merlin's sake! And I don't even _fancy_ the boy that much! "Outside. I went outside for a bit."

                Because I'm mad and stupid and slowly growing obsessed _with the back of people's heads!_

                I was still standing because I didn't think I could sit, seeing as the only place I _could_ sit had I chosen to do so would be right there next to James and _that_ clearly would be anything but beneficial to my sanity. I mean, unless I walked around the entire table so that I could sit next to Marley or something, but that would have been the exact opposite of my already failing CPUN plan. Not that he would have noticed, anyway. James, I mean. You know, seeing as he was still hiding his face in the table and everything, most presumably because he couldn't stand the sight of me, though he probably wasn't aware that during this aversion tactic, I would become enticed by the back of his head. But still.

                "Why on earth were you out there?" Marley asked quizzically, biting into a piece of toast and promptly pulling me from my mad thoughts. She flipped to the next page of the _Prophet_ and threw me a look. "It's freezing outside. You have a leaf in your hair, by the way."

                

                "Oh. Thanks." I rustled the leaf out of my hair, grateful for the momentary distraction. Inside my head, I kept telling myself to stop looking at him, but as these things tend to go, what my head wants and what my body does are two rather different things, so I was still sneaking looks at him as I finally boosted up enough courage to sit down. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. Loudly. I tried to ignore it. "What time is it?" I asked, my voice noticeably raspy.

                "Almost seven," Marley answered, looking at me a bit strangely (but then really, who could blame her?). "But what were you doing outside?" she asked again. "You never said."

                Logically thinking.

                Hyperventilating.

                Contemplating death by Giant Squid.

                "I couldn't sleep," I answered, which wasn't exactly a lie. I busied my restless hands by putting some waffles onto my empty plate, even though I wasn't particularly hungry. "And it's actually not really that cold. I mean, it's not warm or anything, but I didn't mind—"

                " _Ugh_...stop... _TALKING!_ "

                I dropped my fork in surprise at the sudden outburst. It clanked against my plate with a loud clatter and I'm not sure, but I think I heard James growl.

                Oh, _bugger_.

                "Ignore him," Marley said, and I very nearly laughed at _that_ suggestion. James made another less-than-happy sounding noise, still not lifting his head from the table, and Marley shot me a telling smirk. "Our mate here is a bit grouchy this morning," she said, smirking down at James now. "Had a bit too much fun last night, didn't you, capt'n?"

                Fun?

                She really had no idea.

                "Shut _up_ ," James grumbled very loudly, the snappish request considerably muffled seeing as he still refused to lift his head from the table. "I hate my life. I hate you _all_."

                Hated me? 

                Well, I should sincerely hope not. 

                I've just finally accepted the fact that he's decided to _fancy_ me, let's not go mad and change it all up _now_.

                Marley laughed at James's antics, but I couldn't find it in myself to join in. Because while Marley may have found this all the joking ramblings of a very hung-over bloke, James and I both know that there could be solid reasoning behind a decision of his to truly decide to hate _me_. Was this simply a humorous rant of a bloke with a giant headache, or the suddenly undiscovered truth after the disastrous events of last night?

                He didn't _really_ hate me...did he?

                Shit.

                Double bloody fucking _shit_.

                I was so immersed in my own thoughts of devastation over the realisation that this could very well be the truth—though why this should be so devastating, I don't know, because _I don't even fancy the boy that much!_ —that I didn't notice when James had finally decided to lift his head from the table until I heard him speak.

                "I'm so glad you find this amusing," he growled, glaring at Marley. Then he turned to me. His eyes were a bit red and his hair stuck up in the front where it had been plastered against his arm on the table and he hardly looked like the happy boy a bloke should be when he's just recently snogged the girl he fancies. And somehow, through all that, I still found myself thinking that he's rather good-looking. _Psh!_ "What about you?" he asked, a scowl on his face. "Don't you find my misery funny, as well?"

                My mouth fell open with the intent to say something, though I was so shocked and confused that he hadn't said anything about the snogging yet—what did _that_ mean?—that I wasn't exactly sure _what_ I would've said. But before I could figure it out, James's eyes suddenly opened wide and he groaned loudly. "Oh, Merlin," he cried, looking at me with poorly hidden horror. "You're not going to _yell_ at me, are you?"

                Er...for snogging me?

                Um, no.

                I hadn't planned on it.

                "What?" I choked out. James groaned again.

                "I'm sorry," he moaned, dropping his head back down onto the table. "I'm _sorry_. I'm a shit Head Boy, all right? I get it. I promised no drunken fools and then _I_ was the drunken fool. I have no control over my mates or myself and now I _feel_ like shit— _am_ shit. Please, just don't _yell_."

                Oh, brother.

                The only thing that's shit as far as _I_ can tell is his damned memory!

                What's going _on_?

                "I wasn't going to yell at you," I answered softly, more out of confusion than out of respect for James and his hangover. My heart was suddenly beating frantically against my chest. "I didn't...I mean, last night you—"

                James quickly lifted his head. "I didn't do anything stupid, did I?" he asked desperately, his face looking rather miserable. "Sirius says I sang. I don't remember singing, but then again, I don't remember much of anything. But I also don't remember Sirius ever telling the truth, so... _please_ tell me I didn't make a complete arse of myself."

                My thumping heart suddenly stopped.

                Oh. My. God.

                OH MY GOD.

                "You...you don't remember?" I whispered. "Anything? About last night?"

                "Blurs," James murmured. "I remember wisps of colourful blurs."

                Bloody fucking _hell_.

                He doesn't remember.

                HE DOESN'T REMEMBER.

                I was stunned. I shouldn't have been—I had known this was a possibility all along—but even when I knew it could happen, I never really _considered_ it. I mean...we _kissed_. He _kissed_ me. Not a chaste, simple, short kiss, either, but a long, full-blown (if a bit drunken) _snog_. How could he just _forget_ about that? Especially considering the bloke is supposed to _fancy_ me! The first time you snog the girl you fancy, you're supposed to remember it! _More_ than remember it, really! You're supposed to _savour_ it! You're supposed to think about it constantly and replay it second after wonderful second in your head as you struggle to fall asleep that night just like...

                Well...just...just like I had.

                But that's not the point.

                The point is, you're not supposed to _forget_ it.

                How could he have forgotten it?

                And that's when I realised it:

                I was disappointed.

                "Lily?"

                But how? How in the world could I be _disappointed_ about this? Wasn't this exactly what I wanted? I mean, if James _had_ remembered, what would that have meant for me?

                Disaster. It would have meant _disaster_.

                _I_ could forget about it now. I could go on with my life, pretend this whole thing never happened, love/date/marry Amos Diggory exactly as I've always planned and just wait for this whole small, insignificant crush on James Potter to take its course and disappear.

                Wasn't that _exactly_ what I wanted?

                "Lily?"

                Of course, it was what I wanted.

                It _was_.

                Was...but apparently isn't any more?

                _Shit_.

                " _Lily!_ "

                I jumped, my head swinging over to James.

                He looked positively horrified.

                "What the hell did I _do_?" he whispered.

                Oh, _Merlin_.

                "Nothing!" I answered quickly, but my voice sounded strained, even to my own ears. I felt like a balloon was slowly inflating inside of my chest. "You didn't do anything! I was...lost in my own thoughts. Sorry. You didn't sing—or at least, as far as I know. You didn't do anything—well, I mean, you did sort of break a table, but other than that..." I trailed off, trying to swallow down the panic that was rising up inside of me. "You didn't do anything."

                Except forget.

                James looked relieved, but also suspicious. "You're sure?" he asked again.

                I nodded immediately. "Positive."

                "Are you okay, Lily?" This came from Marley, who had sat silently all of this time, but finally decided to speak up. My eyes flashed over to hers. "You're looking a bit pale. You're not going to faint, are you?"

                "What? No. No, of course I'm not going to faint."

                But I needed to get out of there.

                "Actually," I said, rising quickly to my feet, "I'm not really that hungry. And I didn't sleep much last night. Perhaps that's why...yes, well, I'd best get upstairs. I'll see you both later, yeah? Yeah. All right. Bye."

                Then I dashed out of there as fast as my feet could carry me.

                

Observation #166) I must be the bloody stupidest, maddest, most _idiotic_ woman ever to grace this earth.

Observation #167) What happened to the Guam plan?

____________________________________

**Even Later, Library**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 169**

Observation #168) When you're feeling rather like rubbish because you've managed to blotch up your entire life with your uncontrollable, inexplicable emotions and you don't understand why you can't just feel things that make sense, it's probably a good idea to just go and do your homework, because, really, things can't possibly get any _worse,_ can they?

Observation #169) When you're using homework as an excuse and the library as an escape because you don't want to go up to your room and face your best mates who are sure to see immediately that you are astoundingly devastated and you really don't want to tell them why, you've really reached a new level of pathetic.

                Bah, humbug.

                I hate my life.

____________________________________

**Even Even Later, Library**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 169**

                

                Sometimes I wish I were more like Madam Pince.

                Seriously. I mean, when you sit down and think about it, the woman really has zero problems— _less_ than zero problems. She's practically in the negatives! I mean, yeah, I suppose she isn't exactly the _friendliest_ of women, and she does screech and holler more than any one person really ought to (probably due to the extreme amount of pent-up sexual frustration that, as a bitter French librarian, she is unable to get out), but that's really okay with me because she and I aren't actually all the different there. I'm also not the friendliest of women, after all, and Merlin knows that I've done my fair share of screeching and hollering.

                It's in the really important areas that Madam Pince and I differ, you see. Like, take for example, the fact that Madam Pince would never have any sort of bloke trouble. This is probably because a bloke would have to be mad to snog her, on account of the whole bitter French librarian thing. Before, I probably would have felt a bit bad about this, would have even pitied poor Madam Pince for being so surly and therefore so sexually frustrated, but now I'm thinking that she has the right idea. I mean, I presently have _two_ blokes with a decent amount of affection for me, and look where that's gotten me—hiding inside the library, comparing myself to the librarian. What does _that_ tell you, hm?

                The other thing is, had Madam Pince ever found herself in my situation, I truly don't think she would be as damned confused as I am. She would _know_ how much she fancied James, why she wasn't excited about Amos, what would disappoint her and why etc. etc. She wouldn't be forced to sit in the library, pretending to do her homework while really contemplating all of this, because she wouldn't _need_ to. If she suddenly discovered James did not remember snogging her the night before, she would not lie and say nothing happened. Instead, Madam Pince would have sat right there at that table, went, "You snogged me, you stupid prat!" in much the same tone she uses when she tells me, "This is a library!" and would then have marched off to leave him with _that_ to think about.

                She is very clever and witty like that.

                Moreover, Madam Pince, had she ever got herself in my situation (which, by the way, I truly think she never would have, because she is far too intelligent for that), wouldn't need to hide out from her mates in the library, either. This may be because she doesn't _have_ any mates, but I like to think that even if she had a gaggle of best mates at her disposal, she'd _still_ go out there and face them and wouldn't allow them to have any idea that she had just received the most distressing news. This may be because Madam Pince's face has a permanent scowl on it and a decisively pinched look, so her mates couldn't possibly know the difference, but I like to think that she is simply a very good actress, something I certainly am not. When I am upset, you see it. Such is not the case with Madam Pince.

                She's really got it all, that mad librarian.

                Everything a woman could ever want.

                And even if—

                Oh, _bugger_.

                I've been found.

____________________________________

**Still Later, Still in the Library**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 170**

This is a library. You cannot talk in a library. -LE

                **We're not talking. We're writing notes. -GR**

I'm very very busy. Can you not see how extremely busy I am?

                _You are not. You haven't written a thing. -EV_

I was getting to it.

                **You don't look too good.**

Why, thank you, Gracie. How very nice of you to point out.

                _Are you all right, Lil?_

**She's going to say she is, even though she's clearly not.**

Actually, for your information, I was going to say that I am not all right, that I am in fact feeling quite devastated and upset and angry and bothered etc. etc. AND IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT.

                **Her fault or my fault?**

BOTH of you.

                _What did we do?_

You ruined my life.

                **Sorry.**

You are not forgiven.

**Would this per chance have anything to do with last night? And James?**

How do you know about that?!

                **Emma told me.**

Emma! I told you not to tell!

                _Sorry, but I was worried! You were hysterical! I couldn't keep it to myself! Besides, I don't really even know what happened. All I said was that something happened between the two of you last night and you were very upset about it._

You forgot the part where I realised James still fancies me AND YOU KNEW ALL ALONG AND NEGLECTED TO MENTION IT TO ME.

                _Oh, right. I told her about that, as well._

AND?

_And what?_

                What do you mean, 'and what'?? YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!

                **Of course we didn't tell you. James made us promise. Besides, no offense, Lil, but it isn't as if it was a very well kept secret. The boy's been asking you out since fifth-year. What did you think that meant?**

I THOUGHT HE WAS KIDDING!!

                **He wasn't**.

                Oh, thanks. NOW you tell me.

                _You know we couldn't tell you, Lily. Now, what happened? Why are you so upset?_

I don't want to talk about it.

                **Yes, you do. You're practically bursting at the seams. It's written all over your face.**

I've had a very difficult night and an even worse morning.

                _What happened this morning?_

                He forgot.

                **Who?**

James.

                _Forgot what?_

                Kissing me.

                **Holy shit.**

                Yeah.

                _He kissed you?_

                Last night. And then he forgot about it.

                **You seem very hung up on that fact, Lil.**

I'm disappointed.

                _Disappointed?_

Yes.

                **Lily...you don't...?**

Yes, I do.

                _Oh, Merlin, Lily!_

                **Prefect’s lavatory. Now.**

____________________________________

**Later Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 170**

"I know it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind and everything, but honestly, Lily, do you have to do it so bloody _often_?"

                Despite my every attempt to remain as I was (I was about ready to perform a nice Sticking Charm on my bum, but Grace started making a big commotion and my new role model—really, how _could_ she?— kicked us out, so I was left with little choice in the matter), I soon found myself being dragged up to the fifth floor against my will. We were sitting in the prefect's lavatory (not, I'm quite happy to report, in the bathtub as on previous occasions, for Em and I quite quickly snubbed that idea in the bud upon entrance, but on the big, comfortable couch across from the showers where all intelligent lavatory conversations really should take place) when Grace said this, throwing me a look. I would have glared at her, but I didn't think I really had the energy and/or the incentive and/or the right to do such a thing when she was clearly so very right.

                I am pathetic. Madly, horribly, indecisively pathetic.

                "I'm _sorry_ ," I muttered miserably, sounding as pathetic as I am. "I don't know how it happened. I tried to stop it, but—"

                Grace made a scoffing sound. "Don't be _sorry_ ," she interrupted, pulling a face. "I didn't mean I wasn't _glad_ this happened. All I'm saying is that it would have been better if you had decided to change your mind three weeks ago when I _thought_ you had so I wouldn't have made such an arse of myself."

                Glad this happened?

                GLAD THIS HAPPENED?!

                This time, I did have the energy/incentive/right to glare. And I did so, quite ferociously.

                "What do you mean, you're 'glad this happened'?" I exploded, glowering darkly. "Don't you realise what this means? Do you have any idea? I've waited _years_ for Amos Diggory to notice me, and now when he finally has, I go off and snog another bloke!"

                Because I am clearly a sick, sick masochistic sort of girl.

                "Wait, _you_ snogged _him_?" Emma asked, her eyes buggering out. "I thought he... _you_ snogged _him?_ "

                I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled again, growing quite fed up with the lot of them. "No," I answered crossly. " _He_ snogged _me_. But I didn't exactly put up any sort of fight, which is just as bad when you think about it."

                "Well, why didn't you?" Grace inquired, not looking the least bit sympathetic, but actually quite anxiously excited. "Because you wanted him to snog you?"

                My first impulsive response was to instantly answer no (after, of course, the impulse to give Gracie a good wallop for not being more appropriately devastated), but I stopped myself and realised that that simply was what that response was—an impulse. Not the truth. And while lying to myself and to others tends to rather be my thing, for once in my very sad life, I wanted to try out a bit of honesty. _Had_ I wanted James to snog me? At the time I didn't think I had, but I suppose...

                Yes.

                Yes, I think I had.

                I buried my face in my hands and groaned. "I don't know what I want." 

                And even though I already _knew_ this, it really sounded all that more wretched when spoken aloud. 

                I felt a comforting hand fall down on my shoulder as Emma implored softly, "Tell us what happened. We can figure out what you want together."

                Psh.

                Yeah, _all right_.

                So even though I was relatively certain that if _I_ couldn't figure out what I wanted, the two of them certainly weren't going to be any sort of grand help, I did as Emma asked and told them all about last night and about this morning, if only for my own sanity. It felt good letting it all out, albeit a bit painful to relive, and to their credit, neither one of them made any sort of inappropriate remarks or sounds, just let me go on and on in all my resounding pathetic glory. I could have probably rattled on and on for hours about the travesty of it all, but I kept it simple and to the point, tiring quickly of the retelling.

                "And so here I am," I finished off, looking at the both of them with a bit of a helpless shrug after rushing through my and James's brief conversation this morning. "I know it's stupid and I know that I probably should have realised he fancied me ages ago, but I didn't, and now that he's gone and _forgotten_ that he's told me—"

                "Well, he didn't exactly _tell_ you," Grace pointed out. "I mean, he just snogged you."

                "Still," I said. "That's practically an admittance right there. No one drunk-snogs like that. I mean, he _snogged_ me, snogged me."

                "We know," Emma laughed. "You've told us."

                "Don't say it like that," I sniffed, shooting her a look.

                "Like what?"

                "Like...like that oh-you-fancy-him-so-much tone. I _don't_ fancy him so much. Only a little," I insisted testily because I _don't_. I crossed my arms over my chest and let out a small huff. "And even if I _did_ it wouldn't matter because he's forgotten that he's snogged me!"

                "You could always remind him," Grace suggested with a shrug. Then she shot me a wicked grin. "I'm relatively certain that he wouldn't mind in the least."

                "Stop it."

                " _You_ stop it."

                "I'm not doing anything!"

                "You're in denial!" Grace cried, throwing up her hands. She threw me one of those listen-up-sister-because-I'm-only-going-to-say-this-once looks. "Lily," she said, grabbing one of my hands. "I love you to bits and pieces, but you are absolutely _oblivious_ sometimes! You _fancy_ James—No!" she said, cutting me off when I went to interrupt. "You _fancy_ him. And from what I can tell, you fancy him quite a bit. Why do you keep saying you don't?"

                "I didn't say I _don't_ ," I shot back, throwing her a glare. "I'm just saying that it's only _a little_ —which it is! I fancy _Amos_ , Gracie! You know that! I know that! Half of bleeding _Hogwarts_ knows it!"

                "Then why do you sound like you're trying to convince yourself of it?"

                "I'm _not!_ "

                But I was.

                So clearly, obviously was.

                "Don't yell at her, Grace," Emma said, suddenly looking very tired. She grabbed the hand that Grace had recently let go of in her frustration and looked at me very seriously. "You don't have to tell James anything if you don't want to," she said.

                "I'm not going to," I insisted stubbornly, shooting a look at Grace. She rolled her eyes at me. I glared.

                " _But_ ," Emma said emphatically, moving my attention away from Grace who had very maturely moved onto sticking her tongue out at me, and back towards her, "I would seriously consider this whole Amos-James thing. I know you like Amos, Lily—I _know_...but is it possible that you might like James just as much? Even though you've only just discovered you fancy him?"

                Yes.

                "No," I lied first. Then, bashfully at Emma's exasperated look, "Fine. _Maybe_."

                It's total rubbish having mates that know you so well.

                "Go on your date," Emma advised further. "See where this thing with Amos goes if you really want. But the thing is..."

                "James isn't going to wait forever," Grace cut in, finally sounding more sympathetic than frustrated like a proper mate. "I mean, I know it may _seem_ like he might because Merlin knows the prat's held on for this long, but I think he's at the end of his string. At least, that's what it sounded like to me."

                "He said something to you?" I asked, surprised. "About me?"

                "He talks about you a lot," Grace answered with a grin.

                I shouldn't have taken pleasure out of that—the fact that he talks about me a lot to Grace or to anyone or at all—but a small rush of something went off in my stomach when she said that and even as I tried to ignore it, it grew.

                _Damn_ it.

                "What...did he say?" I forced out, not sure if it was exactly in my best mental interest to hear whatever it was James had to say about me, but not being able to stop myself from asking. Grace hesitated before answering.

                "Just...some things," she started slowly. "The day after you said yes to Amos...and after." 

                "What things?" I prodded. "And when?"

                Grace looked uncomfortable. "I can't...I'm James's mate, as well, Lil, you know?" She winced slightly. "I mean, you don't want me going and telling _him_ everything _you_ say, right? Goes both ways. Sorry."

                Oh, rubbish.

                "No...I understand," I answered, but I didn't and I _really_ wanted to know what in the world it was James Potter had said about me. But even as I told myself not to pry any further, I couldn't stop myself from asking, somewhat pathetically, "Do you really think he's giving up on me?"

                Grace shrugged in response, which wasn't the least bit comforting. "I thought he might be," she answered, shrugging again. "But then again, he said he was going to in fifth year as well, and look at how well _that_ turned out."

                Hm.

                Very true.

                "And he _did_ snog you, even if he was drunk and doesn't remember it," Emma put in reasonably, giving me a supportive nod. "That has to say something."

                "Yeah," I muttered. "I suppose."

                But I couldn't help but feel somehow cheated.

                He was going to give up on me? _Now_? When I've just suddenly realised that I fancy him a bit? He wasn't even going to give us a chance? But I suppose that isn't fair—after all, it isn't _him_ who is the obstacle in this relationship. I’m the one still in love with Amos Diggory. I’m the one refusing to remind him that he snogged me. I’m the one who isn't sure of the depth of her feelings.

                _I_ am the obstacle.

                But do I _want_ to be the obstacle? Do I truly care that James is thinking about giving up on me? It would solve many of my problems, that's for sure. I could go on my date with Amos on Saturday, and then another, and then another, and never again have to worry about hurting someone else. Things could go on as they were before, with James and I being the very good mates we've always been. Life would go on as normal. As things always were. As they _should_ be.

                ...or should they?

                "I think this is the part when you both tell me what I want," I muttered to Grace and Emma, looking up at them with a helpless sigh. Grace snorted. Emma simply shook her head.

                "Wish we could, Lil," she replied, giving me a bit of a smile. "But only _you_ know what you want."

                Um, no, actually.

                I have no _idea_ what I want.

                "I could give you a hug," Grace offered instead. "Will that make you feel better?"

                And even though it wasn't the answer to my problems, I agreed, because sometimes a hug from your best mate can be just as good as the answers to life's toughest questions, if only for a moment.

                _Shit._

____________________________________

**Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 171**

I don't think I shall ever leave this room.

                No one can make me. No one.

                I do have work to do, you know.

                Lots and lots of work.

                Am going to do work now.

                I mean it.

                Am not thinking about personal problems.

                Work, work, work.

____________________________________

**Later Later Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 171**

                **Homework to Do:**

1) Potions — essay on Truth Serums, their properties and uses.

                2) History — questions on the Goblin Rebellions of 843

                3) Transfiguration — copy from Grace

                4) Charms — questions on wandwork and side effects of Memory Charms

                5) Divination —...I really should care that he's giving up on me. I mean, if he even is. He snogged me. What does that say, eh? That says he hasn't given up yet. Even if he _was_ drunk. But even if he _has_ decided to give up on me, I don't care, because I have Amos.

____________________________________

**Very Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 27**

**Total Observations: 171**

_1) Discuss the preceding causes of the Goblin Rebellion of 843._

The Goblin Rebellion of 843 really began in 839, when Frenlin the Great, the Goblins' unofficial leader of the time, was found dead near the old town of Brichley where he had gone to meet with a few business associates. Foul play with wizards was suspected for the death appeared anything but accidental. A large uproar followed. But more so than even death, a bigger uproar could be made over something else—snogging. Yes, snogging can cause large uproars. Especially when you're not expecting the snog. I mean, people really should NOT be allowed to just come up to other people, tell them to 'c'mere' in their stupid drunken voices and then just SNOG them without their consent because there are CONSEQUENCES to things like that. Big consequences. And they're not always good. Because there is CONFUSION that follows things like that. Because now, how the hell am I supposed to know who I fancy? How the hell am I supposed to know? And just—

                Oh, shit.

                Bugger this. 

                Just _bugger_ it _all_.

                I'm going to sleep.

                I'm fed up with life. 

____________________________________

**Monday, October 13th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 172**

                Am very very late.

                Is now 9:17. Charms began at 9.

                Reminder to kill all who didn't wake me up.

                Reminder to kill _self_ for oversleeping.

                No time to kill. Must be off.

                Ahhhhhh!

____________________________________

**Later, Charms**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 172**

                Have I ever mentioned before how much I _adore_ Professor Flitwick?

                I'm not even talking about the whole yes-we-are-all-Charms-anoraks-and-we-must-come-together-in-bliss, even though that is very true and Flitwick and I are forever interconnected in the world of Charms enthusiasts. He's just a lovely, _lovely_ man. An absolutely perfect, wonderful, life-saving little man. Seriously. Like, if my own life is ever in danger and the Beings from Above tell me I have to choose one person to try to save me, I'm going to pick Flitwick. I really am. There won't even be any hesitation. I mean, yes, I may _consider_ Grace or Emma, but when it comes down to it, I'm going to choose Flitwick. I'll be all, "Beings from Above, get me Filius Flitwick, please," because he is _that_ wonderful.

                Thank _Merlin_ I had Charms first this morning. I don't even want to think what might have happened if I'd had another class first. Abbott probably would've murdered me, McGonagall probably would've kicked me out of class (and I _need_ every second of that class), Crandy would have probably laughed, then sent a hex my way, and Freeman...well, she probably would've read my tealeaves or whatever, but _still_. Flitwick couldn't have cared a whit that I was late! Honestly! The little, adorable man simply looked up, went, "Ah, Lily. Go on, take a seat," as if I _hadn't_ just barged in twenty minutes late to class, looking like I'd recently got run over by a herd of rampant hippogriffs, and went on with his lecture on advanced Memory Charms (which we both know _I_ know already, anyway).

                I think I am in love.

                I should just start dating Flitwick. That would solve many of my problems, wouldn't it?

                Yes, I think I shall do that.

____________________________________

**Still Later, Still in Charms**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 172**

                _Where on earth were you? -EV_

I was still SLEEPING because CERTAIN PEOPLE didn't see it fit to WAKE ME UP this morning! -LE

                **You were still in the dormitory? Really? -GR**

No, I simply DECIDED to show up to class twenty minutes late in Friday's dirty, wrinkled uniform with my hair in disarray and my teeth not brushed and my feet aching from my FORTY KILOMETER RUN FROM GRYFFINDOR TOWER!!

                _Er...sorry._

                **You wore that Friday? Ew, Lil.**

I just may kill you, Gracie.

                **I believe you, you dirty, dirty girl.**

I HATE YOU.

                _Calm down, Lily. You don't look that terrible. A bit disoriented, yes, but that's all right._

All right for you, maybe. I think I smell. Do I smell?

                **No more than usual.**

                At least that's something, then.

                **Unless I were to tell you that you do usually carry a certain repugnant scent.**

What?

                _I don't think this is the morning to tease her, Gracie. Not only does she have to deal with waking up late, but she also has to go face James and Amos._

Oh, fuck.

                **Ha. You look like you're about to vomit, Lily.**

You are the worst mate ever.

                **Love you.**

                I want to die.

                _You're so dramatic, Lil._

I WANT TO DIE.

                **Huzzah!**

                

____________________________________

**Later Later, History of Magic**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 174**

You know that saying, 'things can only go up from here'? Like when people insinuate that because your life has presently reached the lowest of the low, things can only get better, because there _is_ no worse? 

                Well, when you've woken up late, showed up to class twenty minutes after it's begun, are wearing Friday's dirty laundry (because naturally in your haste to get to said class, you grabbed the first uniform you saw, which just so happened to be the one you'd accidentally kicked under your bed on Friday) and haven't yet brushed your teeth or hair or in fact bathed your person, one would truly think that that constitutes as that point, wouldn't they? You know, the one from which things can only go up.

                Why am I always _wrong_?

                I had brilliantly planned to bolt out of the classroom as soon as the bell that ended Charms rang, determined to rush off to the girl's loo in order to try to fix myself up into some semblance of presentability in the small amount of time I had before I had to be in History. Grace and Emma, once they had been properly forgiven for being prats, insisted on coming, but I told them not to bother. After all, it was worthless for _all_ of us to be late when I was the only one who really needed to go. So sitting there in Charms, dirty and miserable but still hopeful that things would begin to look up—because, after all, they couldn't very well go _down_ —I anxiously awaited the telltale ringing.

                "There's a loo near the Trophy Room, isn't there?" I muttered quietly, impatiently moving my feet in anticipation for my mad dash. Grace shrugged in response

                "Is there?" she asked, pondering it. "I dunno. Never been down that way, really. Of course, if you're really desperate, you could always go to Myrtle's loo..."

                "I'm not that desperate.”

                Emma rolled her eyes. "Check down by the Trophy Room first. If one's not there, dash down to the first floor loo near the Defense room. It's practically on the opposite side of the castle from History, but it's your best shot if there isn't one up here."

                I nodded, routing a plan in my head. "Yeah," I said, still mentally tracing my steps. "Yes, that sounds good." My feet continued moving silently faster and faster against the floor. "Why isn't this bell ringing?" I muttered. "What the bloody hell is wrong? Why can't it—"

                It rang.

                And, quite expectantly, I was off.

                ...or I _meant_ to be, anyway.

                But as it turns out, while _I_ may have been ready to be off and out of the classroom as quickly as my feet could carry me, the rest of the class...yeah, not so much.

                Buggering _hell_.

                I'd never seen a group of kids move more _slowly_ in my entire seventeen years of living. It was like The Tortoise and the Hare, and they were all tortoises and I was the hare, except I _couldn't_ go super fast and then take a nap and lose the race because the goddamn _tortoises_ were in the _bloody way_! I tried to push and I tried to shove, but it was as if pushing a solid wall for all the budging that group of insolent morons was doing. I was about two seconds away from resorting to shouting 'FIRE!' to get their bloody arses moving when I was suddenly grasped by the arm and pulled out the fray of slow moving bodies by an unidentified source behind me.

                And just who do you think was standing there, grinning like a child on Christmas and holding onto my forearm with a rather firm grip?

                Yeah.

                'Things can only go up from here', my arse.

                Psh.

                "What the _hell_ are you doing, Infallible?"

                He was looking at me as if I'd gone absolutely mad, which, given the circumstances, I rather think I had. He stood there with his mates, looking nice and perfect and male and attractive with an even better front-of-the-head than back-of-the-head and just looking at him—him with his messy but _perfect_ hair and his brushed teeth and his attractively unkempt yet _clean_ uniform—and then _me_ —me with my bird's nest hair and my bad breath and slowly rotting teeth and my dirty clothes...

                I wanted to die.

                I really, truly wanted to die.

                And even worse than my complete lack of cleanliness and order was the fact that even though it had been over twenty-four hours since that blasted snogging scene, I _still_ felt myself seeing red at the mere sight of him. I could feel my face grow hot as I looked up at him and all I could think about was the pair of us in that stairwell and his body against mine and his lips on mine and...just...very, very embarrassing stuff. 

                Not good for the mental stability.

                Or the hormones.

                No, definitely not for the hormones.

                But instead of growing humiliated and running for the nearest window so I could promptly toss myself out of it because I look like rubbish and smell like rubbish, am obviously not a rememberable snogger and was just spotted trying to plow my way through a crowd...well, I focused on another emotion.

                Because I hadn't forgotten that _he'd_ forgotten that snogging scene, after all.

                And apparently, I am still very very upset about that.

                Apparently.

                Oh, _god_.

                "Let go of me _right now_!" I snapped, not giving him much of a choice in the matter as I wretched my arm out of his grip. James took a step back, his eyes opening wide. He couldn't possibly understand that any part of his body touching any part of my body brought back things that I _really_ didn't want to be thinking of. "I need," I said through clenched teeth, pointing through the throngs of people still taking their time getting out the door, "to get _out there_."

                "Lily's having a bit of a bad morning," Emma said quietly, coming up beside me and shooting me a quick look before turning back to James and his mates.

                Sirius let out a loud snort, giving me the once-over. "No kidding?"

                I would have punched him, but I couldn't reach.

                "Whoah, there!" James said, placing his hand back on my arm, perhaps in restraint as I visibly considered plunging the nearest object into Sirius Black's neck. James looked down at me with his little side-grin and even though I was still very very angry at him for forgetting about snogging me, I was even more upset about my present state of dirtiness. I wilted in humiliation and desperation under his amused gaze.

                It was really rather pathetic.

                "I'm so dirty," I whined miserably, choosing to pout instead of yell. "I just want to brush my teeth and fix my hair. Is that really so much to ask?"

                "Not at all," James conceded, still grinning wirily. He lifted his eyebrows. "But did you honestly think that knocking the entire class down was the way to accomplish such a thing?"

                Psh.

                _Yes._

                "They were in my way," I muttered.

                "I'm sure they are all very sorry about that."

                "Not sorry enough to _move_ , apparently."

                "Well, they've all left now," James pointed out, motioning towards the now relatively empty doorway. I didn't have to be told twice. I did a mental cheer and ran.

                "Merlin, _finally_!" I dashed out the door, now more because I just wanted to get away from James than because I wanted to be off to the loo. I didn't like being near him. And maybe perhaps that's a bit strange considering I'm supposed to fancy the bloke and everything, but I didn't like the way I felt around him. It was too new, too odd. And now that I knew he fancied _me_...everything was different. It was different and I didn't like it.

                Have I ever mentioned how much I don't like change?

                "You're not going to make it all the way to Gryffindor Tower and back before History starts," I heard from behind me as I dashed down the corridor. I turned, only to find James trailing along beside me. I looked back further to see if I could spot Grace and Emma because I _really_ didn't want to be left alone with him, but they along with the rest of the Marauders had turned the other way towards the staircases.

                Bloody traitors.

                And just what the bloody hell was James doing over here, anyway?

                "I'm not going to Gryffindor Tower," I said, deliberately taking a step to my left, putting some space between the pair of us. I increased my brisk-walk to a brisker-near-run, but he kept up with graceful ease. "I'm just going to the loo."

                "You probably won't make it there, either," he said with a grin. "You'll be late for class."

                "I don't care," I told him, wishing he would just go away. What, did I really have to _run_ _away_ from him? "Besides, it's rather getting to be my thing this morning." Why was he there? Why wasn't he leaving? "Don't you have to get to class, as well?" I asked, not-so-subtly.

                James shrugged, obviously not getting it. Then he grabbed my hand, bringing me to a halt. "C'mere," he said.

                I froze.

                _C'mere_.

                C'MERE.

                Suddenly I was right back there on the stairs, being tugged against him, listening to his drunken orders and then snogging him as if I'd been born to do it.

                Oh, Merlin.

                OhMerlinOhMerlinOhMerlinOhMerlin.

                "Lily?"

                "What?" I rasped out, my eyes darting up to his, then away when I couldn't stand the questioning look I saw there. My heart was beating frantically in my chest and I could feel the impending heart attack coming on. He was still gripping my hand, though it lay limply in his. My eyes focused in on that, then the floor.

                "What's the matter with you?" he asked, tugging on the hand he held, bringing me closer to him. My breath caught in my throat. He paused and I could practically hear his eyebrows furrowing. "Why won't you look at me?"

                "I think I'm having a nervous breakdown," I muttered quietly, finally looking up at him. Our faces were close. Not snogging-close, but close enough. Still, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. His face was unreadable. "I'm having a nervous breakdown," I stupidly said again.

                James gave me a questioning smirk. "Nervous breakdown?" he asked, scratching idly at the back of his head with the hand that wasn't holding mine. "Any particular reason why?"

                "Yes."

                "Would you like to talk about it?"

                "No."

                James's eyebrows darted up. "Really?" he said.

                Really.

                Unless he’d like to hear about how much I hate/love him.

                “I’m having a nervous breakdown,” was my response instead. James began to look torn between laughing and worrying. I didn’t appreciate that. “I need to get to a loo,” I said finally, wishing I could just shut myself up. “I’m so dirty. I haven’t brushed my teeth. And I wore this Friday. Did you know that?”

                MouthShutUpMouthShutUpMOUTHSHUTUP!!!

                “You really are having a nervous breakdown, aren’t you?” James laughed, shaking his head at me. I didn’t find the idea even mildly amusing.

                “It’s terrible being me,” I muttered, shooting him a good glare. “You don’t know. You don’t get it. I need to get to a loo. I’m going to be late for History. Shit. Buggering fucking _shit_. Fuck—”

                “Calm _down_ , Lily!” He was laughing in earnest now, giving me that you-really- _should-_ be-suited-for-a-straitjacket-yeah? look. “You’re absolutely mad, did you know that?” My hand was still in his and he began to tug me down the corridor. “Let’s go,” he said. “I can get you to a loo. Quickly.”

                “No, you can’t,” I told him, not only because I certainly did not want to go waltzing off anywhere with him in my fragile mental state, but because he clearly _couldn’t_ get me where I needed to go, considering I needed a girl’s loo and he is a boy. I mean, obviously. “I need a girl’s loo, James. How should you know where those are? And you are only slowing me down right now. You should get to class before you’re late, as well.”

                “Will you be quiet for a second?” he muttered, throwing me a look and completely ignoring my not-so-subtle hint that he should leave. “I’m trying to think. Now where the hell—ah! Right.”

                Then he tugged me straight into a wall.

                Yeah.

                _Straight into a wall_.

                Well, okay, he sort of technically tugged me straight _through_ the wall, but I _didn't know_ that was going to happen.

                He's going to kill me one of these days.

                I just know it.

                “What…was…did we just go through a _wall_?” I sputtered, staring at the seemingly concrete wall behind us that we had somehow just appeared from. I turned to James in disbelief. He simply grinned like the madman he is.

                

                “Jeez, Infallible, you’re with a _master_ here,” he gloated, smirking smugly. He tugged on my hand, pulling me closer. “Did I not tell you that I would get you to a loo quickly? Would I lie to you?”

                I _know_ you did.

                Or does the phrase, 'I could _actually_ be dating you', not ring a bell?

                

                Psh.

                “Yes, I think you would.”

                “That hurts, Lil.”

                “You just dragged me through a _wall_ , James.”

                “Maybe so,” he grinned, “but I never said I wouldn’t do that, so I never lied, did I?”

                He’s so _frustrating_.

                “Where does this thing even go?” I bristled, glancing down the dimly lit corridor that I had just been dragged into—had been _dragged through a wall_ to get to, for Merlin's sake! What in the bloody hell does this boy do in his spare time? “And where exactly is this loo that you’re going to get me to very quickly?”

                “It goes straight down to the first floor,” James answered, already leading me down the corridor. “Off by the Defense classroom. And if I'm not terribly mistaken, I believe there is a girl's loo just by there."

                "Do I even want to _know_ why you'd know that?"

                James grinned. "Let's just say that I had an unfortunate run-in with Filch once. The rest I'd rather not indulge."

                He's such a twit, sometimes.

                A resourceful twit, though.

                "We don't have to go through any more walls, do we?" I asked as James continued to lead the way through the corridor. It was chiller in there than in the normal corridors. It was almost like the dungeons, except it clearly wasn't. James shook his head at my question.

                "No more walls," he answered. Then he threw me a wicked grin. "But we _do_ get to pop out from behind a tapestry. Good stuff, no?"

                I rolled my eyes. "Oh, yes. _Brilliant_."

                So off we went together, through the drafty, sketchy corridor that I was relatively sure was used once every three-thousand years and was also relatively sure that only James and his mates (and now me, of course) knew existed. And even though I was alone with him and he held my hand the entire time (giving up me, eh? I should think not!), I didn't go as mental as perhaps I could have when I had a mission to focus on instead of James. And even though I did stare at the back of his head a few times, that's all right, because sometimes, a girl just has to indulge herself.

                And it's not as if he could _see_ me doing it, anyway.

                Psh.

                "This is the longest corridor I've ever seen," I muttered after we had been walking for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute or so. Time seems to stand still when you are trying not to focus on the hand in yours and the back-of-the-head in front of you and the way you still probably smell something atrocious. James glanced back at me and rolled his eyes.

                "You're the least grateful bird I've ever met, Infallible," he said, throwing me a look. "Besides, it's just up ahead." He threw me a mischievous grin I knew rather well. "Ready to scare a few first-years as we jump out of a tapestry?"

                Oh, brother.

                He's like a bloody seven-year-old.

                "Um, no. Let's not do that, all right?"

                "You take the fun out of everything."

                "I try."

                But it didn't matter whether or not I was taking the fun out of anything because when we finally reached the exit to the tunnel (or one of the exits, anyway. The corridor still went on and when I asked James to where, he was just all, "Hmm...maybe I'll tell you someday", which is really annoying and elitist of him if you ask me), everyone was already in class. Just as James had said, we popped out from behind a tapestry—the one of Darbinus the Daring. Who would've thought?—and just as he had also said, a little ways down from there was the door to the girls' lavatory.

                Thank, _Merlin._

                "You are officially my favorite person," I muttered, already making my way down the corridor. From behind me, James laughed. "I'm serious," I said. "Do you want my soul? You can have it."

                "Keep your soul," James chuckled, still following behind me. "You'll probably need it one of these days."

                I was so set on reaching the lavatory that I didn't even realise that James really should've been heading in the opposite direction to get to History rather than following me until I was just about to push open the lavatory door and I noticed that he was still right there behind me. I stopped with the door halfway open and narrowed my eyes at him.

                "What are you doing?" I asked. James grinned.

                "Coming in," he said. My mouth fell open and I was about to protest when he quickly followed with, "Remember, I'm your alibi."

                Alibi?

                What the bloody hell was he on about _now_?

                "My alibi?" I repeated dubiously, throwing him a very skeptical look. "James Potter, what are you talking about?"

                "For History," he explained, and before I could even say anything, he had already pushed me forward into the lavatory and followed quickly behind. The door closed shut and I turned on him with a glare. He simply grinned. "I'm serious!" he cried, holding his hands up in that look-I'm-really-innocent-don't-glare-at-me-like-that sort of way. "What are you going to say when you walk into History late, hm?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "Hate to break it to you, Lil, but you don't have Binns eating out of the palm of your hand like you do Flitwick."

                "First of all," I shot back, "I do not have anyone eating out of any of my hands." (This is clearly a lie, but I wasn't about to tell him that). "Secondly, an explosive device could go off in Binns's class and he would barely give it a glance, but even if he _did_ for some astounding reason notice that I shuffled in a few minutes late, I would have thought of some sort of excuse. And lastly," I finished, my rant coming to a close, "why would it make a difference whether you were there with me? What could you possibly do that would get me off the hook?"

                "Easy," James responded, pushing me further into the lavatory. "We'd simply tell him that we were on extremely important, top-secret, school-saving Head business."

                Oh, _brother_.

                " _That_ ," I said in a very disapproving tone, "is a _distinct_ abuse of power, James Potter!"

                James smirked. "Yeah," he said. "It is."

                And really, how could you possibly argue with logic like _that_?

                Psh.

                I let out a sound of disgust and turned my back on him, ignoring his laughter as I headed further into the lavatory and straight towards the mirrors at the back of the room. Even though his reasoning was stupid and it violated not only school rules, but the very rules of _nature_ for him to be in there, I had to admit, his excuse was a good one. I mean, I probably would've resorted to the "Oh, yes, was on very important Head Girl business" excuse myself had I been at it alone, but with James alongside me, there was no possible way anyone would question our excuses. It was actually quite convenient like that.

                I was quite content for a second or two, until I finally reached the lavatory mirrors.

                "Oh, _Merlin_ ," I gasped, horrified as I caught sight of myself. I had never seen a more horrific sight than the one that reflected back at me. My hair, which I had thrown up in the worst sort of bun this morning, was half-falling out and knotty as anything I'd ever seen. My face was looking more pale than usual and was completely void of any make-up, not to mention that it had that distinct just-got-out-of-bed-tired look that you could clearly read right in my eyes. My clothes were a rumpled mess and looked like I had slept in them. I turned to James, who was casually leaning up against the wall next to me, and socked him hard in the arm.

                "Hey!" he said, lifting his hands in defense. "What the hell was that for?"

                "I can't believe you didn't tell me I looked like this!" I cried, almost too depressed to look back in the mirror. I covered my face, moaning into my hands. "How can you even stand to look at me? I look like I just rolled out of bed!"

                "I thought that's what you _did_."

                "It is!" I cried. "But I'm _not supposed to look like it!_ "

                "Will you calm down?" James asked, laughing and shaking his head at me, obviously not understanding that this was _extremely_ serious. "You're so bloody overdramatic. You don't look that bad, for Merlin's sake. Look," he said, stepping up to the mirror next to me, "I was up since five this morning and I look nearly as rumpled as you do."

                "You do not," I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. "You look perfectly wonderful and you know it, you cocky bastard."

                I nearly clapped by hand over my mouth, but caught myself at the last second and instead settled for mentally kicking myself very very hard. 

                Perfectly wonderful?

                PERFECTLY WONDERFUL?

                Why don't I just bloody go on and TELL him I fancy him, hm?

                _Merlin_ , I'm such an _idiot_ sometimes.

                But thank the heavens and above, James didn't seem to notice that I had just practically told him that I have slightly more than platonic feelings for him or the fact that I had also called him a cocky bastard for he was too busy scrutinizing his own reflection now. He leaned in close to the mirror and appeared to be intently examining his hair. Then he lifted his hand to his head and mussed the already messy locks up.

                "What are you doing?" I asked, not able to hold back the small laugh that escaped as he continued to ruffle his hair with his hand.

                "Embracing the disarray," he answered, throwing me a grin as he leaned back from the mirror. "I gave up trying to control this mop when I was twelve. If it's going to be a mess, at least it's _my_ mess, you know?"

                I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Well, there's logic for you." Turning on the water, I looked around for something to transfigure into a toothbrush. The only thing around was a bar of soap, so I grabbed it and tossed it at James. "Make yourself useful, will you?" I said, nodding towards the soap he'd easily caught as I turned back to the sink. "Transfigure that into a toothbrush."

                " _You_ should be doing this," James muttered pointedly, but he quickly did as I asked. He muttered something quietly under his breath and the brush filled with toothpaste. Then he handed it back to me.

                "Why should I do it when I have you?" I asked, smiling sweetly up at him as I took the toothbrush and immediately stuck it in my mouth. " _Yeeesh_." I nearly cried in ecstasy as I brushed furiously. "Dish feelsh soooo good."

                "Oh, now that's attractive," James drawled.

                I would have snapped something back at him, but I was far too busy brushing. Instead, I just shot him a good glare and then proceeded to ignore him. As always, James's only response was to laugh.

                "Here," he said when I had finished brushing, handing me a hairbrush he must have transfigured out of something, though I'm not entirely sure what. I flashed him a grin and took the brush, already pulling my hair out of the lopsided bun it had been tossed up into. It took a few minutes and a few strong and determined tugs, but I finally managed to get most of the knots out. I was just trying to figure out what I was going to do with it when James spoke up again. "Don't do that." he said.

                I turned to him, giving him a questioning look. "What?"

                "Why don't you wear your hair down?" he asked, taking the hair tie that I had in my hand away. He shoved it in his pocket. "You did that one time," he went on, ignoring the glare I shot him for taking away my hair tie. "When Sirius told you you were a prude, remember? And then you wore it down? Why don't you do that anymore?"

                My mouth fell open.

                "He _told_ you about that?" I cried, hardly concealing my horror.

                "Peter did," James answered with a shrug, as if it _wasn't_ a big deal in the least, even though it clearly _was_. Then he went on talking about my hair. "I think you should wear it down more often."

                "I don't care what you think. And I can't believe Peter told you about that! It was a _private_ conversation, for Merlin's sake! And give me back my hair tie!"

                James shot me a look. "If it was so private, you shouldn't have strutted around in your getup the next day and nearly given me a heart attack. And no, you're not getting it back."

                "I did not _strut_ around in anything. And what do you mean, no? It's mine! I want it back!"

                "No."

                "Yes!" I cried, shooting him my fiercest of glares. "It's going to get positively disgusting any second now and I'm not leaving it down!"

                "I'll make you a deal," he said, crossing his arms over his chest in that you-do-realise-no-matter-what-deal-I'm-now-about-to-offer-to-you-I'm- _still_ -going-to-win way. "If it starts to get disgusting, I'll give it back to you, all right? But until then, you wear it down. Deal?"

                Um, _no_.

                "You're being ridiculous, James."

                "So are you. Just wear it down."

                " _No_."

                " _Yes._ "

                "James—"

                "You look pretty with it down. Why won't you just wear it like that?"

                That efficiently shut me up.

                Pretty? He thought I looked pretty with it down? He thought _I_ looked pretty?

                I guess it would rather make sense for him to think I'm a bit pretty. You know, because he fancies me and everything. I mean, unless he's one of those let's-only-look-on-the-inside-not-the-outside blokes, but I'm not sure how many of those are left on the earth. Maybe two, including my Uncle Davy, who doesn't even really count as he is often too drunk to even know what a bird looks like, so personality is the only thing he can usually really go on. And the other one is probably a blind man in Nepal or something, who can't judge on looks for obvious reasons. Still...

                I shouldn't want to look pretty for him. Not while I am still in the midst of an emotional tug-of-war between he and Amos. I can't afford to be trying to encourage his affections right now. But somehow, even as I knew I shouldn't be agreeing, I found myself consenting to James's stupid request, anyway. With every nod of my head, I gave myself a hard mental kick in the bum.

                And then I wonder _why_ my life gets so complicated?

                Psh.

                "Good," James said, smiling at my reluctant consent. He gave me a quick once-over, then cocked a questioning brow. "So?" he inquired. "You all set? Clean and orderly now?"

                "Um, yeah," I muttered, still kicking myself in the head for being such a goddamned submissive tart just because the bloke happened to call me pretty. And despite the fact that I had been alone with him for more than ten minutes now, James's one stupid insignificant compliment put me on edge again. Suddenly, I was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and refusing to look at him. To keep myself busy, I grabbed my wand and started putting Cleaning and Pressing Charms on my clothes. When I finally mustered up enough courage to look back up at him, James was glancing down at his watch.

                "We shouldn't be too late," he said, giving me a quick glance before grabbing my hand. The action hadn't really bothered me before, but suddenly it felt very possessive and very romantic and a whole slew of other things that just weren't appropriate. I would have tugged my hand out of his if it wouldn't have been so terribly conspicuous, but if I had, James would have known something was up. So instead I was forced to endure it, conscience of it the entire time. "Ready to go?" he asked.

                I nodded, words being far out of my control at that point.

                We were just stepping out of the lavatory when suddenly James stopped short. I smacked into his back, shooting him a questioning look. "James, what are you—"

                And that's when I saw her.

                Carrie Lloyd.

                Carrie Lloyd was standing right there, staring at the pair of us as if we were two dancing bears in tutus, waltzing out of the girls' lavatory.

                Shit.

                Double bloody fucking _shit_.

                This had to be that point.

                The one from which things could only go up from.

                _This_ had to be it.

                _Bugger_.

                "Hey, Car," James said, as casual as could be. If I hadn't been standing right there, witnessing the whole damn thing, I would have thought he'd simply been calling a greeting down an empty corridor instead of standing right outside the doorway of the first floor girls' lavatory—the _girls'_ lavatory, for Merlin's sake!—holding my hand.

                Carrie was speechless. She stood there, eyes buggering out of her silly little head, her mouth gaping open and then closed until she finally mustered out a breathless, "James. Lily."

                "Hey, Carrie," I somehow managed to say, not as casually as James, but certainly not as choked as Carrie. To increase the utter madness, I threw her one of my best this-is-nothing-it-is-completely-innocent-despite-what-it-may-seem smiles. We stood there for a few seconds, James and I grinning, Carrie gaping, until James had the brilliant idea to get us the hell out of there.

                He has his uses, James does.

                Clearing his throat softly, he shot Carrie one more smile before going, "Well...must be off to History! S'later, Car!" Then he tugged on my hand, which was still encased firmly in his, and began to drag me down the corridor with him. When we had reached the end of the hall, leaving Carrie far behind us, James finally stopped and turned to me, a small smile on his face.

                "Well," he said, giving his eyes a bit of a roll, "that's certainly going to be one interesting story going around, isn't it?"

                And that, you see, is what I am terribly afraid of.

Observation #173) When you think you've reached the lowest possible point your life could possibly reach...please, rethink it. You're bound to be wrong.

Observation #174) WHY HAVEN'T I MOVED MYSELF TO GUAM YET???

____________________________________

**Later, Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 174**

Maybe she won't say anything to anyone. 

                Carrie, I mean. She wouldn't. Well, yeah, she'll probably tell Elisabeth Saunders, but Saunders will hardly want the rumor that her ex-boyfriend-who-she-allegedly-still-wants-as-her-boyfriend was caught inside the first floor girls' lavatory with the girl she positively despises going around, right? And Carrie, in accordance with her best mate's wishes, will agree. So she won't tell anyone. She _won't_.

                But what if Saunders's vendetta against me surpasses her affection for James and she doesn't care about what the rumors would mean for _their_ relationship, only mine? 

                WHAT HAPPENS THEN? 

                She'll tell Amos. 

                SHE'LL TELL AMOS! 

                She'll tell him and he’s already put up with enough rubbish about James and me to last a lifetime. WHAT WILL HAPPEN THEN?

                Oh, Merlin.

                OhMerlinOhMerlinOhMerlin.

                Shit.

                Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

                I think I'm going to faint.

____________________________________

**Later Later, Still in Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 174**

Is Elisabeth glaring at me? Bugger, I think she's glaring at me.

                She knows.

                SHE KNOWS.

                My life is _over_.

____________________________________

**Later Later Later, Still Still in Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 174**

What am I talking about? She's _always_ glaring at me. She doesn't know a damn thing. She doesn't know a single, bloody, damned thing about me or James or any girls' lavatory.

                She doesn't know.

                ...or does she?

                Bugger.

                How the bloody hell am I supposed to be able to tell?

____________________________________

**Later (x4) , Still (x3) in Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 174**

                James is going to have to take care of this. Seriously, he'll have to. I mean, she'll listen to him. She totally will. He'll just sit her down, work his I'm-a-gorgorus-and-intelligent-bloke-let-us-revel-in-my-utter-wit-and-charm magic on her, and she'll be _forced_ not to tell anyone about the whole Lily-and-James-coming-out-of-the-girls'-lavatory-together thing. I know she'll listen to him. I _know_ it. And then no one in the entire world—especially Amos—will ever know about the little, insignificant, highly misconstrued incident.

                Yes.

                That's the plan.

                Must get James to talk to her.

 

____________________________________

**Later (x5) , Still (x4) in Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 174**

                What was I thinking? 

                OF COURSE, JAMES ISN'T GOING TO TALK TO HER!

                Have I so quickly forgotten that the boy FANCIES ME? This is his chance! If Amos finds out about our little lavatory party, he's going to toss me out on my rear end AND WHO DOES THAT LEAVE MY REAR END OPEN FOR??

                JAMES, THAT'S WHO.

                Oh, Merlin. 

                OhMerlinOhMerlinOhMerlinOhMerlin.

                No wonder he was so bleeding casual when Carrie spotted us! No wonder! And all the while, I thought he was just pretending as to divert Carrie from thinking anything unseemly was happening when really, he was probably doing a happy little jig inside of his head! HE WAS PROBABLY CELEBRATING MY DOWNFALL.

                That stupid, stupid, rotten _bastard_.

                I hate him.

                I HATE HIM SO MUCH AND NO LONGER FANCY HIM EVEN IF IT WAS ONLY A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT AMOUNT BECAUSE I DO NOT FANCY BLOKES WHO DO THIS SORT OF THING. I FANCY NICE BLOKES WHO DO NOT TRY AND SABOTAGE OTHER BLOKES' CHANCES WITH THE GIRL THEY FANCY EVEN IF THIS BLOKE MAY ALSO FANCY HER. I DO NOT ACCEPT THAT SORT OF BEHAVIOR.

                HMPH!

____________________________________

**Later (x6) , Finally Out of Potions, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 175**

                I'm going to have to take this entire matter into my own hands. 

                As much as I hate it, as much as I dread it, it has to be me. _I'm_ going to have to be the one to talk to Carrie—or Carrie and Elisabeth, if the bloody girl has opened her stupid trap already. But I don't think she has. I mean, seeing how I haven't yet suffered through any attempts on my life, which I do believe would occur if Saunders heard I was frolicking about with James in a girls' lavatory. Carrie couldn't have possibly told. Unless, you know, on her way to kill me, Saunders got trapped in the trick stair or something. But the chances of that are about zero.

                I can talk to Carrie.

                I _can_.       

                And honestly, it's not as if I have any _choice_ , anyway. I obviously can't count on James to be of any aid in this situation, seeing how he is probably reveling in it. And after all, the saying does go, if you want it done right, you have to do it yourself.

                And I _need_ to have this done right.

                So it has to be me.

                I have to talk to her.

                _Bugger_.

____________________________________

**Later (x7) , Still in 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 176**

** Lily Christine Evans's List of Things to Do Before Confronting Carrie Lloyd AKA the Girls' Lavatory Voyeur Who Is About To Spill My Secrets To The World **

****

1) I must _find_ Carrie. Just where the hell does that girl hang about all the time, anyway?

2) I must find Carrie _without_ Saunders or any other evil overlord she may submit to. This, I'm afraid, might be even harder than finding Carrie in the first place.

3) Boost up enough of my well-hidden Gryffindor courage so that I have the gumption to _speak_ to Carrie, even if I do manage to find her, and furthermore, find her alone.

4) Think of a plausible excuse as to why Carrie should not be spreading this juicy piece of gossip around, even if her Evil Overlady #1 Elisabeth Saunders orders her to.

5) Prepare to grovel if necessary.

6) Gather together an assortment of bribery tools, if possible. Though I somehow don't think that Mum's chocolate fudge is going to manage to turn Carrie into the mushy-pushover clay that it does James. She, after all, is a woman and does not think with her stomach. Perhaps alcohol will work better.

                This could take all night.

____________________________________

**Later (x8) , Dinner in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 176**

I have just spotted Elisabeth Saunders, and she did not try to kill me.

                Hm. 

                Interesting.

                I mean, she was _glaring_ at me and everything, but it was really no more than her usual glaring (even though she _had_ stopped that for a while when she was avoiding me after the whole James-and-I-are-dating showdown. Pity that she's turned back to it so recently. I would have had a sign, then!). Perhaps there just wasn't _time_ to attempt to kill me? I mean, it really was just a quick spotting across the Great Hall. She was waltzing about with June Mackey by the Slytherin table and just happened to catch my eye. She could have strode over, said something, done something...I mean, she could have even glared _harder_ had she really been upset...but she hadn't.

                What does _that_ mean?

                Perhaps Carrie hasn't had the chance to speak to her yet. Or perhaps—and maybe this is just very wishful thinking on my part—but perhaps Carrie doesn't even intend to tell Saunders. Or hell, maybe the girl forgot. She's not exactly the _sharpest_ crayon in the box, if you know what I mean. And being forgetful sure does seem to be going around recently.

                Hm.

                Hm. Hm. Hm.

                Well, either way, I'm not dead yet.

                And Amos hasn't broken it off with me yet, either.

                I'd say I'm doing rather okay.

                

____________________________________

**Later (x9) , Still at Dinner in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 176**

                

                UNLESS SHE POISONED MY FOOD!!!!!!!

                Oh, Merlin.

                I'm dying.

                I'm totally and completely dying.

                Goodbye, cruel cruel world.

____________________________________

**Later (x10) , 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 177**

                Since the poison has obviously not yet kicked in, I am now given time to ask my very best mate some very important questions. I am glad to have this opportunity, especially with my demise so close at hand.

                Me: Gracie?

                Gracie: Yes, Lily?

                M: Hypothetically speaking, if you were to see a good-looking bloke and a girl walk out of a girls' lavatory together—like say, hypothetically, the first floor girls' lavatory, down by the Defense room—what is the immediate thought that would pop into your head?

                G (groans): Oh, Merlin, Lily, what the buggering hell did you do _now_?

                M: This is hypothetical, Gracie. Now please answer the question.

                G: Shagging.

                M: Shagging?

                G: Yes, they would definitely be shagging.

                M: No, they weren't.

                G: I thought this was hypothetical?

                M: It is. Very much so. However, hypothetically, just to let you know, they were not shagging.

                G: Well, had I spotted them walking out of a girls' lavatory together, I would think that they were.

                M: Is this trashy-romance-novel-reading-Grace's opinion, or normal-logical-non-shagging-centered-Grace's opinion?

                G: I'm not sure I can separate the two.

                M: Please try.

                G: Well...I believe it's more normal-logical-non-shagging-centered-Grace's opinion, actually.

                M: Shit.

                G: What did you do, Lily?

                M: Nothing. Now, say that you see these two people coming out of the girls' lavatory, and one happens to be your best mate's ex-boyfriend, and the other happens to be a girl your best mate despises with the intensity of a thousand suns, what then, do you think? Would you go and tell your best mate of this occurrence?

                G: Carrie Lloyd saw you and James coming out of the girls' lavatory together? What the fuck was James doing in the lavatory with you, Lily?

                M: THIS IS HYPOTHETICAL, GRACIE.

                G: I'm speaking hypothetically, of course.

                M: Well, hypothetically, if such a thing occurred, I imagine that James would probably be in there because he is a high-handed, hardheaded, bloody idiot who refused to leave because he claimed to be my alibi when I was late for History class and therefore gave no room for discussion. Plus, I was using him for his Transfiguration talents. Hypothetically.

                G: And then Carrie Lloyd spotted you and now you're afraid she's going to tell Saunders—or anyone really—and that it is going to get back to Amos, your one true love, who we have reason to believe is already not so happy with you, on account of the fact that you often lie to him and go off and snog and fancy other blokes.

                M: Hypothetically. And Amos doesn't _know_ I snogged or fancy James.

                G: Yeah, _yet_.

                M: So?

                G: So what?

                M: So do you think Carrie is going to tell?

                G: Er.....

                M: OH MY GOD, SHE IS SO GOING TO TELL.

                G: You really have to stop getting yourself in these ridiculous situations, Lily.

                M: I'm working on it.

____________________________________

**Later (x11) , 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 28**

**Total Observations: 177**

                I am going to sleep now. I probably won't wake up tomorrow morning. You know, considering the fact that I was poisoned and all.

                I'm not sure dying is really a bad thing, anyway.

                I may just be better off.

                NOTE: Please refer to 'THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LILY CHRISTINE EVANS' (8 October 1977) for proper distribution of my estate. EXCEPT PLEASE LEAVE THE PART WHERE I GIVE ANYTHING TO JAMES POTTER OR TELL HIM ANYTHING ABOUT ME WRITING HIM LETTERS OUT BECAUSE I NO LONGER FANCY HIM OR EVEN LIKE HIM THAT MUCH BECAUSE HE IS A PRAT. Thank you.

____________________________________

**Tuesday, October 14th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 178**

So...looks as if I made it through the night.

                Interesting.

                Very interesting.

                This could mean one of several things:

                a) Perhaps my immune system is so strong that it fought off whatever potent poison Elisabeth Saunders chose to place in my food.

                b) Perhaps I stopped eating quickly enough and therefore did not GET to the poison (I was strongly suspicious of that delectable-looking strawberry shortcake they had out for dessert. Am very happy I chose not to indulge, despite my practically salivating mouth).

                c) Perhaps my food was not poisoned, but it could be in the future.

                d) Perhaps my food wasn't poisoned, and has no intention to be in the future. Saunders prefers a much gorier, public death.

                e) Perhaps there is no death scheme planned or hatched...yet.

                f) Perhaps there is no death scheme planned or hatched...at all.

                g) Perhaps Carrie has not yet told Elisabeth about the lavatory scene and that is why my life—physically, emotionally, spiritually, socially and romantically—has not yet come to an end.

                I think I'm leaning most towards letter D, no?

                

                REMINDER: Check breakfast for poison before eating!!! VERY VERY IMPORTANT!!

____________________________________

**Later , Breakfast in the Great Hall**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 178**

                This is all very, very curious.

                No one is whispering about me.

                I'm serious. It's entirely silent. The Great Hall is actually rather crowded early this morning, and yet _no one is talking about me_. No one is doing the whole let's-talk-rather-loudly-but-hide-our-mouths-behind-our-hands-and-pretend-she-can't-hear-us-oh-haha-whispering-is-so-much-fun at all. They're not even _looking_ over here. AND JAMES IS SITTING RIGHT HERE ACROSS FROM ME.

                What does this all mean? I don't get it. They should totally be whispering right now. They should be whispering SO MUCH because it's not every day that the Head Boy and Girl—who are NOT dating—are found exiting a girls' lavatory together. It's not every day that you find ANY boy/girl pair exiting a lavatory together, for Merlin's sake! This is prime gossip! Big, grand, beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime gossip!

                BUT WHY AREN'T THEY WHISPERING??

                Maybe my greatest dream has come true and Carrie hasn't told anyone yet. Or maybe she's told Saunders (though the fact that I am still living and still breathing and still going out with Amos on Saturday does tend to contradict that fact) and Saunders has decided it would be in her best interest to keep mum on the whole incident, and Carrie, the ever-obedient henchman, went right along with the plan. Or perhaps that is all wishful thinking, I don't know. I DON'T KNOW.

                I want to ask James about it, but I'm not sure that that's the most brilliant of ideas. I mean, for one thing, Marley is sitting right here. And while I do love Marley to bits and pieces and she really is the sweetest of girls...well, it only takes one person telling one other person to get the Hogwarts gossip mill churning. And that, unfortunately, is something I cannot have. Plus, James is probably going to ask why I even care if Carrie has said anything to anyone, and then I'd have to tell him it's because of Amos, and that will probably break the poor boy's heart and I really don't want to be responsible for that. I mean, I may fancy Amos quite a bit more, but that does not mean I want to harm James in any way. I do fancy him as well, after all, even if it only is a very very small insignificant amount (and despite what others may believe, it _is_ a very small amount. Not a large amount. Not in the least. In fact, it is _even_ smaller than this time yesterday because of the whole forcing-Lily-to-take-care-of-Saunders-and-Lloyd affair).

                I don't like this.

                I don't like this at all.

                Carrie Lloyd, _what are you doing to me????_

                

____________________________________

**Later Later , Ancient Runes**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 178**

                

                This day just keeps on getting stranger and stranger.

                Not in a particularly bad way, I suppose—well, not _yet_ , anyway—but very strange in one of those rather unnerving ways. Because if I didn't know any better—but I do, so this really doesn't matter—I'd say I'm actually having a rather good morning right now. But that can't be right. It can't be right at all. And so now I'm left here, utterly confused and not knowing whether to cheer...or panic.

                Hmph.

                Hmph. Hmph. Hmph. Hmph.

                I was making my way back from Gryffindor Tower (where I had rushed up to tell Grace and Emma in a very-non-Hogwarts-but-actually-legitimate-whisper that I was still alive and that Carrie Lloyd was obviously trying to mess with my mind, just in case they were wondering) to Ancient Runes for class, very lost in my own thoughts as I ambled down the corridors, thinking about my present predicament. 

                I wasn't sure what game Carrie and/or Elisabeth was presently playing at, but I didn't like it. The fact that at any given moment in time this entire thing could come crashing down upon my shoulders didn't play very well with my already very tenuous life, despite the fact that I seem to have predicaments suspended to crash down upon me rather often...but that's not the point. The point _is_ that I was already unsure enough about what I want, I didn't need rumors (well, okay, sort of _true_ rumors, even though the implication attached with them is anything but) making a bigger mess of it all. I mean, I had no idea where I even presently stood with Amos, considering the fact that he should be/possibly is completely cross with me because I sort of let his Quidditch team lose by feeding them false information and I also seem to enjoy gallivanting off with James (and snogging him and fancying him, though Amos doesn't know about that, _thank god_ ) in Amos's presence and I _really_ didn't need more very incriminating rumors to be reaching his ears. And I do believe both Carrie Lloyd and Elisabeth Saunders know that.

                It's all very maddening.

                So I was ambling on, so very lost in my own problems and confusions, as they are so vast and consuming and ultrally devastating that one cannot really help but get a bit lost in them, that when I quite suddenly felt an arm slip around my shoulders, I very nearly jumped out of my shoes at the surprise of it all. And when I turned about to see who it was that had come and startled me out of my socks, I was rather astounded at who I found standing there. 

                Because of course, I thought it had been James. 

                I mean, not that I subconsciously _wanted_ it to be him or anything, and therefore made the assumption automatically out of an uncontrollable, hidden psychological desire to see him. It's just that he does, after all, have a strong tendency to just throw his limbs all about me. He's the only one that really does. So why wouldn't it be him, especially considering the fact that James presently had Arithmancy in a classroom that I had just passed on my way to Ancient Runes (not that I know his entire schedule or anything like that. I just happen to know this, for he is the same class as Emma. And because of that time when he was very cross with me and tried to kill me by swinging the Arithmancy door open very quickly, knocking me over on my bum and yelling at me for no good reason. But then, you know, he was all not cross with me two days later or something. Whatever. Him and his mood swings. I'll never figure it out)?

                But yeah, I totally thought it was James.

                But it wasn't.

                It was Amos.

                Yeah.

                _Amos_.

                It wasn't actually _disappointing_ to find him there, ambling along beside me with his arm thrown about my shoulders instead of James, but it _was_ rather shocking. I mean, not only was this one of the first signs of casual affection I've ever received from dear Amos, but wasn't he supposed to be rather cross with me? He _is_ , isn't he? He _should_ be. Between the James-and-I-are-dating rumors that I started, the whole offense-defense Quidditch lie, Hufflepuff losing the match (perhaps even because of my lie, though I don't really think that was it), and now this whole girls' lavatory business...the only reason he should have had for placing his arms anywhere near the vicinity of my neck is if he were to be considering strangling me.

                But he wasn't.

                He so very curiously wasn't.

                "Amos!" I cried, realising that I probably sounded like the biggest twit because I was screeching his name in that Merlin-what-are-you-doing-here manner, which, obviously, is not the sort of casual reaction one has to the bloke that one is dating—you know, if by dating, you mean one tentatively scheduled outing for Hogsmeade in six days time—and really, how embarrassing is _that_? "Er, heading to class?"

                "My favorite," Amos replied, throwing me a very big and drool-worthy grin that did unnatural things to my stomach. What did that smile mean, though? Was he cross with me? Was he fine? What about the Quidditch? What about James? WHAT? "Did you finish that assignment Lundi gave us?" he asked, continuing to casually jaunt along beside me. "Merlin, it was hard. I couldn't even get the last couple. Made up a few of my own translations, you know?"

                Runes?

                He was seriously talking about Runes _now_?

                "Er, yeah," I responded dumbly, nodding my head along even though I had started and finished that assignment at breakfast this morning and hadn't found it the least bit difficult. WHY WASN'T HE CROSS WITH ME? "Very tough stuff. Made up a few myself, as well. Very very tough stuff."

                I was relatively certain that I sounded like a complete and utter _moron_.

                But could you blame me? He was supposed to be cross! And he was acting as if he WASN'T.

                "You should ask Lundi to ease up," Amos suggested with another grin. I felt myself melting into an Amos-driven puddle (and I was seriously considering that my affections were _diminishing_? Psh! Please!). "He'd listen to you."

                "Maybe," I laughed, sounding quite like I had some sort of mental incapability of the most unfortunate kind. But I couldn't help it. He was talking about Runes and Professor Lundi and throwing his arm about me when he _should_ have been screaming and hollering and breaking off our date because I am a stupid, silly, lying, amoral little tart.  "So, listen," I finally sputtered out, not able to control my curiosity any longer. "I didn't get to see you after the match the other day, but you really did completely brilliant. I mean, so good. Even though...er, yes, just _so_ brilliantly."

                Laying it on a bit thick, you think?

                Perhaps. But I was desperate.

                "Oh, thanks," Amos replied, his smile finally faltering for the first time. He looked down at me, his eyes slightly narrowed. I waited with halted breath for him to say something about the offense-defense lie or the fact that I had sauntered off with James when he had clearly been in need of some comforting. I waited for it, second after terrible second. He was going to break it off with me. I _knew_ it. I could _feel_ it. "You know," he started slowly, sounding a bit odd. I suddenly felt like crying. This was it. _This was it_. "It's just," he went on, "it...well, the match wasn't very _fair_ was it?"

                Oh, Merlin.

                He was going to say it.

                _He was going to say it!_

'It wasn't fair because YOU LIED TO ME.'

                'WE'RE OVER.'

                'YOU STUPID LYING TART, YOU!'

                Double bloody fucking _shit_!!!

                "Er, what?" I muttered stupidly, trying to hide my despair.

                "The match," Amos said again, and now he had a bit of a scowl to his look. "It really wasn't fair. I mean, Potter shouldn't have been playing in the first place with that hand of his. And then every time we started to gain some momentum, Hooch would call something on us. Did you notice that? I did. Potter has her wrapped around his damned finger. Wasn't fair at all. Don't you think?"

                Uh.

                Hm.

                Not fair?

                Perhaps.

                But not for _those_ reasons.

                "Er..." I started blankly, blinking owlishly up at him in my utter confusion. "I...I mean, sure. Yeah. I suppose. I don't really know Quidditch all that well..."

                "And then there was the way they used you!" Amos cried, now quite enthused. My eyebrows shot up. "Remember how you told us they were planning to focus on our defense?" he asked and my heart stopped. "They didn't!" he suddenly shouted, his cries echoing down the corridor. "Not at all! Potter must have _known_ you'd say something to me and fed you false information, the bastard. Can you believe that?"

                ...

                Um, no.

                No, I cannot.

                But I will certainly let _you_ believe it, darling Amos.

                "The _bastard_ ," I replied, trying to hide both my utter hilarity and exhilaration at the conclusions that this silly, perfect wonderful boy has drawn about me (he obviously is so infatuated with me that he has yet to notice that I am quite the pathological liar) and the fact that I somehow seemed to have gotten completely off the hook with that one! "You know, he _does_ have a quite vindictive streak in him," I muttered in a very contemplative way, just for added effect. Amos nodded along, encouraged by my agreement.

                "It's sad that he had to stoop to such levels, don't you think?"

                "Extremely."

                "He couldn't just play fairly."

                "The _audacity_."

                "He's pathetic," he finally said, and the smile was back on his face. "Utterly pathetic. But you know, Lily..."

                "Hm?" I answered, positively giddy at that point.

                "Now that we're talking about Potter, there's just this thing I heard..." he went on slowly and my giddiness seemed to deflate by about one thousand times. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Had completely forgotten about the _other_ reason Amos had for hating me. "It's about Hogsmeade on Saturday," he said, and sighed heavily.

                Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit, _shit!!!!!!!_

                Pleasedon'tbreakitoffPleasedon'tbreakitoffPleasedon'tbreakitoff.

                "Because the thing is," he went on, and now I _really_ felt like crying. "Do you...well, do you have to do patrols with him? Around Hogsmeade, I mean?"

                ...

                Uh, what?

                "What?" I asked blankly.

                "Patrols," Amos said again, finally coming to a stop as we reached the Ancient Runes classroom. His arm dropped from around my shoulders and I probably would have wept at its absence if I hadn't been so confused about what in the bloody hell he was going on about and why he hadn't broken it off with me yet. "You're Heads," he reminded me, as if I could forget, "and don't the Head Students have to patrol around Hogsmeade? I guess it's all right if you _have_ to, but I don't exactly want the bastard interfering with our date."

                _But I don't exactly want the bastard interfering with our date._

Our date.

                We still had a date.

                WE STILL HAD A DATE!

                HE'S NOT BREAKING IT OFF!!! HE'S NOT BREAKING IT OFF!!!

                YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

                "Uh, no," I answered quickly, once I finally shook myself out of my shock and got myself to answer. "No, we don't have to patrol," I said. "We got the other prefects to do it. The fifth-years. We have to do Halloween Night."

                Amos smiled. "Good," he said. "I'm glad. More time together."

                More time together.

                Oh, Merlin, I think I may melt.

                "Yes," I breathed, finally able to give him a true smile of my own. "More time."

                "Great," Amos said. Then he dropped a kiss down onto my cheek (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and strolled into the classroom. Stupidly, lamely, I followed behind him.

                We still have a date.

                He hasn't heard about James and the lavatory.

                HE HASN'T HEARD!!!

                And while THAT is quite exhilarating and wonderful and I am so blissfully happy it's maddening...well...the thing is... _why_?

                _Why_ hasn't he heard it yet?

                Why didn't Elisabeth tell him? Or why didn't Carrie tell Elisabeth, therefore making it impossible for her to tell him? Or why didn't Carrie just tell him?

                I don't know.

                Will they?

                Will they ever tell him?

                If that's not the million-galleon question, I just don't know what is.

____________________________________

**Still Later, Charms**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 178**

                

                

                I'm going to have to talk to Carrie.

                I've been putting it off and it's stupid because I _know_ that there is just no possible way that I can live another day with this sort of panic running through me. I need to know whether or not she told Elisabeth and whether or not she and/or Saunders are planning to do anything with the information. I can't sit here, worrying over whether or not Amos is going to regret asking me out, regret telling me he was glad we had more time together, regret even _seeing_ me or _knowing_ me...I can't.

                I have to talk to her.

                I have to find her alone and talk to her.

                But just how the hell am I supposed to _do_ that?

____________________________________

**Still Still Later, Divination**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 179**

I have to find Carrie Lloyd alone. Is it possible? -LE

                _What? Why do you have to find her alone? -EV_

**Is this about the hypothetical James-and-the-lavatory thing? -GR**

                Yes. You haven't heard any one talking about it, have you? Any rumors?

                _Not any new ones. And not any about you and James shagging in a girls' lavatory._

WE WERE NOT SHAGGING!!!!!!

                **We know that. But the rest of Hogwarts wouldn't see it that way.**

I know.

                _Don't look so depressed, Lil. There are worse things. And you did say that Amos appeared to know absolutely nothing about it, right? That's good._

He doesn't know anything about it yet. But neither, you see, does anyone else. And THAT'S why I have to talk to Carrie. To see if she's told anyone. Or if she's planning to tell anyone.

                **Perhaps she's forgotten that she witnessed it _._**

****

**** _She is rather scatterbrained._

Would YOU forget something like that?

                **If someone paid me enough.**

You think I should pay her off?

                _NO._

                **Do you even have money to pay her off?**

How much can she possibly be worth? I never thought about that. Perhaps I should—

                _You are not paying anyone off, Lily! Just TALK to Carrie. See what she says. Perhaps she's not going to say anything to anyone at all. Remember she was complaining about having patrols tonight with Remus? You can catch her then, before she leaves. Just talk to her._

**...and if that doesn't work, bring some galleons with you, just in case.**

Gotcha.

                _You're both prats._

____________________________________

**Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 180**

                

** Lily Evans's Brilliant Plan for a Foolproof and Efficient (Not to Mention Successful) Conversation with Carrie Lloyd AKA the Girls' Lavatory Voyeur Who Could Spill My Secrets to the World, But Curiously Enough, Has Not Yet **

Step #1) Find out when and where Carrie and Remus will be meeting for rounds tonight.

                I suppose that I'll have to track down Remus and ask him about this, though finding him alone without one of the motley crew will probably be as difficult as finding Carrie alone in the first place. Still, if I want to pull this off, it is rather necessary. I mean, it's not as if I can ask Carrie about it, now can I? And Remus is a rather pleasant fellow who knows when to keep mum about things. If I casually saunter up to him, politely ask to speak to him privately (this assuming that he is with his mates and therefore needs to be pulled aside) and then proceed to gently question him on his plans for the night, I truly don't think he'd deny me the information. I mean, yes, he may be a bit perplexed as to _why_ I'd be asking, but I suppose if he begins to ask too many questions, I can just claim that it is extremely important, top-secret, school-saving Head business (as James would put it) and then scurry off before he can get any more questions in. It's all for the best, really. It'll work.

                Step #2) Accost Carrie at previously gained time and location before she can run off.

                This is where the plan could get a bit sticky. I mean, finding out where Carrie is going to be and when isn't the difficult part—as stated in Step #1, I can easily get that information from Remus—but actually getting her to stay and listen to me once I _reach_ that when and where...well, that is slightly more complex. Because the truth of the matter is, I can either see this accosting going one of two ways:

                1) Carrie sees me and notices my intent to speak to her and instantly pulls her I-am-a-Saunders-clone-and-therefore-must-be-spitefully-and-ridiculously-cruel and either just insults me and doesn't listen to what I have to say at all, or just walks away without even a word.

                2) So shocked to see me there, looking for her and with the intent to speak to her, Carrie is stunned into silence and completely forgets that she is supposed to be an evil henchman and instead chooses to listen to me and my pathetic pleas and concerns.

                Depending on how tired and/or mellow and/or forgetful and/or drunk Carrie is, these two very different reactions are both very possible. It is therefore my obligation to somehow force or coerce Carrie into staying and talking to me if the confrontation does indeed get ugly. This, as mentioned before, could get a bit sticky, but I have every faith in my abilities of persuasion (and even more faith in my Impediment Jinx) and do believe I can get the job done.

                Step #3) Discover if Carrie recalls our slightly controversial run-in by the girls' lavatory.

                Though I know that seeing James Potter and Lily Evans sauntering out of a girls' lavatory together isn't something the normal person could very well forget, we are, after all, discussing Carrie Lloyd. The girl, unfortunately, is not often known for her brightness (which, actually, has just got me thinking about how in the bloody hell she was chosen for our 7th-year prefect. I mean, honestly, what was Dumbledore thinking? I suspect money has changed hands). It could be very likely that the entire affair simply slipped her mind.

                Strange, yes, but I've witnessed stranger.

                Step #4) Discover whether or not Carrie has yet told anyone about this confrontation.

                Brief translation: HAS SHE TOLD ELISABETH SAUNDERS ABOUT THIS YET OR NOT?

                Step #5) Determine whether or not she and/or any of the (hopefully) chosen few she chose to indulge the information to are planning on doing anything with it.

                Brief translation: ARE YOU AND YOUR BAND OF SLAGGISH TARTS GOING TO RAT ME OUT TO AMOS?

                Step #6) After gaining all necessary information, leave as QUICKLY but as POLITELY as possible.

                Unless of course Carrie insists that she is going to ruin my life, in which case, I'm sure no one can blame me if I were to leave out the politely bit and instead chose to quickly leave her after a swift kick to the shin.

                Observation #179) With a foolproof plan like this one, how can I possibly fail?

                Observation #180) MUST GO FIND REMUS!!

____________________________________

**Even Later, Gryffindor Common Room**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 180**

Using my utterly brilliant observation skills, I have quickly and efficiently spotted Remus amidst the madness of the Gryffindor Common Room. He is presently sitting over in the corner with Sirius, engaged in what appears to be a rather intense study session (notice how I say APPEARS, because I do not think that Sirius Black knows how to study. I mean, Remus may be doing something educational, but Sirius is probably studying dirty magazines or something equally as asinine). 

                Should I go over a grab him now? Would he mind?

                Oh, it doesn't matter if he minds or not. It's already seven and if I don't speak with him soon, he'll have already gone off with Carrie and then I'll _never_ sort this whole thing out. I have to go speak with him. Now. Yes, I'll go now.

                I will.

                Right now.

____________________________________

**Even Even Later, Still in the Gryffindor Common Room**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 181**

**Lily Evans's Brilliant Plan for a Foolproof and Efficient (Not to Mention Successful) Conversation With Carrie Lloyd AKA the Girls' Lavatory Voyeur Who Could Spill My Secrets to the World, But Curiously Enough, Has Not Yet: STEP #1)** Check.

                I don't know why I was so nervous to go and talk to Remus. 

                I mean, honestly, out of all the things in my recent life to be seriously worrying over, talking to Remus really should have been at the very bottom of my list. Merlin only knows that out of the lot of our mad Gryffindor boys, Remus is _by far_ one of the very sanest, but for some reason, I put off going over to him for a very long time. I think perhaps it was because I kept having this sad and pathetic image of James popping out from behind the curtains, demanding the reason why I wanted to talk to Remus, and then watching his poor heart break as he realises it's because of Carrie and more than that, Amos. But that's of course all that was. A sad and pathetic image, I mean. Because James wasn't _actually_ going to pop out from behind the curtains. He wasn't anywhere near here and I _knew_ that.

                Besides, I don't think he could even really fit behind there, anyway. 

                It was just not plausible.

                Not plausible at all.

                Once I was able to convince myself of this (mind you, with a lot of logical thinking and a few quick, awkward stretches to see behind curtains), I let out a little laugh for myself and my utter patheticness, and then went on over towards where Remus and Sirius were sitting, confidence restored. They were still rather immersed in their own things and I sort of crept up from the back, so neither one really noticed me when I came up behind them.

                "Merlin, look at this one, Moony!" Sirius was saying, leaning over whatever it was that he had been 'studying' before when I had first spotted the pair. He jabbed at the thin book with his finger over and over again. "I think I'll get this one. What do you think?"

                "The same thing I thought of the last seven," Remus responded dryly, not even looking up from his work. "It is a stupid idea and they are all ugly, arsehole."

                Ah, friendship.

                Such love.

                Sirius scowled. "Will you quit with that, already? It's not a stupid idea and it's _not_ ugly. Now could you just for a second—" He stopped, finally spotting me over Remus's shoulder. "Evans!" he cried, a large, unnatural smile spreading across his face as he appeared to forget Remus entirely. "Just the bird I wanted to see!"

                Oh, _lord_.

                "I'm sure," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

                "You are!" Sirius insisted, that demented smile still on his face. He pulled out the chair next to him with his foot and motioned for me to sit down. "Come along." He patted the empty chair with his palm. "Take a seat and help me pick one of these out."

                "Pick one of what out?" I asked cautiously, not exactly sure _why_ I was listening to him and sitting down when I knew that anything Sirius Black was picking out was probably not going to be anything I was interested in, and probably not even legal. But I still somehow found myself taking a seat and leaning over towards him, looking at the open magazine (for that's what I saw it was now. Not even a book) that he had in front of him.

                "What do you think?" he asked when I had got my first glimpse of what he was looking to pick out. I checked the impulse to groan.

                Motorbikes.

                Sirius was looking to purchase a Muggle _motorbike_.

                Dear _Merlin_.

                "What on earth are you going to do with a motorbike, Black?" I asked, throwing him a look. I felt that it was my duty as a sane human being to try to stop this madness before someone was killed.

                Because somehow, someway, I figured that that person would probably be me.

                Sirius rolled his eyes at my question. "What do you think I'm going to do with it, Evans?" He grinned foolishly. "I'm going to drive it!"

                "Do you _know_ how to drive?"

                "Do you _have_ to take the fun out of everything?"

                "Motorbikes aren't a _joke_ , Sirius," I said, now giving him a bit of a glare, because, honestly, for someone so allegedly intelligent, he really has his brilliantly stupid moments. "You can get seriously hurt on one of those. You can hurt _other_ people. They're not toys."

                " _Thank you_ ," Remus cried, speaking up for the first time. He shot a quick glare at Sirius, as well, then turned over to me. "I've been trying to tell him that for the past three weeks, ever since he got the brilliant idea to buy the thing."

                "You're both just bloody killjoys," Sirius scoffed, scowling at the pair of us. He flipped to the next page in his motorbike magazine, and then huffed out, " _James_ thinks it's a good idea."

                He would.

                Stupid, curtain-jumping James.

                "And _James_ knows just as much about them as you!" Remus replied. " _Nothing!"_

                "You know, Moony..."

                "Shut _up_ , Padfoot. It's a stupid idea and you know it."

                "It _is_ rather stupid," I put in, just because I thought I should add in my two knuts one last time. Sirius simply continued to scowl.

                "Yeah," he said, turning to me, "well, who asked _you_?"

                "Um, you."

                "Momentary lapse of sanity," he sniffed, flipping another page. He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. "What'd you want, anyway?" he asked, looking back at his magazine "James isn't here for you to bother."

                "I wanted to talk to Remus," I answered. Then I shot him a glare. "And I don't _bother_ James."

                Sirius snorted, said nothing.

                Stupid prat.

                Bloody _stupid_ prat.

                "What did you want to talk to me about?" Remus asked, putting a bookmarker into his book and closing it. I was about to say that I hoped I could talk to him privately, but I knew that if I said something like that, Sirius would just act like an arse and insist on hearing what I had to say anyway, in which case it was just less of a hassle to ask Remus about Carrie right here. I mean, I don't think Sirius would say anything to anyone. Prat he may be, but I don't think he'd go and do something like that deliberately.

                Or I hope not, anyway.

                "Um, it's actually about your rounds tonight," I started, scratching idly at the back of my head, somewhat nervous again now that the moment of truth was actually here.

                "What about them?" Remus asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "Do you need me to switch or something? James didn't say anything. And I'm not really sure that I can do them next week..."

                "No," I answered quickly, shaking my head. "I don't need you to switch or anything. It's just..." I paused, took a deep breath. I could do this. It's no big deal. It's _Remus_. He won't care. He won't judge me. He _won't_. "It's just that I need to talk to Carrie Lloyd," I sputtered quickly, getting it out before I lost my nerve. "I have to talk to her alone and the only time I'm probably ever going to be able to do that is when the pair of you have rounds tonight, so I was wondering—"

                "Wait a second," Sirius interrupted, looking up from his motorbikes for the first time. His eyes were narrowed. "Why do you have to talk to Carrie alone?"

                Because she is ruining my life.

                "I just do," I answered stiffly.

                Sirius cocked an eyebrow. "This wouldn't have anything to do with James and you in a lavatory, would it?" he asked.

                My jaw nearly dropped.

                I'm going to kill him.

                I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!!!!

                "He _told you_ about that?!" I cried, thoroughly and completely mortified in every possible sense of the word. Sirius grinned, shrugged.

                "Sure." I audibly groaned and he shot me a wicked smile. "What?" he asked, smirking to an extreme now. "Did you think James wouldn't indulge us with your naughty loo adventures?"

                "THEY WERE NOT NAUGHTY LOO ADVENTURES!!!!"

                "We _know_ ," Remus interrupted, shooting Sirius a dirty look as the loon in question laughed up his own little parade in his chair. I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl up into a ball and just die of utter embarrassment. How could James have told? HOW COULD HE HAVE TOLD? What was he trying to do to me? Why was he doing this? I probably would have begun to cry, me being the emotional mess that I am and everything, but Remus interrupted before I could, quickly reassuring me, "We know it wasn't anything like that." He shot another look at Sirius. " _Someone_ is just being an arse."

                " _Someone's_ got something _up_ his arse," Sirius sang.

                Have I ever mentioned how much I _hate_ Sirius Black?

                And James Potter.

                Stupid, prattish, BIG MOUTHED, James Potter.

                "We weren't shagging," I felt it necessary to elaborate again, trying to hide my blatant misery. "We _weren't_."

                "Of course you weren't," Sirius replied, the remnants of his laughter still present in his voice. His eyes twinkled. "What sort of bloke do you think James is? He doesn't go shagging girls in lavatories. How rude of you, Evans."

                "I swear to _Merlin_ , Sirius Black—"

                "Carrie was just here," Remus quickly put in, perhaps because he realised that I was about to murder his best mate and thought it best to cause a distraction. "She was going up to the Owlery and we were going to meet after. I think she was going alone. I s'ppse you can catch up with her there if you really need to."

                "Thanks," I said, forgetting about murder (even though I shot a good glower at Sirius) and giving him a grateful smile, even as my heart sank a bit in my chest at the fact that I now had to actually go and talk to Carrie. What if she wasn't there alone? What if she wouldn't listen? What if she's already told the entire school and there's nothing I can do about it? I tired not to think about all the possibilities, but it was rather difficult with all of them blaring right there before me like potential knifes getting ready to slaughter my very soul.

                Certainly not a _grand_ image to be having, yeah?

                I was about to dash out of there (despite the fact that, even though I knew I had no choice, I _really_ did not want to go talk Carrie) when suddenly, just after I'd gotten up to leave, Sirius the Big Fat Prat had to stop me when he was all, "Hey, Evans...does _James_ know you're going to talk to Carrie about your sexscapades?"

                Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit.

                "They weren't sexscapades," I muttered immediately, but even _that_ sounded weak and stupid to my own ears and I knew that Sirius sensed it, as well. His eyebrows flew up.

                "No?" He seemed to ponder this. His face darkened. "Interesting."

                "Shut up."

                "Why?"

                "Just _shut up_."

                "Have I touched a soft spot there, Evans?" he asked, but now he had a sort of sneer in his voice and he was looking at me with open hostility. "I see how it is," he said.

                "You don't know what you're talking about, Black," I snapped back, and I didn't know _why_ he was so cross all of a sudden or why _I_ was so cross all of a sudden, only that we had somehow gotten on the topic of James and I wasn't very comfortable with that topic as of late and things had suddenly tumbled downhill.

                Damn it.

                "Leave her alone, Sirius," Remus muttered, looking between the two of us with a strange sort of look. I can't be certain, but _he_ seemed to be a bit brassed off, as well. I wasn't sure at who, though. "Leave it alone."

                "Fuck you," Sirius bit off, but I didn't know who it was directed at, Remus or me, and as he buried his face back in his magazine, it didn't look like Sirius was about to tell us.

                And so I walked off, wondering just what in the hell had happened.

                

____________________________________

**Extremely Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 181**

The walk to the Owlery was not exactly a fun one. More than just the fact that I was waltzing off to meet Carrie Lloyd, Girls' Lavatory Voyeur, I couldn't get the sour ending conversation with Sirius out of my head and even though I shouldn't have cared—he's not _my_ mate, for Merlin's sake. Plus, everyone knows he's completely mad and royally screwed up. What the hell does he know anyway?—I did.

                Sometimes I really hate myself.

                But honestly, what was he on about anyway? It's not his place to judge me and what I do. He has no _right_. If I want to go talk to Carrie Lloyd about something that happened yesterday, I have every right to do so, no questions asked. James has nothing to do with it—well, I mean, he _does_ , but the conversation doesn't need to _include_ him. And it _certainly_ does not need to include Sirius Black. And he didn't have to be all silently judgmental like that. It is NOT WRONG for me to want to talk to Carrie, to make sure she doesn't say anything to anyone. It's not WRONG for me not to want Amos to hear of James and my escapades, as innocent as they were.

                IT IS NOT WRONG.

                And Sirius does not have ANY right to make me feel like it is.

                And I know that James is his best mate and that I am stupid and have not always been the nicest of people to him, but just because I now know that James fancies me and just because I may fancy him a very, very small amount back DOES NOT MEAN that I should have to drop my love for Amos and just let these rumors fly and let everyone think I'm shagging James and just go on and ACTUALLY shag James or something and...and...

                ...and I don't know.

                I just don't know.

                But neither does Sirius.

                And therein lies my point.

                That Sirius is not one to talk.

                At all.

                And even though I hated that he was being all presumptuous and mean and nasty, all because I refused to fancy his best mate more than I fancied another man, I suppose I was grateful to Sirius a little bit. Not because of anything that he had insinuated (or rather....didn't _really_ insinuate, I suppose...but sort of made clear...if that's even what he meant...but he _had_ to mean that...right?), but because I was so cross with him that I completely forgot where I was going and what I was doing and therefore had zero time to completely stress myself out over my impending conversations with the GLV. Which was pretty grand, seeing as I would have probably stressed myself out to such a degree that I probably would have had a heart attack and died, right there in the west tower, without ever talking to Carrie. But I didn't. Because I wasn't thinking of it. I was thinking of Sirius.

                I was still in a huff as I stomped up the stairs to the Owlery. And I don't know, but maybe that was a good thing, too, because when I finally reached the door, shoved it open and spotted Carrie Lloyd standing right there on my right, tying a note to one of the school owls, I wasn't all nervous and trite. Because as it turns out, angry people have a sort of hostile wit that doesn't allow them to be all nervous and trite, even whilst confronting Girls' Lavatory Voyeurs. 

                Which, all things considered, I guess was pretty brilliant.

                So, thank you, Sirius Black.

                Even though you're an arsehole.

                "Carrie Lloyd, I need to talk to you."

                My voice echoed in the drafty tower, reverberating around the room and startling Carrie so much that she jumped and dropped her letter. She swung around, her big eyes finding mine and widening even further. She looked stunned to see me.

                That was pretty fine by me. I wanted her on edge.

                

                "What are you doing up here, Evans?" Carrie asked, shaking her initial shock away as she quickly bent over to pick up her fallen letter. She shot me a look. "What do you want?"

                "To talk to you," I answered, striding towards her purposefully. There was no chance she was going to escape and I do believe she knew that. She could have refused to talk to me, I suppose, but the idea didn't seem to come to her as she stood there, staring at me questioningly.

                "About what?" she asked skeptically.

                "Yesterday," I answered.

                Carrie's eyebrows shot up. "Yesterday?" she asked. "What about yesterday?"

                I couldn't decide whether she was toying with me...or seriously didn't remember.

                It had been a possibility.

                "You know what I'm talking about," I accused her ambiguously, not wanting to remind her of the run-in if she actually _had_ gone and forgotten it. Carrie eyes narrowed, then suddenly opened in realisation.

                "Oh," she said. "That. You and James."

                Bingo, bimbo.

                "Yeah," I said. " _That_."

                Carrie eyed me skeptically. "So...what about it?" she asked, finally turning around to tie her previously fallen letter back onto the school owl. Her fingers moved quickly. Now it was my turn to narrow the eyes.

                What about it?

                What _about_ it?

                What _not_ about it?

                If I had been normal me and not anger-induced-therefore-hostile-witty-plus-courageous me, I probably would have awkwardly shuffled around this question. I would have mumbled and muttered and stumbled over my words like a bumbling idiot, not knowing what to say and how Carrie would react and how to get the proper answers out of her. But seeing as I _wasn't_ normal me, but this mixture of rage and courage that was somehow very convenient at that point in time, I very fiercely glared at the Voyeur who was threatening my very existence and let it all out.

                Sometimes being angry is very very brilliant.

                "Why haven't you told anyone yet?" I demanded, marching straight up to Carrie and standing basically right there in her face. "Why haven't you said anything? You've had the opportunity to— _two days_ worth of opportunities—but you haven't said a word. Or if you have, you and whoever you shared the whole thing with have decided not to say anything. And I want to know _why_ , Carrie. _I want to know why!_ "

                "Lily—"

                "Did you tell Saunders?" I went on, completely ignoring Carrie's every attempt at giving answers just then. "Did you tell her? Did she tell you not to say anything because she wants James for herself? Did you tell anyone else? And what are _they_ going to do with that information? You have no idea what this can do, Carrie. _You don't know_. And I'm going to tell you right now that I _swear_ —"

                "Evans! _Stop_!" Carrie held up her hands, yelling louder then me—quite a feat, I must say—to get my attention. I finally shut up, but I was breathing heavily with all the pent-up frustration, not just at Carrie, but at the whole situation. Carrie looked more than relieved when my mouth stayed closed. "Good," she said, letting out a quick breath of her own. Then she looked at me seriously. "I didn't tell anyone," she said.

                Didn't tell anyone?

                Didn't tell...

                What?

                "What?" I muttered blankly, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. Carrie let out an exasperated sigh.

                "I didn't tell anyone!" she cried again, rolling her eyes. "About you and James and the lavatory. And I'm not planning to."

                Not planning...

                She wasn't planning to?

                She had this perfect ammo, this life-ending piece of _true_ gossip...and she wasn't planning to tell anyone about it?

                _What?_

                "Why not?" I asked, now completely wary. What was this girl on about? "Why wouldn't you tell anyone? Why? I mean, Saunders—"

                "—would go absolutely _mad_ ," Carrie finished, looking at me as if I was the daftest bird in all of history and her reasoning was completely obvious. "Do you have any idea what she'd be like if she heard of this? You think she was bad after that scene in the dormitory..." She trailed off, shaking her head and rolling her eyes again. "I'm not going to tell her," she said again. "Or anyone else."

                I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.

                What did she mean she wasn't going to tell her or anyone else? Why? _Why?_ Did she not realise what this would do to my life? Did she not realise that she could _destroy_ it with this little bit of gossip? Because she could. The implications involved in the situation would be enough for Amos to completely toss me over and that _would_ be the very end of my life. So why wasn't she? I didn't understand. It made no sense. I mean...

                Did Carrie Lloyd...have a heart?

                "Why are you doing this?" I asked, not skeptical really anymore, just rather shocked. I crossed my arms over my chest, warding off the chilly winds that floated through the tower. "Why aren't you going to tell?"

                "Because I'm not a terrible person, Evans," Carrie said, giving me a nasty look. She crossed her arms over her chest as well, leaned back against the dirty tower wall. "I know that Diggory will flip a shit if he hears about this, won't he? And you don't want that, do you?"

                "Well, no, but—"

                "I can't say I really understand what you're doing with the two of them," she went on, picking at her fingernails. "James and Diggory, I mean. Whatever it is, it's completely fucked up, though." She glanced away from her nails, looked up at me. And then—and it was really the maddest of things, but it did happen—Carrie Lloyd, the Girls' Lavatory Voyeur, smiled at me. "But I _do_ know that even though I hear you're still going to Hogsmeade with Diggory, you certainly aren't sneaking around in any lavatories with _him_. And don't you dare tell Liz I said this, but..." Her grin widened. "I do think you and James and really just the cutest thing."

                _I do think you and James and really just the cutest thing._

Oh, Merlin.

                OhMerlinOhMerlinOhMerlin.

                "Uh, Carrie..."

                "You are," she went on, pushing off the wall as she began to stride towards the door. I couldn't follow her. I appeared to be glued to the floor. "I've thought so forever. I always thought it was the saddest thing when you'd be so mean to him, but..." She turned towards me again, shrugged. "I guess it all worked out in the end."

                Um, no.

                Not at all.

                Not at _all_ , Carrie Lloyd.

                I tried to tell her, tried to explain. "Carrie, listen. James and I—"

                "Are keeping it a secret or something, right?" she finished, not really needing my consent (or _correction_ , as it actually would have been) as she continued to make her way across the tower. She reached the door leading back down to the castle, stopped, then looked at me one last time. "Whatever. I think you should just toss Diggory, even though he's fetching, too. James is so much better, though. Oh, and remember, don't tell Liz I told you any of this." She paused, then snorted. "Never mind," she added with a little smirk to herself. "She wouldn't believe you, anyway."

                Then she turned around and disappeared from sight.

____________________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 182**

                Carrie Lloyd is the biggest freak.

                The biggest, most brainless, most silly freak in the whole of Hogwarts.

                But I'm somewhat grateful to her, in my own sort of way.

                Even though she's gotten just about everything _wrong_.

                James and I... _cute_. 

                Where does she get these things, anyway?

                Psh!

____________________________________

**Really the Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 29**

**Total Observations: 182**

Well...I guess we _could_ be, in an odd sort of way.

                If Amos had died or something and I couldn't date him/love him/marry him/etc., I mean. Then James and I could _maybe_ be cute. Kind of really cute, I suppose, when one really sits and thinks about it, which, naturally, one never really _does_ , because why _would_ they. But we _could_ be, I guess.

                I mean, seeing as we are both so fantastic and wonderful and everything. 

                And as he is so good-looking, and I have my days. 

                

                And as we are both so brilliantly intelligent.

                And are Head Boy and Head Girl.

                And make each other laugh with our madness and such.

                And...

                Er.

                Other things.

                If Amos were dead, I mean.

                _Really_ dead. Like, already gone for several years and buried and not a ghost and such. Because that's naturally the only time I would ever have the opportunity to even _contemplate_ such a relationship between James and I, seeing as I fancy Amos so much more. And James just a very small amount. Despite Carrie Lloyd's opinion. And Gracie's opinion. But Gracie is biased because if they weren't such good mates, she would probably date James. Not that she would _now_ , though. I mean, knowing that _I_ fancy him and everything. Even if it is just a little bit. Mates do not date blokes that their other mates fancy, no matter how big or small that infatuation is. No matter if that mate is sort-of-technically dating someone else. It's just the _rule_.

                Yeah.

                The _rule_.

____________________________________

**Wednesday, October 15th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 182**

                I am not hungry this morning.

                I am really very much not hungry, and that is why I am not going to breakfast.

                It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that last night I spent a majority of my falling-asleep-process laying in my bed, contemplating whether or not James and I would in any way, shape or form be considered a slightly-more-than-interesting couple—not that such a thing could _happen_ , of course, seeing as Amos is young and healthy and here and that makes him my potential better half, not James—even though I did. But I blame that all on Carrie Lloyd. It's really her fault. It wasn't _serious_ contemplation, of course, just _curious_ contemplation, seeing as she brought up the subject and all and I thought it so mad that I couldn't _not_ think about it and its madness. So I thought about it. For quite awhile. But that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am not currently down at breakfast. I don't think it would be awkward or anything. That's not it at all.

                I am simply not hungry.

                Just simply not hungry at all.

____________________________________

**Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 182**

Merlin, I'm _starving_.

                I am going to eat my shoe.

                I AM SO HUNGRY THAT I AM GOING TO EAT MY SHOE.

                But I _can't_ go downstairs because _James_ is downstairs and that means _I can't_ be. Because whether or not you choose to lie to yourself about it or not, you do not spend the entire night contemplating your relationship with a bloke and THEN GO AND SEE HIM THE NEXT MORNING AND ACT ALL NORMAL. Even when where he is there is a lot of food. You just _don't_.

                I'm going to shuffle through Grace's trunk. I think she has some Cauldron Cakes in there or something.

                _Ughhhh_.

____________________________________

**Later, Potions**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 182**

_Dear Professor Abbott,_

_Normally, I would be absolutely_ thrilled _to produce a Bryptin Potion for you (and I would do it_ right _, as well, because I happen to_ know _how to produce a pretty brilliant Bryptin Potion), but today, I am afraid that I am not. In fact, you may have noticed that I am not particularly up to doing anything this morning. This is because of a series of reasons that I will now list for you:_

_a) I am so incredibly starving that I do believe that my stomach has begun to eat itself in an extreme protest of its extreme emptiness._

_b) I am very tried, as I was haunted last night with inappropriate thoughts._

_c) The very subject of my inappropriate thoughts is sitting behind me, throwing things at Severus Snape and generally being a very large four-year-old with his mates._

_d) Even as he is being a four-year-old, I am still attracted to him._

_e) My true love_ — _who is_ not _the aforementioned attractive four-year-old_ — _is not in this class and therefore is not in my mind and is therefore slowly leaving it and I don't know why that's happening or how, especially considering I have loved him for years and years and months and years and in fact have a date with him this very Saturday._

_f) Even though they aren't good enough mates to get me food, I do happen to have two brilliant best mates willing to make this Bryptin Potion after I told them that I am having a nervous breakdown and was therefore unable to do so._

_e) You are presently looking at Christa Forester and her sad attempt at dicing spiders legs and therefore are practically_ allowing _me to do nothing._

_So, in conclusion, Professor, dear, I will not be participating in class today. Please ignore me and my misery._

_Regards,_

_Lily Evans_

_P.S._ — _Um, did I not just ask you to ignore me? What was with the "I didn't know this assignment required writing, Miss Evans"? So rude, Professor._ So _rude._

_P.S.S_ — _And it doesn't matter that you will never actually read this letter because I will never give it to you. You should just get it. Telepathically. I am sending my message to you through universal brainwaves. Obviously._

_P.S.S.S_ — _GOOD LORD, WOMAN, I'LL STOP!! Quit yelling!! Jeeez!_

                

____________________________________

**Even Later, Charms**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 182**

_Dearest Filius,_

_I'm so depressed, Fil._

_I can tell you this and know you will keep it a secret, as our Charmish bond allows us a special, private relationship, I think. Plus, Grace and Emma have both told me that they are sick of my whining. So now I'm depressed alone. In_ Charms _class, no less! I know! Mad, isn't it? And you're going over advanced defensive charms and everything. Advanced defensive charms are my_ favorite _. How can I possibly be anything but ecstatic?_

_The truth is that my life is pretty much shit right now, Fil. It really is. Everyone is doing maddening things and saying maddening things and making me question my previously firm convictions about life. I rather wish life were more like Charms in that respect. I mean, Charms don't change. There is one right way to do them, one right way to say the incantation, to move your wand, and that's it. Charms won't all of a sudden snog you and make you realise that they fancy you and you fancy them, as well. Charms won't ask you out on a date for this Saturday that you are quite curiously not excited for. Charms won't learn a tantalizing and damning piece of gossip about you and then suddenly decide, completely uncharacteristically, not to tell anyone about it, because their best mate would be unbearable and because they think you're a cute couple. Charms...are just Charms. Maybe that's why I love them so much. They're_ dependable _, you know? So dependable._

_So that's why I'm not answering your questions, Fil. Even though I know all the answers and everyone else is being very stupid and silent and you are looking at me quite expectantly, I just can't. Because my life is shit. And I'm hungry. And James Potter is an arsehole. A really big arsehole. Who I fancy a little bit._

_I really could use a Cheering Charm right now, Fil. I really could._

_Love Forever From the Land of the Morbidly Depressed,_

_Lily_

____________________________________

**Later Later, Divination**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 182**

_Professor Freedman_ —

                _I'm sorry that I tried to drink the tea you were using for the tealeaves. Honestly, I didn't think it would be a very big deal. I didn't know it would destroy the universe or cause a rift in the space-time continuum or anything else you were babbling on about. It was just that my stomach was rumbling rather loudly and I thought it would stop if I just put some nice tea into it. I now know that was not a very good idea._

_Sorry._

_Apologetically,_

_Lily Evans_

____________________________________

**Later Later Later, Corridor**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 183**

IT'S TIME FOR LUNCH, IT'S TIME FOR LUNCH, IT'S TIME FOR LUNCH!!!!!!

                FINALLY!!!!!

                HUZZAH!!!!!!!!!!

____________________________________

**Later Later Later, Transfiguration**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 184**

                Observation #184) Never underestimate the power of an uncomfortable night spent contemplating inappropriate thoughts and unresolved anger. It can get you in serious trouble.

                I didn't bother to wait for Emma or Grace as I dashed from the North Tower down to the Great Hall in really what I do believe was record time. My stomach had been obnoxiously grumbling for the past hour, making my silent hunger problems public with the intensity of its bellows, so I suppose it’s rather easy to understand why I suddenly decided to turn myself into a marathon runner. I had tried to stop the grumbling, but that hadn't gone over too well, what with Professor Freedman telling me I had just pretty much ruined my own future by trying to drain my tea down (not that you even _need_ the tea to read tealeaves. I tried to tell Freedman this, but she was too busy telling me of my now perilously-close-to-ending life) and everything.

                Really depressing stuff, that.

                But I had bigger problems on my hands.

                Like a quickly becoming cannibalistic stomach.

                Yeah.

                Not good.

                Needless to say, I got to the Great Hall as soon as was physically possible.

                I don't like to think that I ate like a complete savage as soon as I sat my bum down at the Gryffindor table, but I am comfortable enough with my own self to admit that I have certainly had more polite dining moments. But honestly, what can you expect of a girl who hadn't eaten anything since a slight picking at dinner the night before? What can you honestly expect? And after the strenuous time I’ve recently been having? Life can't always be glamorous, you know.

                Or rather _never_ glamorous, as is often my case.

                So I was sitting there at the table, shoveling another obscene mouthful of rice (yes, they had rice at lunch! Victory!) into my overfilled trap when James sauntered over and took a seat across from me, as causal as could be. I had been far too engrossed in my meal to spot him before he was right there in front of me, so I suppose you can say it was a bit of a shock to see him there all of a sudden. And even though I should be _used_ to the fact that whenever I now see him, my stomach is going to flip, my head is going to spin and I am going to feel a bit on the woozy side, I apparently am not, because I wasn't expecting it at all. And maybe it was the fact that I still wasn't used to it yet, or maybe it was the fact that it was _there_ in the first place, but whatever it was, I found myself beginning to grow distinctly annoyed.

                Very, very classy stuff, really.

                Psh.

                "Hungry?" James asked dryly, eyebrows raised as he stared at my appallingly full mouth and my overflowing plate. I felt myself turning ridiculously red, but nodded and took a swig of pumpkin juice, trying not to show it. James laughed and began filling up his own plate with considerably less than I had on mine. "Where were you this morning, anyway?" he asked, taking some rice (which I did _not_ find attractive in the least, by the way) and adding it to his plate. "I mean, I’m assuming this newfound gluttony comes from a lack of sustenance from this morning, yeah?”

                “I was sleeping,” I lied between large swallows of food, frowning at him. “Sometimes I like to do things like that.”

                Somewhere in the back of my mad mind, I wondered what he would do if I told him the _real_ reason I hadn’t gone down to breakfast this morning. If I had just sat there between spoonfuls of rice and calmly informed him that I had spent most of the night trying to convince myself that the pair of us were the most unsuited couple in the entire world…and failing miserably. I wondered what he’d do if I just went, “I was thinking about you snogging me. Remember when you did that? Snogged me?” and then took another sip of pumpkin juice.

                He’d probably have a heart attack. Or choke, at the very least.

                No.

                You know what he’d _really_ probably do?

                Snog me again.

                Yeah.

                He’d totally snog me again.

                James cocked an eyebrow. “Are you all right? You look a bit odd.”

                Snoggingsnoggingsnoggingsnoggingsnogging.

                _Shit._

                “Remember that nervous breakdown I was telling you about the other day?” I muttered lamely, suddenly feeling very hot and out of breath and not good at all. “I think it’s coming back. Yeah, definitely coming back.”

                Not good.

                Not good at all.

                _Damn it._

                “Tell me more about this nervous breakdown,” James said, taking a bite of his sandwich and really having no idea what he was asking. “You were very vague about it before.”

                Tell you more about it?

 

                Um. 

                You caused it.

                “It’s terrible.”

                “Why?”

                “Because it _is_.”

                “Very loquacious today, hm?”

                “Shut up,” I muttered, moodily biting into my own sandwich, wishing he would just go away. “Just shut up, okay? Because you know what…it’s like…it’s a girl thing, all right? You couldn’t understand. You would never understand.”

                Except that he _would_ and that’s what's driving me _mad_.

                “Try me,” James suggested.

                But I didn’t _want_ to try him and I didn’t _want_ to talk about it because the more I even _vaguely_ spoke about it, the more I _thought_ about it and the fact that this maddening, seemingly small infatuation was slowly growing in both annoyance and proportion, taking my level of confusion with it. And while this should have been disappointing, perhaps disheartening at worst, I somehow found it getting me angry. Really angry. And I suppose that’s not strange, what with my tendency to get like that rather often, but it really grew at a surprisingly rapid rate.

                And who better to take that anger out upon than the one who inadvertently caused it?

                Sometimes I don’t think before I do things.

                “Just leave me alone,” I suddenly snapped at James, practically feeling the sharpening of my tongue as I began glowering, the anger suddenly boiling over. “Can you just bloody leave me _alone_ for a few seconds? _Merlin_!”

                James’s eyebrows shot up. “Jeez,” he muttered, shooting me a look. “You don’t have to _yell_.”

                “ _I’m not yelling_!”

                “Er…”

                “ _Shut up_!”

                

                I didn’t know why I was suddenly acting like such a madwoman—and a distinctly _unfriendly_ one at that—and I knew that James was beginning to see my nastiness as less of a joke and more of an annoyance when his eyes narrowed at me. Still, I could feel myself growing angrier and angrier by the second, the strong emotion coming from seemingly nowhere. 

                Because, really, _what right did he have?_

                What right did he have to change so suddenly?

                What right did he have to fancy me?

                What right did he have to make _me_ fancy _him_?

                

                What right did he have to snog me and then _forget_?

                And I know it’s not his fault. I know that he could not control these things any more than I could. He changed because he grew up. He fancied me because…well, for whatever reason he chose to fancy me. It was _me_ who decided to fancy him; he couldn’t help that. And it’s not his fault he got drunk and couldn’t remember snogging me. It wasn’t his fault that Amos had asked me out and I was no longer excited about it. It wasn’t his fault that we were completely compatible in so many strange ways from our affinity for being a bit mad to our slightly off heights and that I had laid there last night and thought about every last one of them. It wasn’t his fault that I ‘m so conflicted.

                It was _no one’s_ fault really.

                But I still blamed him.

                It was easier that way, I suppose.

                “What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” he demanded, eyes narrowing even further when I wouldn’t quit glaring at him. And maybe it was stupid, but I just kept getting crosser and crosser the longer he sat there.

                “I’m _fine_ ,” I snapped back, though I clearly _wasn’t_. “Will you just let it bloody alone? _Merlin_. You’re such—“

                “Is this about Diggory?”

                My heart stopped.

                “What?”

                “It’s about fucking Diggory, isn’t it?” James repeated, practically spitting the words. His face had turned dark. “He did something and now you’re taking it out on me, right? What’d the bloody arsehole do? He didn’t break it off, did he?”

                I cracked.

                I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I cracked.

                And somehow, unfortunately, James ended up getting sliced by all the broken shards.

                “Why does this have to be about Amos?” I shouted, rising from my seat and glaring more fiercely at him than I can ever remember doing. I felt my face flush red and the anger storm up inside. Even as I was trying to tell myself to be rational, the dam broke free and suddenly bitter words were tumbling out of my mouth at a rapid pace. “Why do you always have to go and try to put him down like that? I _like_ him, James, and I don’t give a _bloody damn_ what you think about it, so just _shut your stupid mouth._ Why can’t you just accept the fact that he’s not an arsehole and he fancies me and that’s that?”

                “Because he _is_ an arsehole!” James cried.

                “ _You’re_ an arsehole!” I shot back.

                “What the bloody fuck is _wrong_ with you today?” James demanded for the second time, now standing as well. He towered over me, glaring daggers. I could feel eyes beginning to turn in our direction and it just made me all the angrier. James didn’t seem to notice, however, as he just went on and on. “Don’t take your bloody frustrations out on me, Evans. It’s not my bloody fault you’ve got something up your arse. I’m not your bloody problem.”

                “Yes, you _are!_ It’s _all_ _your fault_!”

                The second the words came out of my mouth, I would have given anything to get them back. I would have sold my soul to go back in time, to somehow change or alter the moment of complete insanity when that seemed like the right thing to say. But I couldn’t, and they were out there, and even as I was mentally bargaining with the devil, I saw James’s face fall and the confusion come over his expression and knew I had just dug myself in deep.

                Was I mad? Was I absolutely bleeding _mad_?

                I might as well just bloody tell him everything! Every single completely conflicting, utterly embarrassing detail!

                _Was I mad??_

                “I’m leaving,” I snapped, now more cross with myself than I was with James, but still cross all the same. James followed my brisk actions with his narrowed eyes, the puzzling look never leaving his face. I tried to ignore him, didn’t want to deal with it. He wasn’t going to let me leave without a fight, though.

                “What are you on about?” he said, his eyes and voice still sharp. “How the bloody hell is this _my_ fault?”

                “I’m _leaving_ ,” I said again, and this time, I meant it. He looked like he was about to say something more, would have demanded an explanation, I suppose, but I didn’t give him the chance. I simply shot him the dirtiest look I could possibly muster, grabbed my books and all but ran from the Great Hall, both my appetite and my dignity completely gone.

                And James, smart man that he is, didn’t follow me.

                And I know this isn’t his fault. After fuming all throughout History and rationalizing and cathartically writing it out now in Transfiguration, I know none of this is James’s fault. And maybe I knew it then, as well. He can’t control forgetting snogging me anymore than I can control my maddening feelings and even if he could, I don’t even know if I’d want him to and _that’s_ why I acted like such an arsehole. And maybe it felt a bit good, getting it out, even though he has no idea of the gravity of the situation and never will if I have anything to say about it, but I still regret it. I still regret all of it.

                And now he’s sitting here two rows in front of me and I know he’s angry, as well. His back is completely tense and I don’t think he’s paying the least bit of attention, neither to McGonagall, who’s going on about Animagus, or to Sirius, who keeps nudging him in the side. He hasn’t tried to speak to me, either, not even once. And maybe it’s better like that. Maybe I need a few hours more to fume and maybe he does, as well. But I have to see him tonight at tutoring and that just makes the situation all the more awkward.

                What if he just doesn’t show up?

                What if I’ve gotten him so cross that he wants nothing to do with me anymore?

                What if I’ve made him stop fancying me?

                Why does this kind of thing _always have to happen to me????_

                I _hate_ my life.

____________________________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 184**

                “What’s wrong with you, Lily?”

                “Don’t talk to me, Gracie. I’m a miserable, miserable person.”

                “Is this about that fight with James at lunch?"

                " _Don't say his name_."

                "Oh, come _on_ , Lil."

                “Just let me die _in peace_.”

____________________________________

**Even Later, Still in the 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 185**

“What’s wrong with Lily, Grace?”

                “She’s miserable and dying apparently.”

                “Why?”

                “James.”

                “Oh, good _lord_. Why do you let this stuff get to you, Lily?”

                “Because I’m a terrible, angry, person, Em.”

                “Oh. That’s nice.”

____________________________________

**Even Even Later, Still in the 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 185**

I don’t want to go to tutoring.

                I DON’T WANT TO GO TO TUTORING.

                I think I’m going to cry.

____________________________________

**Extremely Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30**

**Total Observations: 185**

                Why does life have to be so bleeding complicated?

                Seriously. Why does life have to be such utter rubbish? Why, after one thing is resolved and done and things are minimally happy, does something else have to go completely off again? What’s with the constant drama? Can’t we all just live in peace?

                _Jeez_.

                I was utterly and completely miserable by the time I mustered up enough strength to get out of bed and start getting ready to leave for tutoring with MJ. It was stupid, I suppose, being so miserable, but I was just so cross with myself for taking out my frustrations on James this afternoon that I couldn't help it. I mean, it wasn’t even a huge fight as far as our previous history of diabolical feuds go, but this one wasn’t at all fair. It wasn’t fair that I took out on James what I was angry with myself about. Yes, he snogged me. Yes, as a result I did discover he fancies me. Yes, he unintentionally made me realise that I fancy him, as well. Yes, I’m confused about it all and obviously haven’t accepted it yet, but…yelling at James is not the answer to all that.

                I really need to find alternate outlets for my frustration.

                Psh.

                I grabbed my Charms books and my Transfiguration textbook—if James even bothered to show up, which I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, I would probably need it—and prepared to leave the room. Emma was sitting on her bed working on her Arithmancy assignment and she looked up as I was sluggishly plodding towards the door.

                “Where are you going?” she asked.

                “Tutoring,” I muttered, the enthusiasm simply _radiating_ from my voice. Emma shook her head.

                “Sit in the back, will you?” she asked dryly, not even bothering to look up from her work. “No one but poor Maurice should have to deal with your mood today.”

                “MJ is the strong, silent type,” I shot back in response, though I was far too miserable to muster up some true and caustic wit. “We can be strong, silent and miserable together.”

                “Perk up!” was Emma’s only parting advice, and I closed the door on her laughing smile.

                Perk up.

                Psh.

                Not bloody _likely_.

                I remained in my unpleasant funk as I moped along the corridors down to the fourth floor to the library, but I knew that regardless of whether I was feeling it inside, I really _did_ need to take Emma's advice and perk up a bit. I mean, I couldn't honestly expect MJ to have to put up with my mood for an entire hour. That wouldn't have been the least bit fair to him. _He_ didn't do anything wrong, after all. It was just me and my stupidity. MJ shouldn't have to pay the price for my own transgressions. So even though I was still very much depressed and such, I forced myself to put on a smile (or rather, not a scowl) as soon as I reached the fourth floor. No one needed to know of my endless misery. It was something I had to bare alone.

                By the time I arrived at the library, I immediately spotted MJ already waiting for me at the table that we had used last week (which meant that despite Emma's imploring, I would _not_ be isolated, as perhaps I should have been). He was sitting innocently enough in the seat he had last occupied, his nose buried in some sort of large book, quiet and solemn as usual. I took a deep breath, reminding myself not to be an arse, and purposely strode over.

                "Hey, MJ," I greeted with my best false-cheer, throwing him a smile as I slid into the seat across from him. MJ glanced up from his book, his eyes blinking.

                "It takes more muscles to frown then it does to smile," he informed me flatly, eyes still blinking owlishly. "Did you know that?" And then, almost instantly, "What's wrong?"

                It is a truly sad and pathetic thing when you can't even hide your misery from a socially-stunted thirteen-year-old.

                Psh.

                "Er, why would something be wrong?" I asked innocently, trying my best to act as causal as possible. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Nothing's wrong."

                "You look sad," MJ responded with perceptiveness that I _really_ didn't need just then. "And tired. Sort of." He shrugged his shoulders, looked back down at his book. "Or maybe you're fine."

                Fine?

                Oh, good lord, I _wish_.

                "No, you're right," I said with a sigh, not even bothering to try with the false-cheeriness or the pseudo-smiles anymore. MJ looked up questioningly. I shrugged my shoulders. "It's been a long day," I went on. "I'm sort of in a funk. Sorry. I don't mean to be this—"

                "I need to talk to you, Lily."

                My head snapped up and my heart stopped at the familiar voice coming from in front of me. My mouth went dry and began to hang probably very unattractively open as I just stared blankly ahead.

                What was he doing here?

                What did he want?

                _Why was he doing this to me??_

                "James." His name fell stiff and uncomfortably off my lips. "What are you doing here?"

                He was standing casually behind MJ, his school robes still on, though they were a bit unkempt and looked as if he'd been lounging about in bed in them. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he shifted from one foot to the other, and if it weren't for the blazing, determined look in his face, I may not have even acknowledged him. But I knew instantly from the very first glance of him that that wouldn't be happening. Whatever it was James wanted, he'd get it, no matter what he had to do.

                Which is a rather worrying thought, when one really considers it.

                "I have to talk to you," he said urgently again, taking a step closer, his front coming up against the back of MJ's chair. "It's important."

                "Can't it wait?" I asked, even though now that he was there, standing right there in front of me, I wanted to apologize so badly for being such an arse that I positively ached with it. My eyes drifted down to MJ, who was sitting stolidly in his chair, his eyes glued to the book in front of him, the oddest expression on his face. "I'm sort of in the middle of something," I continued, reminding myself almost as much as James of the fact. I pursed my lips. "I'll see you in an hour. Can we just—"

                "No," James insisted, shaking his head. "It has to be now."

                "But—"

                "Come on."

                I like to think that if I had been in the right mental state—meaning if I weren't obscenely infatuated with him, utterly depressed because I'm a prat, and more than a bit off my rocker in general—and if I hadn't at that moment been so completely desperate to talk to him, I would have put up a bit more of a fight as he all but Apparated to the other side of the table, grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. But as I _was_ presently mentally imbalanced and desperate to speak with him, I could only manage a quick, "Be right back!" to MJ before I found myself being dragged across the library and into the endless rows of shelves, lost in the abyss of books as James continued on.

                He finally stopped somewhere near the back of the Defense section, where there was very little human contact save for the small bit of light and noise coming from the far left between the shelves. Crossing my arms over my chest, more out of anxiousness about what he was going to say and what I _wanted_ to say than anything else, I waited for James to turn to me. When he finally did, it looked as if he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say, or perhaps it was just that he didn't know how to say it. And even though I had up until that point been so completely consumed with getting him alone so I could apologise, I realised then that maybe something was actually _wrong_. I mean, James had said it was urgent, didn't he? Said it couldn't wait an hour until we had tutoring together. What did _that_ mean? What was wrong? Was anyone hurt? Was something amiss? Suddenly, I had a lot more on my mind than simple apologises.

                Oh, Merlin, who was it?

                What was it?

                Oh, _god_.

                "What happened?" I demanded quickly, when James didn't seem any closer to forming a coherent sentence than he had been since he'd first dragged me off. My panic began to rise at a rapid speed. "Is everything all right? What's wrong? No one's hurt, right? I mean, I would've heard if someone was hurt unless—"

                "No, no. No one's hurt," James hastily cut in, shaking his head and finally finding his words. I breathed a sigh of relief at that, thankful that at least it wasn't _that_ sort of important conversation, but still anxious to hear just what sort of important it _was_. All sorts of mad situations flew into my mind as James continued to slowly explain. "It's nothing like that," he went on, dragging on the suspense and my worrying. "No one's in any sort of danger or anything. I...the thing is...I just..."

                "You just _what_?"

                "I just had to apologise."

                ....

                _What?_

                "You...had to apologise?" I muttered slowly, watching in amazement as James's hand instantly shot up to mess with his hair and he nodded uncertainly. I took a deep breath. "That's what your important news that couldn't wait was? That you had to apologise?"

                "Well, yeah, because—"

                I hit him.

                I hit him very, very hard.

                " _Merlin_!" he cried, jumping away from my furious assaults. "Lil—watch it! What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!"

                "I...thought...something...was...really... _wrong_...you...bloody...stupid... _prat_!" I hissed through clenched teeth, socking him hard in whatever part of the body I could reach with each new word. "I...can't... _believe_...you..."

                "Hey, hey. STOP!" James finally cried, grabbing onto my wrists and pausing my vicious onslaughts if only for that one moment. "Will you calm down?" he asked, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I worried you. I didn't mean to. I was only coming to—"

                "—apologise!" I finished for him, glaring very fiercely. "I know! You said as much! And by the way," I added, none too pleasantly, "can you do me a favor and let me know just what in the bloody hell _you_ have to be sorry for?"

                James looked surprised. "What?" he muttered blankly.

                "You heard what I said!" I ranted, jerking my wrists out of his grip and tucking my arms firmly back over my chest. "What the bloody hell do you have to be sorry about, anyway? Or did you not realise it was _me_ who was jumping down your throat for no reason this afternoon? If anything, it should be _me_ scaring you out of your wits by grabbing you out of tutoring sessions with supposedly ominous news, _not_ the other way around!"

                "Er, but Lily..."

                "And I _am_ sorry," I finally managed to get out, losing most of my guster as the fact that I was actually trying to sincerely apologise set in. I took another deep breath and shook my head. "I _am_ sorry," I repeated quietly, looking straight up at James. "You caught me in an absolutely _dreadful_ mood and I'd been up most of the night and I hadn't eaten and...there are these other things..."

                "Like your mental breakdown?" James suggested helpfully with a bit of a grin. I laughed lightly, wishing I could—but knowing that I _could not_ —tell him all about my stupid mental breakdown and how he was inadvertently the entire cause of it. Instead I just nodded and swallowed down the words that wanted to come out.

                "Yeah," I mumbled, sighing heavily. " _Especially_ my mental breakdown."

                Mental breakdowns, I am beginning to learn, are more dangerous than previously expected.

                Psh.

                "Apology accepted," James instantly returned, but the way he said it, I knew there was something else on his mind. I didn't have to wait long for it. "But the thing is..."

                "Hm?"

                "You said...you said it was _my_ fault," he reminded me slowly, his hand back to messing up his hair again. "And maybe that was just you being cross," he went on quickly, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know. But the thing is...you've been off with me for a while. The past couple of days...you've been acting so strangely. And I thought maybe I _had_ done something stupid and that you were cross about it and I was just making things worse somehow. And I _know_ it was stupid to blame it all on Diggory earlier and everything, but...I'm not going to lie and pretend I like him, Infallible. I _do_ think the prat's an arsehole, but that doesn't mean _you_ have to think so and that doesn't mean he's going to fuck up like I've somehow fucked up—"

                "You haven't...you haven't messed up," I assured him quietly, feeling very prudish and not wanting to swear all of a sudden. I grabbed the hand that was messing with his hair and pulled it back down to his side. It was distracting me. "You haven't messed up," I said again. "It's me. It's always been me. And you..."

                I trailed off, not knowing what to say. Part of me was so desperate to tell him everything, to tell him that he had snogged me and forgotten about it and that I knew he fancied me and that I fancied him and just go on and on about the whole messy affair, letting _him_ deal with some of that burden, but I knew I'd never be able to do it. As much as I ached to let it all out, to let James deal with my problems, I knew that the only thing telling James _any_ of that was going to do would cause _more_ problems. Because once he knew...well, I'd imagine he'd be rather persistent. I mean, when he thought he stood a chance and everything. And I _really_ cannot deal with that because I don't even _know_ if he stands an actual chance yet. And until I figure out just what in the hell I'm going to do about Amos and my feelings for him and James and my feelings for him...well, this is going to be a very private matter. It _has_ to be. I have no _choice_.

                But that didn't make keeping it to myself any easier.

                "Is it the Carrie thing?" James suddenly asked, cutting me out of my black hole of miserable thoughts. "Is that why you're so cross with me? I'm sorry I went into the lavatory with you, okay? It was stupid. But she hasn't said anything to anyone, right? And you spoke with her. Did she say she was going to say anything to anyone?"

                "How did you know I spoke to her?" I asked, my eyes narrowing slightly.

                "Sirius told me," James answered. I very nearly groaned.

                "I swear to _Merlin_ ," I muttered exasperatedly, putting a hand to my now throbbing head, "the four of you boys are like a group of chatty old maids! What, do you spend your evenings just recounting your every days' conversations or something? Don't you keep anything from each other?"

                "Not usually," James responded with another shrug. "But what does it matter?" he asked. "Why do you care if Sirius told me you spoke to Carrie?"

                _Because I didn't want to break your heart, you stupid prat!!!!!_

                "Oh, never mind," I muttered instead, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "It doesn't even matter anymore. I'm not cross with you about Carrie. That wasn't your fault. And she's not going to say anything about it, anyway."

                "Than what _were_ you cross with me about?" James asked, the confusion evident in his voice. "Why have you been so off with me lately?"

                Um, because you _snogged me_ , maybe?

                Because I _fancy_ you?

                Psh.

                "It's...I haven't been cross with you," I answered slowly, trying to find the right words. James shot me a disbelieving look. "Really," I insisted again. "I'm not lying to you. I wasn't cross. It's just there's...there's something..."

                " _What_?" James cried. "What is it?"

                "I can't tell you," I finally blurted out, a most unsatisfactory answer in so many ways. "At least," I quickly added, when James's eyebrows shot up, "I can't tell you about it _right now_. And I know that must sound incredibly strange—"

                "—well, _yeah_ —"

                "—but please let me be ambiguous for a little while, all right?" I all but begged, throwing him a desperate look. "I just...there are just some things I need to figure out first before I...er...well, tell you about other things, I suppose...and I know that _still_ doesn't make any sense, but I guess you see now why I haven't been exactly the most stable of people lately because I've been dealing with this... _thing_...and it's been driving me _mad_ , so..."

                I didn't know where to go from there. I didn't even know what I had just been muttering _on_ about in the first place, so I suppose it was little wonder that I didn't know where to go, but I just looked desperately up at James's completely baffled face and prayed to every sort of Higher Power that I knew of that he would understand the nonunderstandable.

                I just _couldn't_ tell him all of it yet. I _couldn't_.

                "So...this… _thing_ ," James started slowly, the puzzlement on his face carefully drifting into that of quiet thought. "It's why you've been acting all strange towards me lately? That's the reason?"

                I nodded, not trusting my mouth not to go and spout the whole thing out just then. James nodded back.

                "All right," he said, appearing to take this information in. "And did I..." he went on, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.”I mean, did I... _do_ this thing? Is it my fault?"

                "Not exactly," I answered, not even certain how to respond to that. "It's...complicated."

                Complicated.

                Oh, yeah.

                _Definitely_ complicated.

                "Complicated," James repeated, also trying out the word. He seemed to think about this for a few more seconds. His eyebrows furrowed some more. He was quiet for a few seconds as he stared intently at the ground, idly scratching at the back of his head. Then, suddenly, he looked back up at me. "But you'll tell me what this thing is, though, right?" he asked, dropping his hand to his side. "I mean, not now, but eventually you'll tell me?"

                "Once _I_ figure it out," I responded dryly, giving him a nod.

                "And you won't be acting odd with me anymore?" he questioned, eyebrows raised. "You're done with the strange conversations and the random outbursts of anger, yeah?"

                "Yes, I think so," I replied with a snort, hoping very much so that I was. "But if I'm not," I quickly added, giving him a bit of a grin, "you know it's not you, it's me, and can therefore forgive me instantly, yes?"

                James snorted back. "Oh, yeah," he said, rolling his eyes. "Instant penance."

                "Lovely!" I proclaimed with another grin.

                "Hey, Lil?"

                "Hm?"

                "Are you certain you just don't want to tell me about this thing now?"

                _No_.

                Now, please stop tempting me, you stupid, stupid boy!

                "Yes, I'm sure," I answered with a sigh, and I think even James sensed the reluctance and indecision in my voice. I shook it off, then gave him a firm nod, hoping he'd leave it alone. "I'm sure," I said again, this time with much more conviction. "I'll tell you of it later. I promise."

                "All right," James responded, shrugging his shoulders. "As long as you're sure."

                "I am," I said.

                Though I wasn't.

                We stood there alone in that reclusive Defense section for a few more seconds, each of us lost in our thoughts as we processed the recent conversation. I have no idea what was going on inside of James's head, but I very highly doubted it could be the confusion that was even now increasing in mine. Not for the first time, I wished that James had just bleeding remembered that stupid kiss, terrible consequences be damned, because I really couldn't think of anything more horrible than his awkward and awful indecision I was presently suffering through.

                It is not fun.

                Not fun at all.

                I probably could've stood there forever, contemplating my life and it's vast unfairness and such, but something, I'm not sure what it was, suddenly reminded me of the fact that I had a recently abandoned tutoree waiting for me back in the library mainland. I hoped MJ wasn't too cross with me for abandoning him for so long.

                "I really have to get back," I said quickly, already turning on my heel. "MJ's waiting for me."

                "Oh, yeah. Sure," James agreed, following behind me as I began to make my way back through the sea of bookshelves. "I'll leave you to it, then. I'll see you—"

                "Wait!" I cried, suddenly remembering something as I grabbed hold of James's hand just as he was about to escape through another row of shelves. "Come with me for a second."

                "What? Why? Lily...?"

                But I ignored James as he shot off questioning remarks behind me, my newfound contentment after making peace with him allowing me to once again take advantage of him as I dragged him along behind me. It wasn't long before we broke through the dark bookshelves and made our way back towards the main circle of tables. I spotted MJ right where we had left him, once again absorbed in his book. Finally catching on to where we were going and what we were doing, James finally put up a bit of resistance.

                "Lily, I am not—"

                "You said you'd meet him," I reminded him, shooting him a look over my shoulder. "Remember? You promised to tell me I'm not mad when you realise he's just a normal young boy instead of the devil's advocate everyone's making him out to be. You promised," I reminded him again, this time more firmly. James let out a noise from behind me.

                "I _know_ , but Lily—"

                But I didn't give him any time to protest any further. We had already reached the table where MJ was sitting.

                "Hey, MJ!" I greeted with a smile, this time completely legitimate and not at all forced. MJ looked up at my hello, spotted James still standing beside me, then looked back down. I frowned, wondering what that was all about. "Sorry about that. James had something very important to tell me."

                "S'all right," MJ muttered, still not looking up from his book. He didn't say anything more. James tried to, however.

                "Lily, I really have to get—"

                "Actually," I quickly cut in, the loudness and firmness of my voice causing both boys to look at me, "I wanted to introduce the pair of you. I figure that since we've got tutoring one after another, there are bound to be some overlapping moments, yeah? So, James this is—"

                "—you don't have to do this, Lily—"

                "—MJ. And MJ, this is—"

                "He knows who I am, Lily!" James suddenly cried, his voice very loud and extremely frustrated out of seemingly nowhere. I looked over at him, rather shocked to find him glaring at me. I glared right back at him.

                "Well, that's rather cocky of you," I snapped, glowering at him. "Not _everyone_ knows who you are, James."

                "I didn't mean it like that," James gritted out, his teeth clenched. "You don't understand. This isn't—"

                "Don't understand what?" I cried, growing very angry myself. Why was he doing this? He had said before that he would meet MJ. It was just one, simple thirteen-year-old boy, for Merlin’s sake! Was it so much to ask to simply exchange some pleasantries? "How you can't even let me properly introduce you to someone? How you're being completely irrational and rude? Well, then, please, explain it to me, James, would you? Because you're right. I _don't_ understand."

                James looked like he was about to fume up and blurt something probably _very_ rude and not the least bit explaining, but he didn't get the chance to. I didn't understand how in the hell he had gone from one utterly pleasant extreme to another utterly cross and practically homicidal extreme in the course of mere minutes until out of nowhere, MJ, who had been completely silent up until this point, finally spoke up.

                "He's right, Lily," he informed me quietly, his eyes lifting from his book for the first time. He looked defeated. "You don't have to introduce us."

                My eyebrows furrowed, both at his words and his peculiar expression. "MJ, what—"

                "He's my cousin."

                ....

                He's...

                _What?_

                "He's your _WHAT_?"

                " _Don't call me that!"_

                James and I spoke almost simultaneously, equally as loud, though certainly with varying emotions. I was astonished. James was furious. I whirled on him instantly.

                "You never told me you were _cousins_!" I cried, the indignation heavy in my voice. "You never...all that time..."

                "We're _not_ cousins!" James snapped vehemently, all but shaking with rage. He turned on MJ. "We're _not_ cousins!" he growled.

                "Fine," MJ muttered, burying his face back inside his book, suddenly looking very pale. "Sorry."

                "No!" I cried, now completely determined to get to the bottom of this. Cousins? How could they possibly be _cousins_? And why hadn't anyone said anything about it before? "This is _not_ fine. And don't apologise to him, MJ! He's being a wretched beast! Now, someone explain this to me right now or I swear I'll hex the pair of you in the worst possible way I know how!"

                Perhaps it was a bit extreme of a threat, but if there's one thing I hate, it's being out of the loop, and these two were clearly determined to keep me as uninformed as possible.

                Psh.

                We'd see about _that_.

                Neither one of them seemed to anxious to talk. MJ appeared to be determined to hide himself behind his book, while James looked like he was about to explode at any second, though not with useful information. I was about to let out some more well-timed angry jabs at the pair of them to get one of them speaking, when suddenly I was interrupted, though not by either of the two people I wanted to be interrupted by.

                A lovely woman, really, but why on earth does Pince have to come at such _inopportune moments??_

                "This is a _library!_ " she shouted, her face red and her accent heavy as she stomped over towards us, brandishing her wand with evil intent. "Either you keep your voices down or you all leave at this very moment, am I understood?"

                "I was leaving, anyway," James huffed, not even pausing to say goodbye or give any of us any sort of words of parting. His only acknowledgement to any of us was a very fierce glare aimed in my specific direction as he stormed out of the library.

                And here we are again, full circle.

                Cross James in the morning, Cross James in the evening.

                _Shit_.

                "So sorry, Madam Pince," I apologised quickly, throwing the bitter librarian my most innocent of smiles. "You'll hear nothing of us from now on. I promise."

                "Pft," Madam Pince scoffed, throwing me a look. "I'd best not!"

                Then she stomped off, away to the Land of the Bitter and Sexually Frustrated once more. The second she was gone from sight, I grabbed my chair, threw myself in it, and turned on MJ. He still had his face buried in his book.

                "Well?" I said, unable to hide the quiet note of frustration in my voice. "Care to explain?"

                MJ slowly dropped the book away from his face, his blue eyes big and round and bright as he stared worriedly at me, his face still pale.

                "I'm sorry I got him cross with you," he said immediately, his voice shaking a little. "87% of people can't go a day without saying something they didn't mean to. I didn't mean to tell you. It was an accident. I didn't know he'd get so upset."

                "It's fine," I answered, my voice losing most of its impatience as I looked at MJ and his solemn, apologetic expression. "It's not your fault. James can be a complete and utter arse sometimes. He gets cross quite often, I assure you."

                "You're not angry with me?" MJ questioned. He looked confused. "For getting him cross with you?"

                "I just said I wasn't," I told him, throwing him a look. "MJ, why would you think I'd care so much if James was cross with me? It's not that big of a deal."

                "But you..." MJ started, then trailed away as his gaze fell to the table. His face turned a familiar shade of embarrassed red that normally I would have tried to ease him of, but in this case, I was too curious.

                "But I...?" I prodded him gently. MJ took a deep breath. Then he looked up.

                "But you _kissed_ him," he said.

                My heart froze in my chest.

                "What?" I whispered.

                "You...you kissed him," MJ said again, his voice extremely quiet, his face a bright and telling red. I felt my mouth drop open. I began gaping like a fish out of water as MJ frantically went on, "I'm sorry," he apologised immediately, his voice quick and his color still high. "I didn't mean to see. It was at the party and he'd come over, so I thought I should leave, but I left my book and then when I came back over, you were...you were both..." He made an awkward colliding motion with his hands. "I'm sorry!" he cried again. "I didn't mean...I wasn't looking..."

                "It's all right," I finally muttered out hoarsely, though my head was spinning so fast that I didn't know how I'd managed to say anything at all. "It's...all right. No harm done. No harm...done."

                But even as I tried, I couldn't get anything out past that.

                MJ had seen James snogging me.

                Someone had seen.

                I felt myself heat up, probably even more than MJ, at the mere thought of it. I knew it had been a possibility. We were hidden rather well inside the stairwell, but I knew that there was always the possibility that someone had seen us. And that someone was MJ. And maybe others, as well, I don't know. But if others had seen, they hadn't said anything about it to anyone, that was for sure. Something like that would most certainly be around the school by now if they had. My head was spinning so fast that I was beginning to grow nauseous, but I tried to remain calm as I digested this new twist of fate.

                This didn't have to be a big deal. It really didn't. If anyone other than MJ had seen, they obviously weren't going to say anything about it to anyone, or they would've done so already. And MJ wouldn't say anything if I asked him not to—or at least, I sincerely _hoped_ he wouldn't. It would be fine. No one would know anything. No one would know anything, and no one would tell James. _I_ would be the one to tell him, when the time came. _Me,_ no one else. No one else.

                But _oh, Merlin_ , he had _seen!!!_

                And maybe it was completely stupid of me to feel this way, and maybe it really does say something for my extremely fragile mental state, but in many ways, I was _happy_ that MJ had witnessed that snog. I was happy because that meant it was _real_. It wasn't a simply a memory I was hiding from James or a story I was telling to Grace and Emma. It was _real_. MJ had _been_ there. He had _seen_ it. And even as I knew that I was going to swear him to secrecy for the rest of his life, I was still happy that I had to do it.

                It was _real_.

                Real.

                Hm.

                "Listen to me, MJ," I finally managed to say, my voice very quiet and nearly as shaky as his had been before, but still coherent, which I figured was all that mattered, "you can not tell _anyone_ you saw that happen, all right? You can't tell _anyone_."

                "I won't!" MJ instantly promised, nodding his head furiously. "I won't tell anyone. It'll be a secret. You, James and me—"

                "No!" I cried, my heart beating frantically in my chest. "That's the thing, MJ," I went on slowly. I could feel my face heating up to an ultimate extreme. "You can't...James doesn't know. You can't say anything to James."

                MJ's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean, he doesn't know?"

                "He was drunk," I reminded him flatly. "He doesn't remember."

                "And you didn't tell him?"

                "No. And I don't intend to."

                "I...okay," MJ muttered, appearing to be struggling to take this all in. "Okay."

                "You can't say a word to him about it," I reminded him again, my eyes blazing into his. "Not a _word_."

                "He hates me," MJ responded dryly. "I couldn't tell him if I _wanted_ to."

                "Nonetheless," I said, taking my first real breath as I realised the truth in his statement. "This is our secret, all right? I really...I can't have James finding out about this right now. It's...complicated."

                "All right," MJ instantly agreed. "Our secret. I won't say anything."

                I sighed with relief, the spinning in my head finally coming to a stop.

                It was going to be fine. He wasn't going to tell anyone. My secret was still safe.

                For now, anyway.

                "Hey, MJ?" I asked tentatively, a few seconds later. "About James hating you..."

                "I don't want to talk about it," he said instantly, his face going blank. My eyebrows shot up and my curiosity was piqued at his quick refusal. He picked up his book, lifted it to cover his face. "Can we go over Cheering Charms again? I think I forgot a bit of it from last time."

                "Er, yeah, sure," I agreed quickly, even though what I _really_ wanted to do was find out what in the world all that family business was. Were they really cousins, or not? If they weren't, why would MJ say they were? And if they were, why would James so adamantly say they weren't? There was a story behind there, a big one, and I was utterly confused as to why no one would share it with me—why no one _had_ shared it with me yet.

                The meddler inside me had awakened again.

                And there is nothing a meddler loves more than some messy family affairs.

                Hm.

                Hm. Hm. Hm.

                Tutoring went off rather peacefully after that, and MJ and I spent what was left of our session going over Cheering Charms again and than working together on his essay. I was dying to ask him more questions, but I didn't want to push my luck, especially since unnecessary diving into _his_ secrets may somehow lead to his divulging some of _mine_ , which, as I'm sure is rather obvious, would be rather catastrophic. Time flew by and if I didn't know any better, I would have thought that MJ was counting down the seconds until he could leave, so quick was he out of his seat the very moment that the clock struck eight. Perhaps I should have been insulted, but I suppose I understood. And I had the distinct feeling his quick getaway was less about getting away from me and more about staying away from James.

                Well, if that had been his concern, it was certainly an empty one.

                I waited ten minutes for James to show up for our session, but after that, I accepted that he was probably not going to come and really couldn't blame him after I had made him so cross, and left the library. And maybe he would have shown up had I waited a bit longer, but I'm not sure I really wanted to face him and his wrath just then. Still, it was rather depressing to have now returned from the library in the same state that I entered it. When I got back to the dorm, no one questioned my sour mood, and perhaps that was for the best, because I do have a whole lot to digest before I go around letting this all out.

                I just wish I understood _why_ James got so angry.

                I hate when he's angry with me.

                Especially when I'm not entirely certain what I did.

                But even when I am sure, I hate it.

                And what does _that_ tell you?

                Oh, humbug.

                Who needs messy family affairs when I already have messy enough personal _romantic_ affairs of my own?

                Psh.

                Psh. Psh. Psh.

                I'm serious this time. I am buying a ticket to Guam.

____________________________________

**Extremely Extremely Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**

**Observant Lily: Day 30 (31?)**

**Total Observations: 186**

                _Mum_ —

                _Very sorry for very quick note. Loved last letter. Will write better and proper response at later date. However, is very late, but have extremely desperate plea for you right now:_

_PLEASE SEND MORE FUDGE AS SOON AS IS HUMANLY POSSIBLE._

_Thank you. Love you. Kisses._

_Lily_

____________________________________


	16. October 16th: The Ode to Non-Acknowledging the Scarf

** AUTHOR’S NOTES ** :  For every single one of you who--even after a _year_ \--have not given up on me. There are so many words and so many explanations and you'll get them, I promise, but here's what you really want, and I hope you all can forgive me long enough to enjoy it, even just a little bit.

** IMPORTANT NOTES!!! PLEASE READ!!! **

This is probably not the chapter you've been really hoping and waiting for. The fact of the matter is, chapter sixteen turned out _completely_ plotty which totally and completely blows when you've been waiting a year (*cringe*) for it. Originally, it went to Friday night and contained...let's just say much goodness to compensate for all the plottiness in the beginning/middle of the chapter. But then I discovered that by keeping all of that in one chapter...well, let's just say it topped _astronomical_ word counts. It was ridiculous. Even chapter 16 _now_ is ridiculously long, so you can only imagine. But I'm asking--begging, _pleading_ \--with you to bear with me. The remainder of what was chapter 16 is now chapter 17 and is basically done. I have to make a few adjustments so that it can officially stand on its own, but that shouldn't take too long and I hope to have it to you by the end of this week. There's a part in 16 when Lily, very relieved, goes "The end. It's over. Thank bloody _god_ " and while I hope it's not going to be as bad as that, it might be...so I'm begging you to hold out during this chapter. Give me a week to get you 17 and I _swear_ that it is so unplotty and so L/J that you will have heart attacks up and down the streets. But everything in 16 is so important to the story and it's just completely and utterly bad luck that this chapter turned out to be the one you've waited so long for. I'm sorry. So...that's my warning.

I love you all, even when I’m not around.

Bee

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“Sometimes I think I'd be better off dead. No, wait, not me, you.”

-Jack Handey

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** Thursday, October 16th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 187 **

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** The Top Seven Reasons Why Lily Evans Will NOT Be Going Downstairs to Breakfast, Even Though She Has Done Nothing Wrong and Does Not Have to Be Reclusive and Most Certainly Is Not Avoiding Anyone **

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1) I am not hungry.

2) I am not thirsty.

3) I am _exhausted_. Truly, I am. I mean, it may _seem_ as if I'm awake and rather lucid and all, but the truth is, I'm not. I am _extremely_ tired. So tired, in fact, that it is quite hard to even write this. I am positively _drooping_ over the paper. It's _that_ bad. Really.

4) It is scientifically proven that growing young women such as myself need at least a full eight hours of rest in order to continue on in a healthy and functional manner. So really, according to the laws of natural science, I am physically _obligated_ to stay in bed. I practically have no control over it. Practically.

5) The Never-Healing Ankle? Yeah, it's twinging again. A small twinge, I suppose, but it's there nonetheless. Therefore, unless I want this twinge to increase into a full-blown throb, which could then increase into a suicidal pulsing pain, it's probably not the best of ideas to get up and walk on it. Especially seeing as I'd have to walk down all of those stairs to get to the Great Hall. It's just rude to abuse my body that way. Even the Never-Healing parts of it.

6) I don't spend enough time in my room as it is. It must feel much neglected.

7) Because I am a coward.

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** Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 187 **

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** The Top Seven Reasons Why Lily Evans WILL Be Going Downstairs to Breakfast, Despite What May Have Been Mentioned Before Because She Often Lies **

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1) I _am_ hungry. Starving, in fact. And people who are starving generally eat when food is available to them. So I should probably go with that.

2) Though not particularly thirsty right now, once the partaking of the breakfasting meal occurs, I will probably be aching for some nice pumpkin juice. There is no pumpkin juice up here. There’s not even sanitary _water_ up here. So, not good.

3) I am not tired. _So_ not tired. And regardless of how many times I say that I am, that doesn't make it true. It just makes me sound more stupid.

4) Some scientists are wrong (and clearly not morning people).

5) The Never Healing Ankle is just that—Never Healing. So why let it win? Why let it cripple me? 

6) I hate this room.

7) Because I am _not_ a coward. Because there is no reason for me to feel awkward or guilty or anything of the sort just because James has decided to have one of his little fits of rage over something as simple as being _introduced_ to someone—which, by the by, he _told me I could do!_ It is not _my_ fault that he is the most dramatic person in all of existence or that there seems to be some sort of deep, dark, family secret that no one appears to be inclined to share with me. It's _not my fault_.

                I am going down to breakfast.

                I am going down to breakfast _right now_.

                Hmph!

__________________________

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** Later Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 188 **

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                May Godric Gryffindor roll over in his grave.

                James Potter is a coward.

                A bloody _coward_.

                I sort of understand last night. I mean, even though he was depriving me of my educational rights as a struggling student by not returning for our tutoring session, I would've gladly waived my right to tutorage anyway if it meant avoiding an undoubtedly messy encounter with Angry James—it's not exactly _pleasant_ dealing with Angry James, after all—because I am very un-confrontational like that. Therefore, it's almost as if he did me a bit of a favour by not coming back after he’d stormed off. I can't really hold it against him.

                _That_ , however, is most certainly not the case this morning.

                I expected so much more from him. Really, I did.

                Marley hasn't seen him. It was—rather pathetically, I suppose, but I couldn't help it—the first thing I asked when I arrived at the Gryffindor table, ready and prepared to take on Angry James and his Glares of Mass Destruction, only to find our table conspicuously down one of its usual members. James had not shown up.

                It was a bit anticlimactic, really. 

                Since there weren't any Glares of Mass Destruction or Scowls of Burning Flames or anything, I mean. 

                I couldn't quite pinpoint my exact feelings about his absence. I mean, I suppose there was _some_ relief, but I was mostly rather cross. Because really, what right did _he_ have to be avoiding _me_? _I'm_ the one who avoids _him_ , not the other way around! And granted, yes, he has a lot to be ashamed about considering what a big arse he was last night, but since when has James ever run away from a confrontation? Since when? It was very vexing, to say the least. Even more vexing was when Marley simply shook her head at my inquiry, dashing all my hopes that perhaps he _wasn’t_ a coward, just simply off in the loo or something.

                I should have known not to hold my breath, the stupid wanker.

                "He hasn't been down yet," Marley said, biting into a piece of toast. Her eyebrows furrowed curiously at me. "I thought the pair of you were together, actually. You don't know where he is, either, then?"

                I shook my head, tiredly dropping my bag down on the floor as I slid into my seat across from her, trying not to scowl. The bloody, stupid _coward_. "He's cross with me," I told her flatly.

                "Why?"

                "Oh, who knows? I introduced him to someone."

                Marley blinked. 

"Well," she muttered dryly, "how _dare_ you."

                I gave a small smile, but couldn't quite muster anything spectacular as I grabbed a piece of toast myself and began restlessly tearing it into small pieces with my fingers. "Blokes are such _shit_ sometimes," I muttered, pretending the toast was James's over-sized, filled-with-air, cowardly head. Marley nodded sympathetically.

                "So true." She let out a gusty sigh. "Doesn't say much for our future as a race, does it?"

                "No," I agreed bitterly. "It most certainly does _not_."

                I hate him.

                I hate him _so much_.

__________________________

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** Later Later Later, Still at Breakfast in the Great Hall **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 188 **

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                I can't believe he's still not here yet.

                He's such a bloody _prat_. 

                I hope he's sleeping himself into a coma. Or that Peter has jumped on him and suffocated him. Or that he's fallen, and he can't get up. Or that an owl has come, swooped straight into his room, and stolen his glasses, so now he is practically blind. I hope he's just...just... _naked_ or something. _Miserably_ naked. And cold. And...other things. Other _very bad_ things!

                I don't ever want to see him again. I'm not going to talk to him, anyway.

                _Merlin_.

__________________________

** Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 189 **

                Sometimes I like to ponder what sort of sick guardian angel I've got.

                I reckon that everyone has to have one. A guardian angel, I mean. Usually, I think mine's probably someone like my Great-Uncle Martin. Uncle Marty was a jolly old fellow, but he was never exactly right in the head, if you know what I mean. Now, whether that crookedness was a result of the immense amounts of alcohol he constantly seemed to consume—he put even _Uncle Davy_ to shame in that regard, which is quite a feat, if I do say so myself—or just one of our several Evans family biological defects, I can't really be sure. He was the sort of old man who would come to Christmas dinner in naught but his undergarments just for a laugh, or spike the youngsters' milk bottles just to see what would happen. And if I'm not mistaken, I do believe he even once pushed his aging brother, Liam, down the stairs. And when he was asked why on earth he did such a thing to his poor, already practically crippled brother, his rather quick response was a bellowing laugh as he cried, "Why, to see if he'd bounce, of course!", as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

                As I recall, Great-Uncle Liam did not bounce.

                So, my guardian angel? Yes, it must be Uncle Marty.

                And _oh_ , the laughs I must give him.

                The little buggering shit.

                Honestly...is this truly my life?

                _Ugh_.

                Even though I had spent most of breakfast having pleasant conversations with Marley about how blokes are the scum of the earth who are completely irrational, annoying, etc., I was still in a rather off mood by the time I was walking—oh, all right, I suppose it was a bit of a stomp, really—back up to the dormitory, having a good amount of time before I had to be in class and no desire to stay down in the Great Hall where I was bound to sit and stew. I was actually rather hoping that I might run into He-Who-Is-Truly-Scum so that I could perhaps shove him out the nearest window or something, but I didn't see him and I suppose that made me all the more cross, even though after an hour of waiting on his appearance downstairs, I wasn't _really_ expecting any sort of meeting afterwards. Still, I had hopes that the day would get better. After all, I did have several classes with the Irrational Scum. And this school does have many windows.

                Yes, indeed. Many useful windows to toss yourself and others out of at your own discretion.

                When it's necessary, of course.

                Which in my life, it usually is.

                Hmph.

                I suppose that between the stomping, the pouting, the stewing and the mental window homicides, I was a bit distracted as I progressed up the stairs, not exactly paying attention to what I was doing. All I kept thinking about was stupid James who was probably in his stupid room doing stupid things and being stupidly cross and how he was stupidly unjustified in all of it. I was being overly dramatic myself, I guess, but sometimes when things in a girl's life have reached as devastating a point as mine has, that girl just has the _right_ to be overly dramatic, you know? And oblivious. She also has the right to be more than a bit oblivious. So I suppose that's why I didn't quite notice the state of my dorm when I opened the door...

                ...and instead saved _that_ realisation for when I nearly tripped to my death over a pile of books stacked right in front of the doorway.

                Ah, yes.

                Glamorous, as always.    

                What on _earth_...

                Stumbling, I quickly grabbed the doorjamb just in time to break my fall as the pile of books I had just rammed into tumbled to the floor. But the books didn't make a sound. When they hit the floor, I mean. There was no _boom_ or _thump_ like there really should have been when heavy books such as these smash into hard dormitory floors. And the _reason_ that there appeared to be a serious lack of clatter was because it just so happened that _beneath_ those books—muffling the sound-that-should-have-been—was a sweater. Yes, a sweater. A green one, with white trim. And underneath that sweater was a pair of trousers. And under that pair of trousers, a blanket. 

                Either our floor had suddenly gained aspirations to be a closet, or there was something _definitely_ off.

                Ah, _hell_.

                What the bloody fuck’s going on _now_?

                 I somehow found the courage to lift my head, though I was already picturing the worst, knowing whatever this was was not going to be good. I glanced up…and gaped in absolute horror.

                Bugger.

                Bugger, _bugger_.

 My head moved slowly, taking in what turned out to be _not_ just a pile of books or a layered array of dormitory clothes lying about the floor, but what seemed to be the ENTIRE CONTENTS OF OUR DORMITORY lying about the floor...and every other available surface inside the suddenly seemingly very small room.

                Bloody _hell_.

                It was a _mess_. And not just any old mess, either, but a real, big, good-lord-I-didn't-even-know-we- _possessed_ -this-much-mess mess. Clothes, shoes, parchment, blankets, bags, books and even a few old chocolate frog wrappers were sticking out of every nook and cranny in the room and covered the floor in a blanket of clutter.

                Good Lord.

                What had _happened_?

                I was searching for answers, still reeling from the shock of it all when I spotted the abnormality among the chaos. For in the very heart of the maelstrom, sitting rather demurely on her bed, a small piece of parchment in her hand, was Emma.

                Yes, Emma.

                And just _what in the hell_ was that about?

                "What in the name of all that's magical happened in here?" I all but shouted, completely dumbfounded. I started to make my way through the room, trying not to trip over any stray books or shoes or cauldrons or something, though with my luck, I knew it would be a miracle if I could manage it safely. Emma glanced up at my cry, apparently having just noticed that I'd entered. She turned her eyes from me and looked about the room casually, her hefty sigh the only indication that she noticed anything was amiss. Apparently, the fact that some sort of natural disaster had come and passed through our dormitory didn't seem to faze her all that much, because once she was done with her quick scan, she just looked calmly back towards me again and said nothing. 

                Dear Merlin.

                The girl's finally gone mad.

                It's probably my fault.

                "Emma?" I asked again, this time more loudly, hoping that I might be able to shout the sanity back into her. "What happened?"

                By then I had somehow managed to maneuver my way safely through the chaos to the side of Emma's bed—the only relatively clear surface in the entire room, I noticed. I dropped myself down next to her, more than a bit confused. Emma stared blankly at me. I considered briefly trying to _shake_ the sanity I had obviously stolen from her back into her since shouting hadn't worked, but just as I lifted my hands to get to work, Emma moved. Still silent, she held out the parchment I'd seen her staring at before—an envelope, I now realised—and placed it in my hand. I flipped the envelope over, examining it curiously, not exactly certain what in the hell an envelope had to do with the fact that I just spotted my slaggy, black, heeled boot that had up until recently been hidden away in the very back, very dark corner of my closet, hanging off the canopy of Grace's bed.

                I really couldn't even begin to wonder where the other boot had gone.

                "Er, Em," I started slowly, eyeing her a bit warily now. "Unless this is an envelope containing a miniaturized tornado that you managed to catch after it swept through our room, I'm still not quite getting the answer I'm looking for. Now what exactly happened to our dormitory?"

                "I was looking for that," Emma answered, speaking for the first time, nodding towards the envelope in my hand. Her voice was raspy, almost weighted. "I lost it," she said. "I had it right there on my bed stand, but when I woke up this morning, it was gone and I...well, I had to find it. So I looked and looked and I...well, I suppose I...made a bit of a mess."

                Yes, just a bit.

                Psh.

                "You did all of _that_ for _this_?" I pointed disbelievingly towards the room while holding the envelope aloft. "What the bloody hell is it?"

                Emma blinked at me. "A letter," she said.

                Well, thank you for that, Miss Brilliant.

                "A letter?" I replied dryly, rolling my eyes. "Really? Not a tornado inside an envelope, then?"

                "It's from Mac."

                I froze. 

                It's...it's...

                "What?" I asked dumbly, the words not really registering. "It's what?"

                "The letter," Emma said again, suddenly looking very tired. "It's...it's from Mac."

                From...Mac?

                _Mac_?

                Well, I'll be damned.

                A letter from Mac.

                _A letter from Mac!!!_

                Congratulations, Lily Evans, welcome to the Mad Meddler's Hall of Fame!!!

                _Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssss_!!!!

                I couldn't help it—I broke into an impossibly huge grin and threw myself down on my back, holding the letter aloft in the air, staring at the objectified proof of my astute meddling skills.

                He had done it! He had actually _done it_!! He had listened to me—and no one _ever_ listens to me! Oh, but how _inexplicably_ glad I am that he decided to be the very first madman to do so!  I _knew_ I wasn't being foolish interfering with this. I mean, how could I honestly just stand there and watch this relationship fall apart when I could do something to help? When I was the one to inadvertently cause the riff? I couldn't! I didn't! _And now I've saved it!!!_

                Merlin, I'm _good_.

                I knew I was grinning like a complete fool and that Emma must have thought I'd gone completely over the end, but I just couldn't contain myself and my limitless meddling pride. And even though he's an angry prat and I'm still very cross with him for being so irrational and cowardly, at that moment, lying there on the bed, looking my meddling victory square in the face, I would have given anything to go and find James. Not so much so I could brag—though, really, could you blame me if I did toot my own horn a bit?—but just to see the look on his face. Just to hear what he'd say when he saw that yes, my plan _had_ worked. That, yes, it _was_ necessary. That I was right, it was done, and I had _saved them_.

                At first, I think he'd be a bit shocked—and who could blame him for that, really?—but after the initial surprise faded away, I know exactly what he'd do. He'd give me that little disbelieving smile of his, the one that sort of quirks up at the side of his mouth, and then probably say something like, "I don't know how you do it, Infallible. I really don't".

                Yeah, he'd do that.

                If he wasn't cross with me, that is.

                Hm.

                My mental reminder of my present predicament put a momentary damper on my elated mood, which normally wouldn't have been the greatest, but in this circumstance, was probably a good thing because it gave me time to realise something rather important about my latest victory.

                "Uhhh, Em?" I flipped over onto my stomach, propping my elbows up on the bed. "Why isn't the letter opened?"

                Emma reached out and took the letter from my hand. She stared down at it. "Because I haven't opened it yet."

                "Well, why not?"

                "Because I'm not sure I want to."

                Not sure...

                _What?_

                "You're not sure you _whatt?_ " I sputtered.

                Emma threw me a look. "I'm not sure I want to open it," she said again.

                I felt my heart sink in my chest.

                Not open it? What did she mean she's not sure if she wants to open it? How could that be? Of _course_ , she wants to! It's from Mac! The man she loves! _About_ their love, undoubtedly! Where is the hesitation? Where is the pause? How could she possibly sit there and tell me that she doesn't want to open it? Of all the stupid, moronic, _idiotic_ things...

                A meddler's job is just _never_ done, is it?

                For _Merlin's_ sake.

                "Emma, what are you talking about?" I asked quietly, looking at her imploringly, giving her my best now-let's- _really_ -think-about-this-here face. "I mean, I know you and Mac haven't had the best time of it recently, but why on _earth_ wouldn't you read it? Don't you want to know what he has to say? Aren't you—”

                "Oh, I don't know, Lily!" Emma suddenly cried, cutting my meddling monologue off short. She looked down at the letter in her hand and began to glare at it—a glare I hadn't seen since it had been directed most avidly at me a few weeks back. "It's so stupid," she muttered, sounding very cross. "Why did he have to go and write a letter? I'm not going to read it. I _can't_."

                "Well, why not?" I asked, a bit put out that she was so rudely scoffing her nose at all my hard meddling work. "Personally, I think it was rather brilliant of him to write you a letter. I mean, considering you won't even _look_ at him, let alone _talk_ to him. What else was he supposed to do? Send you telepathic waves? Mime it from across the room? I think writing a letter was actually rather inspired."

                Plus, I had come up with it.

                It was a brilliant idea. 

                _Obviously_.

                "He shouldn't have done it," Emma muttered stubbornly. "It was a silly idea."

                I raised my eyebrows mockingly. "Do you often tear entire rooms apart looking for silly ideas?"

                Oh, yeah.

                Take _that_.

                I would've liked to see what sort of response Em could have come up with to counter _that_ last little piece of witty, brilliant logic, but just as she appeared to have come up with some sort of retort, she was suddenly cut off by the sound of the dormitory door opening. We both looked up just in time to see Grace pop her head inside the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the general state of dormitory unrest. Her eyes finally came to settle on the pair of us as she opened the door fully and took a tentative step inside.

                "Are we moving?" she asked.

                "Not today," I responded dryly, watching Grace's wary expression as she crossed the threshold of the dorm, eyeing the mess skeptically. I waved her over. "Emma's gone mad," I said. "Come over here and help me knock some sense into her."

                " _You_ did this?" Grace asked dumbfounded, looking at Emma. She dropped her rucksack next to the doorway—the safest place for it, most likely—and began to tiptoe her way through the mess. "My money was on Lily."

                Of course, it was.

                Psh.

                "I'm not even going to respond to that," I sniffed crossly, even though, really, when you see a mad mess, who do you automatically go to blame but the maddest of madwomen? How could she be faulted? "But just for clarification," I felt it necessary to add, "this was _all_ her."

                Grace nodded, but gave me a grin that said oh-you-know-you-would-have-thought-it-too, which I would have, but not the point. "The Slag Twins are going to _kill_ you," she said to Emma, plopping herself down on Emma's bed, as well. She looked around the room again. "So, what's the deal?" she asked. "It better be a good one, considering you're going to die for it."

                "Is _love_ enough to die for?" I questioned dramatically.

                Emma glared. "Shut _up_ , Lily."

                "Love?" Grace's eyes blinked rapidly. Then she threw her hands together in delight. "Oh, this is going to be _good_. _Wands of a Kind_ good, I can tell! What's happened?"

                "This is not one of your romance novels, Gracie!" Emma burst out, but I quickly interrupted her, explaining at the same time, "Emma's got a letter from Mac, but now she won't open it. Even though she tore our entire dormitory apart looking for it when she thought she'd lost it. And even though he's probably confessed his undying love for her inside of it. And even though I'm sure it took a lot of convincing...er, it took a lot to convince _himself_ , I mean...to write this letter in the first place because it is so personal and emotional and love-filled. EMMA IS SCOFFING HER NOSE AT LOVE. "

                There was a brief pause of silence as Grace took this all in. Then she turned to Emma, disgusted. "What kind of mate of mine _are_ you?"

                "One who's obviously _sane_ ," Emma shot back, holding the letter close to her so that neither Grace nor I could snatch it from her, which Grace looked quite on the verge of doing. "You can't make me open it," she said, a bit hysterically. "I'm not going to open it!"

                "You're being unbearably stupid right now," I warned her, acting quite as if this was her last chance to open the letter and if she didn't at that very moment, it would self-combust or something, which perhaps was a bit over-dramatic, but I was a meddler with a job to do. "You're being very rash and not thinking this through."

                "I've had a _week_ to think it through," Emma retorted. "My decision's still the same!"

                "A _week_?" I cried, stunned. "You've had the letter _for an entire week_?"

                Emma finally had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "Well, yes," she murmured, looking down at her blankets. "Mac gave it to me Saturday. After the match."

                " _After the match?!_ ” I all but shouted, rising up onto my knees. “Emma! You’ve had this letter since the match and you _still_ haven’t opened it? Is that why you were up here all that time during the party? And more importantly, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US ABOUT IT?”

                “I would’ve told you,” Emma insisted, giving me a pointed look. “But _someone_ was having her own romantic problems, if you’d care to remember.”

                “Oh, sure,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Blame the emotionally unstable girl. Nice _shot_.”

                “You could have told me,” Grace piped up. “I’m not emotionally unstable.”

                “Um, _yes you are_.”

                “Hey, Lily... _James_.”

                “Shut _up_!”

                “Ha, ha, ha...”

                “You know, you wouldn’t find it so funny if you were in _my_ position—”

                “Your position of romantic denial?”

                “ _Oh_ —”

                “Could the pair of you stop _please_?” Emma cried, completely exasperated. She shot the two of us a good glare. “Grace, stop provoking her, and Lily...you have every right to be emotionally unstable right now. You’re in a very awkward romantic position.”

                I sniffed haughtily at the air. “Yes, I am.”

                Grace was still coughing something that sounded distinctively like ‘denial’ under her breath, but a quick jab in her stomach solved that problem quite efficiently. 

                Never mess with the emotionally unstable. We’re violent.

                Emma rolled her eyes. “Actually, Lily, while we’re on the subject, there’s something I found while I was searching—”

                “Searching? Is that what we’re calling it?”

                “—this morning. And yes, it was _searching_. It just happened to be a bit...disorganised searching. Now where...oh, right. Here.”

                And that’s when she gave it to me.

                My heart positively _sank_ at the sight of the familiar scarlet and gold.

                James’s scarf.

                James’s lucky scarf.

                _Shit_.

                “Oh, shit,” I whispered aloud, weakly taking the scarf from Emma’s outstretched hand. The simple weight of it suddenly seemed like an anvil. “Oh, _buggering_ shit.”

                _How had I forgotten about it?_

__

_                 How had I forgotten that I still had his scarf??!?? _

__

__ “I found it under your bed,” Emma told me, regarding me with the most sympathetic of looks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I rather thought you’d forgotten you had it. You must have taken it off that night and not realised it’d been tossed under your bed. And I just thought...well, you know.”

                I nodded, but I wasn’t really listening, so absorbed in the feel of James’s scarf beneath my fingers.

                I can’t believe I’d forgotten about it. How could I have forgotten I had it? And why hadn’t James reminded me? Granted, it’d been a rather awkward week for the both of us, what with him snogging me and all—I mean, not that he remembers that, but even so...

                What the bleeding hell am I supposed to do with it _now_?

                I wished not for the first time that James would for _once_ manage not to get cross with me over something every two-and-a-half seconds, but even as I was wishing it just then, I knew that regardless of whether or not we were presently speaking, I would still be in the same awkward predicament. Because this scarf...well, this scarf had _been_ _there_. Just like me, just like James, and just like MJ. It had been a _witness_. And even though it’s an inanimate object and it’s not as if it can go and be all, “Hey, James, you snogged Lily, but don’t remember. What’cha gonna do about it?” or anything...

                Well, it’s a magical world. You never know.

                How am I just supposed to give it to him when there's that underlying message there? It's just not something you _do_ casually. It _can't_ be done casually because it _is not_ a casual situation. And maybe that's a lot of significance to put on a simple scarf, but it is a rather significant object.

                And now I'm stuck with it.

                I stared down at the scarf dumbly, willing it to stop mocking me with its mere presence.

                It's just a scarf.

                _It's just a scarf_.

                “It’s just a scarf,” I said, pretending I meant it. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a scarf.”

                A scarf that James had given me because he fancies me and thought it would bring him luck.

                A scarf that I had worn because I fancy him and couldn’t possibly say no.

                A scarf that had seen James Potter kissing me and me kissing him back.

                Oh, _jeez_.

                “I’ll just give it back to him, “ I said reasonably, ignoring the looks Emma and Grace were both shooting me. I glanced up at them, determined. “I will. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just give it back to him...when he’s talking to me again, that is.”

                “He’s still cross with you for yelling at him yesterday?” Grace asked, her eyebrows furrowing. “I would have thought you’d both be over that by now.”

                “We were. We are.” Suddenly, my head began to ache with the ridiculousness of it all. “Except then there was this whole thing last night at tutoring...I don’t really want to get into it. I’m bloody sick of the whole damn thing, anyway. I really am.” I looked down at the scarf in my hand once more, then back up to Emma and Grace, who were sharing a look. “I wish I didn't have feelings," I muttered, practically whining. "Life would be so much _simpler_."

                "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Emma said, the sympathetic look back on her face, "but it's hardly going to be getting any simpler. Hogsmeade is in two days."

                Ah, _hell_.

                Suddenly, I went a bit mad.

                But it was to be expected, really.

                "You know what?” I asked, rising up from the bed, suddenly incensed by the thought that this was probably going to be a _highpoint_ for me. "Blow Hogsmeade!" I cried, grinning like a loon. Emma and Grace both stared at me blankly. I rolled my eyes at them. “I'm serious!" I said, nodding along. "I say, bugger all romantic interludes. Let's spend a girls day in Hogsmeade—like a bunch of happy third-years! Who's up for that?"

                If I had proper mates, there would have been a unanimous resounding wave of consent to that idea, seeing as I am clearly losing what little is left of my sanity and as my best mates, that should have been top priority. 

                However—since I have utterly shit mates who are very selfish and stupid—this is the response I got instead:

                Emma: "Running away from your problems isn't going to solve them, Lily."

                Grace: "Bugger _that_. I've got a date. I need to get _snogged_."

                Yeah.

                Best mates.

                _Psh_.

                "Firstly," I said rather crossly, trying to figure out whether or not I should just jump out the window now and save myself the trouble. I turned to Emma. "Hey there, pot. I'm kettle. You're _black_." Then, to Grace. "I am personally insulted that you would choose your hormones over my emotional needs. It is rude and hurtful and selfish and who the bloody hell are you going out with anyway?"

                "Chris Lynch," Grace responded, picking at her nails, obviously not the least bit concerned about her aforementioned lack of regard for my emotional needs. I raised my eyebrows.

                Chris Lynch?

                She's ditching me and my waning sanity for _Chris Lynch_?

                "Lynch?" I asked dubiously. "Seriously?"

                "Yeah."

                "Since _when_?"

                "Since ten minutes ago," Grace answered with a grin. "He asked me downstairs, actually. And since I didn't have any plans—or at least, any plans that didn't include making sure you didn't off yourself during your Amos date—I figured, why not? I _am_ in need of a good snog."

                "In need of a good snog?" I repeated, a bit hysterically I suppose, but what was expected? "Seriously? That was your entire thought process? 'Oh, bugger, haven't been snogged in a while, but look! A pair of available lips!'? _Seriously_?"

                Grace threw me another grin, then shrugged. 

                I sighed heavily. 

                Hell.

                "I wish I were you," I moaned, dropping back down to the bed. "I wish it were as simple as that. Can it be that easy?"

                "Not for you, I'm afraid," Grace told me, placing a mockingly comforting hand on my shoulder. "You're a selective snogger, you see. Your snogs need _meaning_."

                "I don't _want_ them to have meaning! They have _too much_ meaning!"

                "Tough luck, kid."

                "I'm not kidding," I finally decided, grabbing Emma's pillow as I flipped over to my back, placing it decidedly suffocating-like over my face. "I'm going to become a hermit. A _hermit_ , do you hear?!"

                "A hermit with James's scarf?" Grace cackled.

                I kicked her very hard, but kept silent.

                _Merlin_ , and the day hasn't even begun!

______________________________________________

** Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 189 **

                **Lily Evans's List of Things to Accomplish Today, October 16th, Before She Just Offs Herself Because of the Uselessness of It All:**

****

**** 1) Convince Emma to open her Mac letter and read it so that all of my hard meddling work will not become purposeless.

                2) Get rid of James's scarf.

                3) Convince James to talk to me so that I can get rid of said scarf.

                4) Detach myself from said scarf so that I can get rid of it once I have convinced James to talk to me.

                5) Convince myself that I should not be attached to said scarf for any reason so that I can detach myself from said scarf so that I can get rid of it once I have convinced James to talk to me.

                6) Do 'I Love Amos Diggory' chants.

                7) Eat.

                8) Breathe.

                9) Work.

                10) Don't die...yet.

______________________________________________

** Later Later, Still in the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 189 **

****

****

**** I wish I could clean up my life as quickly as I just helped Emma clean up our dormitory.

                I wish there was a charm or something, you know? Like just a quick swish, turn and flick that would put everything as it should be. Perhaps I should become some sort of Charming Engineer and look into that. It would help many desperate people out there, I think. The suicide rate would drop in any case, I'm sure. It really would be the least I could do for humanity, even though humanity hasn't done all that much for me. However, that's not the point. I'm just a very giving person like that.

                What the hell am I supposed to do with this bloody stupid scarf?

                It's mocking me.

                I'm not even kidding. It's _mocking me_.

                Does it think that I don't already realise that I am totally and completely out of my league right now? Does it think that I am not desperately aggravated by my own indecisive emotions? What joy does it derive out of this sort of taunting torture? I know James is cross with me. I _know_. And I also know that he has more than a right to be angry, though not because of any sort of introduction I made to his possibly-but-possibly-not cousin last night.

                Life was never this complicated before.

                Truly, what has the world come to?

                I have to talk to him. I won't apologise—I don't have anything to apologise _for_ , in the case of last night—but I am going to have to talk to him. I'll simply speak with him nicely, clear the muddled air, and then casually pull his stupid scarf out of the place where I've presently dug it deep inside my rucksack, hand it back to him, and pray to every sort of Higher Power that it doesn't spark a memory or any unwanted questions.

                Which, I'm sure it won't. You know, because it's a scarf. It's not like it _talks_ or anything.

                It's _just a scarf_.

                _Right_.

______________________________________________

** Even Later, Transfiguration **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 189 **

****

****

                Oh, how the coward in us all prevails.

                I couldn't do it.

                I just _couldn't_.

                But it's not as if he _helped_ any! He just walked by me—walked _right by me._ Can you _believe_ that? He didn't even so much as spare me a _glance_! And just what the bloody hell am I supposed to do in response to that, hm? Talk to him? Spare _him_ a glance? Am I honestly just supposed to go up to him, ignore _him_ ignoring _me_ , and hope he won't continue to do so as I struggle to spark up a conversation? Is that what our relationship has come down to? Is that what my _dignity_ has come down to?

                Well, I think _not_!

                I won't.

                I _won't_.

                And the scarf—that bloody _effing_ scarf, damn its mere existence—knows that very well.

                I hate it.

                I _hate_ it.

                And now he's sitting there, sitting right there behind me, but he's not even looking at me in _passing_. I could turn around, I suppose. Turn about and silently implore him with my eyes to speak to me, but...

                _Damn_ it.

                IhateyouscarfIhateyouscarfIHATEYOUSCARF.

______________________________________________

** Even Even Later, Charms **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

**** Still not looking at me.

                Still not acknowledging me.

                Still not brave enough to do a thing about it.

                Still being mocked for it.

                By an inanimate object.

                Mocked, mocked, mocked.

______________________________________________

** Even Later Later, Still in Charms **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

****

**** Maybe I'll burn it.

                The scarf, I mean.

                We'll see who's laughing then, eh?

                Heh, heh, heh.

______________________________________________

** Later Later Later, Still Still in Charms **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

**** But I suppose that won't exactly endear me to James. You know, because he thinks it’s _lucky_ or some rubbish.

                It will make me feel better, though.

                A _lot_ better.

______________________________________________

** Moments Later, Obviously Still in Charms **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

****

                Oh, all right, I can't burn the bleeding thing.

                _Merlin_ , I wish I were more selfish.

______________________________________________

** Eons Later, Charms Charms Charms **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

**** Damn it, when does this class _end_???

______________________________________________

** Still Later, Herbology **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

**** Why I Wish I Were Eleven

                a poem written by Lily Evans in the midst of her woes

                while Professor Sprout blathers on about nothing

                _I wish I were eleven again,_

_                 I wish I were eleven so very badly. _

_                 Because when you're eleven, you all do see, _

_                 You don't view seventeen quite as sadly. _

__

_                 Things were so much simpler then, _

_                 when your hormones did not exist. _

_                 And the things you inevitably worried about, _

_                 were not the things you've recently kissed. _

__

_                 Because kissing doesn't happen at eleven, _

_                 at least not outside your family. _

_                 And that sort of kiss is certainly not _

_                 the sort to entice scarf-mocking so very badly. _

__

_                 At eleven, all that matters to you _

_                 are your mates, your pet, your school. _

_                 And all those things, when you really think on it, _

_                 don't often make you feel like a fool. _

__

_                 Unless of course you have shit mates, _

_                 a shit school or a shitty pet. _

_                 But even then, you'll be all right. _

_                 You're eleven! You'll get over it, I bet. _

__

_                 Dates to Hogsmeade still excited you _

_                 when you were eleven and didn't know much. _

_                 Of course, they could still be exciting now, _

_                 if you could choose between men and such. _

__

_                 Not that both men have asked you, of course _ —

_                 only one, but the other you're quite sure, _

_                 would ask you out right straight away, _

_                 ...if he were speaking to you once more. _

__

_                 Which by the way, he's still not doing, _

_                 in case anyone was pondering such a thing. _

_                 It's probably because he's a big stupid arse _

_                 whose rejection should really not sting. _

__

_                 But it does sting still, and I suppose that says _

_                 something remarkably bad about your life. _

_                 That the thoughts and random anger bursts _

_                 of a male cause you endless strife. _

__

_                 Especially when there's another male _ —

_                 one you fancy so much more, remember? _ —

_                 who is more than willing to be wondrous, _

_                 and who you haven't seriously thought of since September. _

__

_                 So in conclusion, what does this tell you _

_                 about the ages seventeen and eleven? _

_                 Clearly that the elder's gone a bit mad, _

_                 and that the younger is living in heaven. _

__

_                 So stop this nonsense once and for all, _

_                 this business of growing up. _

_                 Because I’m telling you now, if it gets any worse, _

_                 I am going to  just give up. _

__

_                 And when at my funeral, a sad affair, _

_                 filled with tears and moans and black, _

_                 you just remember it was seventeen that did me in, _

_                 and that good people, is just plain  _ fact.

__

______________________________________________

** Later Later, Lunch in the Great Hall **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

****

**** _ There once was a scarf that was lucky, _

_                 Whose mocking was actually quite sucky, _

_                 I'm aware it's not mine, _

_                 must it remind me all the time? _

_                 This can't be my life...fucky. _

                Heh.

                Er.

                Christ, I've really gone mad, haven't I?

______________________________________________

** Later Later, Ancient Runes **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 190 **

****

** Another Batch of Letters Written by Lily Evans to Amos Diggory During Ancient Runes Which She Will Absolutely Never Send, But Is Still Writing Anyway Because She Needs a Distraction From Life and Because She Obviously Needs to Remind Herself That She Fancies Him Because She Has Somehow Forgotten And Also, She Is Obviously No Poet **

****

_ Dear Darling Amos, _

__

_                 I don't know what's the matter with me, love. Really. I just have no idea what has gotten into me recently. I just want to let you know that whatever this...this... _ madness _is, it is certainly not your fault. You're perfect. Wonderful. Handsome, Kind, Courageous, etc._

__

_                 And I love you with every fiber of my being. _

__

_                 I really do. _

__

_                 Love Forever and Absolutely, _

_                 Your Lily _

__

_ \---------------------- _

__

_ Dearest Heart, _

__

_                 I mean, why  _ shouldn't _I love you? I always have before. For_ years _, Amos_ — _well, I mean, not_ years _precisely, but a whole cauldron-full of months at any rate. And this was back when we hardly even spoke! And now we_ do _speak! And are practically together! So why shouldn't I love you?_

__

_                 I should. _

__

_                 I do. _

__

_                 See? _

__

_                 Love You, _

_                 Your Love _

__

_ \----------------------- _

__

_ Amos _ —

__

_                 And just because I'm not becoming irrational as you sit here talking with Julie Little, practically nestling your heads together in your whispers, doesn't mean that I've lost any sort of passion for you. I think it simply means that I have finally grasped a sort of maturity and rationality that I was severely lacking before. I am obviously comfortable enough in our relationship that I do not feel the need to throw something hard and heavy at Julie just because you choose to speak with her. I mean, you're probably just asking her for a spare quill or something. _

__

_                 ...and parchment. _

__

_                 ...and I guess a few other things, as well... _

__

_                 All right. _

__

_                 You can stop talking to her now. _

__

_                 No, seriously. _

__

__ Stop _._

__

_                 ...Thank you. _

__

_                 Signed, _

_                 Yours _

__

_ P.S.-- That was real jealousy, by the way. Not false at all. So, see? It's love. Still love, I mean. Yeah. _

_ \------------------------- _

__

_ A- _

__

_                 Fuck. _

__

_                 I'm such a shoddy liar when it matters. _

__

_                 Why don't I care? _

__

__ Why don't I care???

_ L. _

______________________________________________

__

** Even Later, Hospital Wing **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 191 **

__

__

                I blame the scarf.

                This is really _entirely_ the scarf's fault.

                It doesn't matter that it's been buried at the very bottom of my bag all day long or that it was in no way involved. It doesn't matter that it's an inanimate object and is, in essence, rather harmless. It doesn't matter that I'm prone to these sorts of calamities or that, when we really get down to it, with my karma, I'm quite lucky simply to be alive.  Because as of right now, sitting here on this uncomfortable Hospital Wing cot, thinking back on all that has occured this afternoon, _none_ of that really matters. It just doesn't. I don't know how, I don't know why, but somehow, inately, I am quite positive that this entire thing is the scarf's fault.

                How could this have _happened_?

                I just don't _get it_. I don't _understand_. It was a _week_ ago! Why, all of sudden, does this thing keep _growing and growing and growing_? And why didn't he say anything? To James, I mean? Why wouldn't he have told him?  Why _did_ he say something to me? It just makes no _sense_. What did he think...I mean...how...

                Shit.

                I can't believe— _ahh._

                _Ow._

__

__ Stupid bloody _wrist_.

                Stupid bloody _scarf_.

                Stupid bloody _life_.

                Merlin.

                I just...need to sort this out.

                All right.

                Deep breaths, Lily. Long, deep breaths.

                Okay.

                I suppose the trouble started just after Runes, if you'd like to get all technical about it and pinpoint an exact beginning to the madness. I was surprisingly calm as Lundi gave the word to end class, casually gathering about my books from my desk, even as I was dreading the forthcoming hour—one, because I had Potions, and need I say more? And two, because I would once again be forced to endure a class with James and the mere _thought_ of sitting through another hour composing badly-written, depressing poetry to distract myself from the fact that he was _still_ not speaking to me—or even so much as _acknowledging_ me, really—was hardly anything to look forward to.  But I wanted to get out of Runes—no, _needed_ to get out of Runes—because even worse than composing wretched poetry about James was composing useless letters to Amos that were forcing me to acknowledge things that I wanted to acknowledge even less than I wanted to acknowledge that James isn't acknowledging me which therefore put me in a very strange position of acknowledging and non-acknowledging that if I didn't extract myself from soon was sure to send me over the deep end...if it hadn't already.

                Which, who am I kidding?  Of course it had.

                Psh.

                It was while I was stewing over all of that acknowledging and non-acknowledging business—and I suppose that's why I wasn't quite paying as much attention as I should have been—as I shuffled out of the classroom a bit behind everyone else that the madness began.  I turned out the door, shuffling my feet and hanging my head in resigned defeat...and slammed _right_ smack hard into someone who was standing just outside the doorway.

                Yeah.

                It seems to be my day for smacking into things.

                Like I'm a bloody _bowling ball_ or something.

                I watched with resigned silence as two sets of books—my own and my collidees—went crashing to the floor with a loud sort of clatter (no pants or jumpers to muffle _this_ disastrous toppling), telling myself...well, at least I'd have a decent reason to put off going to Potions now, eh?

                Hmph.

                Why is it that my clouds _never_ have silver linings?

                Because guess—just bloody _guess_ —who I had managed to have playing pin to my bowling ball this time?

                Julie Little.

                I had crashed right into _bloody effing_ Julie Little. 

                And sure enough, standing just there next to Julie, looking a bit bewildered at the sudden mess that had so quickly come to surround him—as well as the sudden appearance of the madwoman he had somehow convinced himself was worthy of his time before he realised just how _truly_ mad she actually is, undoubtedly—was Amos.

                I knew I should have offed myself this morning. I _knew_ it.

                "I am _so_ sorry," I sputtered instantly, dropping quickly down to my knees as I hurriedly began attempting to sort through the multitude of books I had just knocked to the floor.  I glanced up at the pair of them, shooting apologetic looks at their slightly stunned faces before focusing in on Julie.  "I wasn't paying any attention."

                I didn't think it necessary to add that her present companion and their present and previous companionship was one of the prime reasons for my distraction, but I thought it.

                Because they were.

                So, you know, the whole thing could have _technically_ been her fault, anyway.

                "Oh, it's all right," Julie said, dropping down beside me, waving her hand in a careless way and giving me a quick, sort of guarded look. "Not your fault, really. We shouldn't have been standing in front of the doorway."

                Yeah, that as well.

                _So_ her fault.

                We gathered our books and papers quickly—and more than a bit awkwardly—crawling about the floor all fast and mad-like.  And it wasn't just me.  Feeling the awkwardness, I mean.  _I_ clearly had a legitimate reason to, of course, seeing as it was Julie and it was Amos and I had just spent the last hour trying to convince myself that I was totally seeing green over the way the two of them were conversing in Runes and all—and also simply because Amos, you know, is sort of a presently sore subject for me—but they felt it, as well.  They really did.  And that was more than apparent after we had finally sorted through all of our things and Julie and I rose back up to our feet, dusting ourselves off and such...and we all then proceeded to just _stand_ there—me, nervously biting my lip; Julie, idly twirling her hair; Amos, scratching an invisible itch at the back of his head—shuffling about from foot to foot in front of the Runes classroom.

                If awkwardness could be bottled and sold for a few galleons, I would have been a billionaire.

                And I don't say that sort of thing lightly, being so avaricious and everything.

                Yeah.

                It was _that_ bad.

                And even though it could very well have been the stress of the day getting to me or the awkwardness of the moment or something equally as justifiable affecting my mental perceptions...well, I still rather got the distinct impression that I had just interrupted something that I shouldn't have. 

                But who am I kidding?  I was never mentally stable in the first place.

                "Er," I finally muttered, chewing a bit more on my lower lip as we all continued to just stand there...and stand there...and _stand there_... "Er," I said again. "I'm, uh, off to class then."

                I made to go, not wanting to make the situation any worse as I tried to ignore the strange sort of prickling at the back of my neck that said something was really off, but didn't manage to get very far.  

                "Wait!" Amos suddenly called out, just as I had turned.  "Don't go.  I'll walk you to your next class."

                Oh, _bugger_.

                "Oh. You really don't have—"

                "I want to."

                "Yes, but—"

                "No buts," Amos interrupted, tossing his arm about my shoulders, making it impossible to run, even if I'd wanted to.  "Besides," he went on, throwing me a grin, "I wanted to talk to you about Hogsmeade."

                Um.

                Rain check?

                "Well, that's—"

                "Oh, that's right," Julie suddenly cut in, interrupting what might have been a rather brilliantly convincing reason as to why Amos couldn't walk me to class, if I'd thought of one.  "You're going to Hogsmeade together, aren't you?  Excited, Lily?"

                As of right now, Julie?

                About as excited as a Death Eater in Azkaban, thanks.

                She was giving me this sort of mad-eyed look that I probably would have found especially odd if the whole situation hadn't been so very odd in the first place.  The tingles at the back of my neck began going off at full force, but somehow, through it all, I heard myself saying, "Oh, yes. Ecstatic."

                Thank _Merlin_ I know how to lie.

                "Julie and I were just talking about Hogsmeade," Amos informed me, though he was looking at Julie as he said it.  And maybe it was just me and my extremely bitter mood or all that awful tingling or _still_ something of any equally justifiable nature, but now _Amos_ was looking especially odd as well, even though he was smiling.  "Julie has a particular liking for Honeydukes," he said. "Don't you, Jules?"

                "Do you?" I asked, mostly because I was just trying to get rid of the endless tingling and conversation seemed like the only option other than running away, which I still couldn't do because of Amos and his stupid arm-anchor about my shoulders.  But if Julie heard my prompt, she gave no sign of it. Instead, she seemed quite busy staring rather fiercely at Amos, who was still smiling, but looking at her just as fiercely, though not quite with the same hostility (hostility? Where had _that_ come from?).  "Well, yeah, chocolate's always grand, I suppose," I muttered on to myself, internally gritting my teeth as I was continually ignored. "Very rich. Very tasty stuff."

                "Indeed," Amos finally said.

                "Shut _up_ ," Julie suddenly snapped.

                Oh, dear.

                "Er..."

                "Why do you always _do_ that? Can't you quit it for just a bloody second? You can be such an _arsehole_ sometimes, do you know that?" Julie ranted, now out and out glaring at Amos. "I can't believe you would just..." She trailed away, clamping her mouth shut. She sent Amos a look of pure disdain before turning to me. Her eyes lost some of their fiery resentment. "See you later, Lily," she bit out.  Then, with another hostile look at Amos, she strode away.

                Um.

                What?

                "Er...what exactly was that about?" I asked carefully, watching Julie's retreating form stomp off down the corridor.  Amos's gaze was fixed on her as well, but when she disappeared around the corner, he turned to me with the same dashing smile and a shrug. 

                "Just a joke," he said, pulling me closer to his side as we began to follow along slowly in Julie's path. "Julie's just been a bit peaky lately. Usually she's quite a laugh."

                Peaky?

                He thought that was _peaky_?

                "No offense, Amos," I started slowly, forgetting for a moment that this was the love of my life and that—even though I am clearly the brains of this operation—it's very bad form to be all condescending and patronizing because patronizing women humiliate and intimidate men, so, you know, probably not good for the marital bliss, "but I think she's a bit more than peaky. In fact, she looked downright fuming."

                This was so true, but clearly Amos does not harbor the same can't-have-people-cross-with-me affliction that I myself struggle so fiercely with every day, because instead of growing all morose and panicky and running after Julie in a grand attempt to assuage her anger, Amos simply shrugged again, smiled quite contently to himself and went, "She'll get over it."

                Yeah.

                'She'll get over it'.

                Merlin, does this boy know _anything_ about women?

                It is a good thing I am here to educate him.

                "Let me teach you a little something about the opposite sex, Amos," I started slowly, not really caring if I was being all superior now, because clearly the boy needed my knowledge before someone got hurt. "Anger like _that"_ —I pointed towards where Julie had just disappeared—"is not something a girl just 'gets over'. Not in the least. In fact, you're probably going to have to apologise."

                Amos looked at me most thoughtfully. 

"Apologise?" he repeated, as if testing the word out himself. I nodded quickly, with as much wifely support as possible. Amos stared at me for a second, taking it in. Then, quite suddenly, he reached up and ruffled my hair with his hand. "You're adorable, do you know that?"

                Oh, brother.

                It's a good thing he has his looks.

                Blushing slightly at the somewhat inappropriate compliment in light of our present conversation, I threw Amos a look as he continued to grin at me. "You'll see," was all I said, trying to be firm, even as he was smiling so brightly. "She won't talk to you."

                "Yes, she will."

                "No, she won't."

                "But she will."

                "But she—" I stopped, realising that I was fighting a losing battle, arguing as I was with him. Amos seemed completely confident and oddly content with his convictions. "You'll see," I said again, and I was surprised to realise that I was actually a bit put out with him for being so stupid, which I don't think has ever occurred before. "Julie'll care."

                Amos simply grinned.

                I gritted my teeth.

                Merlin, I was really having a rotten day.

                "So, Hogsmeade," I suddenly said, forcing myself to smile as my head began to pound a pulsing rhythm. "I, er, hope it doesn't rain."

                I really shouldn't speak. 

                Ever.

                "Haven't heard it will," Amos replied, rather unfazed by _my_ stupidity, thankfully. "Have you?"

                "Well, no," I answered with a blush. "But, you know...England. When has a forecast ever really mattered?"

                "Yeah, I suppose," Amos said, his voice trailing off. I looked up to see his smile faltering for the first time. "Sort of like that day you and Potter were caught out in that storm," he suddenly said. "Didn't see that one coming, eh?"

                Oh, jeez.

                "Er, no," I muttered. "No, we didn't."

                StoptalkingaboutJamesStoptalkingaboutJamesStoptalkingaboutJames!!!!

                "So, what time Saturday?"

                Thank _Merlin_.

                "Whenever," I replied, just happy to be off the subject of all things tall and mop-headed. "I'm up rather early. I'll be around."

                Oh, crap.

                But what if James is around, as well?

                Not good. Not good _at all_.

                "But then again," I quickly amended, thoughts of James watching Amos and I sauntering off into the sunrise together playing in my head, "it _is_ Saturday. Probably better sleep in. Don't have many chances to and everything."

                "But then again," Amos countered, throwing me a side-glance, "it's only one day and I want to spend as much time with you as I possibly can."

                Oh.

                _Oh_.

                Aw.

                _This_ is why I am going to marry this man.

                Right.

                I flushed probably a rather embarrassing shade of red just then, basking in the heat of Amos's comment, but I was so glad to feel the rushing, giddy, Amos-feeling that seemed to have dwindled down to nothing in the past few weeks quickly flowing back through my veins again that blushing like a small girl didn't seem to matter all that much anymore.  And with the Amos-feeling creating a comforting dullness over my endless array of worries, it was quite as if the sun had opened up and shined its light upon all that was wrong in the world, and I suddenly started coming to some rather nice conclusions. 

                Because really, so _what_ if I'm not jealous of Julie Little? 

                Seriously. So _what_? And who cares if I fancy another bloke a tiny bit? Who cares about _any_ of it? I love Amos. I _am_ excited about going to Hogsmeade with him. And maybe I forgot that for a little while, with all the endless drama of my life consuming me, but I _am_ excited. I just have to quit bloody _questioning_ everything all the time. _That's_ what's getting me all mad. Not my decreasing feelings. Not my lust for another man. It's my questioning skepticism over the fact that I could actually be _happy_ if I just let myself! The doubts that, yes, this thing with Amos, it might actually _work out_. I just have to stop being such a bloody Donna Drama Queen.

                Yeah.

                _Yeah_.

                Merlin, why didn't I realise any of this _before_?

                By that time, we had finally managed to reach the dungeons and I could already hear Abbott causing a ruckus, telling people to take their seats in that resounding voice of hers. We stopped in front of the doorway, Amos and I, facing each other in silence. I realised then that he was probably waiting for me to respond to his question about time. Feeling a whole lot lighter than I had in quite awhile, I smiled up at him brightly and quickly nodded my head.

                "Early it is, then," I said, still a bit flushed. "When shall we meet? Eight?"

                Amos grinned back. "Eight’s perfect. Courtyard?"

                I nodded. "Courtyard."

                And maybe it was the way he was standing there grinning at me. Or maybe it was the fact that I had finally come to terms with this whole dating catastrophe. Or maybe it was simply because I could still hear Abbott raving on and on like a bloody banshee and I knew that this was probably going to be the highpoint of my afternoon. But for whatever reason and whatever purpose, standing there in front of Amos, I somehow found the gumption necessary to raise myself up on my toes, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and kiss him right there in the corridor, a quick brush of his lips against mine.

                Yes, I did.

                I kissed Amos Diggory.

                Damn _right_ , I did!

                And it was lovely. 

                It really was.

                Very sweet and short and perfect right there in that moment. 

                And maybe it would have continued to be perfect if, just then as I was pulling away, still looking at Amos with all the happiness I was feeling inside, we hadn't been interrupted.

                "You're blocking the bloody doorway."

                I didn't need to look up. I knew that voice. I knew that voice very well. And I knew that with that voice, three other voices usually followed. My heart stopped in my chest. 

                And quite like that, all my good spirits were gone.

                Oh, Merlin.

                Oh, _shit_.

                "You lost, Diggory?" the same voice questioned. I finally turned around, not surprised in the least to find Sirius Black glaring quite fiercely at the pair of us. He crossed his arms over his chest and threw Amos a look of resounding resentment. "I believe you need some level of brain function to be in this class, but by all means, loiter outside the doorway. Something might rub off."

                "Always pleasant to see you, Black," Amos shot back, matching Sirius's cross-armed pose and derision-filled sneer. "Saw your brother this morning. He was saying some nice things about you."

                Sirius turned an ugly shade of red and looked about ready to murder until a hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder, restraining him. I didn't dare look past the wrist of that hand, fixing my gaze instead just past Sirius's shoulder, but I knew exactly who it belonged to. 

And when he spoke—the first time that I had heard that voice all day—it was like a knife twisting in my chest.

                It hurt.

                It physically _hurt_ to hear him.

                "Not worth it," was all James said, very quietly but in a voice harder than I think I've ever heard him use. He glanced at me; I could feel it, just a brief shift of his eyes. Against my better judgment, I glanced up at him as well, but by that time, his gaze had already moved to Amos. 

                He didn't look angry. 

                Just hard. 

                Really, really hard. 

                "'Scuse me," he said flatly, brushing past Sirius and walking right between Amos and I, into the classroom.

                And that was it.

                He didn't look at me again.

                Not even once.

                And I know it was rude, what I did then. I know that I was probably mad and that, in light of my previous realisations about Amos and my still-present affections for him, I shouldn't have been feeling so anguished. I shouldn't have cared that James had just seen me kiss Amos or that 'excuse me' was the only thing he had deigned to say to me all day. None of that should have mattered. But as I stood there, staring after James's back, barely noticing as Remus and Peter followed his lead and shuffled inside the classroom as well, I moved instinctively. Without so much as a 'see you round' to Amos, I shoved through the doorway, my eyes fixated on James.

                Because I had had enough.

                _Enough_.

                This was going to end. 

                _Now._

                "Don't you think you've caused enough damage, Evans? Leave him the fuck alone."

                I whirled around, snapping out of my blind fury and finally registering that Sirius hadn't followed along with the rest of them into the classroom before me. He stood behind me, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him. Looking up, I met a gaze probably as icy as my own. His hand was tightly clasping my wrist in an unbreakable hold, freezing us at the back of the dungeon.

                "Stay out of it, Black," I practically spat, jerking my hand back quickly, but to no avail. His grip held fast. "This doesn't concern you."

                "It concerns James, and that concerns me," he snapped back, ignoring my struggles. "This isn't a game, Evans. _Leave him alone._ "

                " _No_."

                "Miss Evans, Mr. Black." Abbott's voice cut through the air with the efficiency of a sharp saber, causing both Sirius and I to look up. My wrist finally fell free of his hurting grip. "I suggest you take your seats before I find them for you.” She gave as a withering look. "Inside the Headmaster's office."

                My heart sank in my chest as I saw most of the class gazing up at us from their workstations, realising my opportunity was gone and that the damage had inevitably been done. With nothing more than one last fiery look, Sirius shoved past me, taking his seat next to James with little flourish. James whispered something to him quickly, but Sirius only shook his head, refusing to speak.

                "Miss Evans!" Abbott's voice cracked again, and my eyes darted away from the Marauders and up to the professor, who was giving me a death glare. "Take. Your. _Seat_."

                I nodded quickly, mumbling an apology under my breath as I shuffled into my seat between Grace and Emma. Grace poked me hard with her quill.

                "What's up?" she whispered. "What was that all about?"

                "I don't know," I mumbled back, rubbing gently at my still twinging wrist. "I don't know."

                "You looked seething," Emma whispered, shooting a quick glance at Abbott who was thankfully too busy telling off Christa Forester for not taking her seat quickly enough either. "You both did. What happened?"

                I shook my head, suddenly not having the energy to explain it all, even though I suppose there wasn't very much to explain. I don't know why I was so angry. I don't know why he was so angry. We just...were.

                But even as I sat there, telling myself I didn't know why there was a river of molten rage boiling up inside my chest, I have to admit...I _did_ know. I knew _exactly_ why I was so angry. And the fact of the matter was, it actually had very little to do with Sirius Black. I just didn't want to think about it. 

                Because James... _he_ wasn't angry.

                When he saw me kiss Amos. He wasn't even the _least bit_ angry.

                And Merlin help us all, that made me _furious_.

                Because, I mean, come _on_ , you'd think the boy would at least shoot a _glare_ at someone or something! You'd think that he'd say something other than a worthless 'excuse me' as he shuffles on through the door, as placid as a bloody lake! Just what is _that_? Need we recall that when I bloody accepted a simple _date_ with a bloke, James went positively mad, and yet when he sees me _snogging_ Amos, suddenly there's not so much as an 'Oh, interesting' that comes about it?!  What the bleeding _hell_ is that about? How could he just...just...

                I mean, he still...

                He can't have...

                ...could he?

                "I think I'm going to be sick," I moaned faintly, burying my head in my hands. "I'm going to be _sick_."

                I felt a comforting hand go to my shoulder, but ignored it.

                Oh, Merlin, what was going _on_?

                "Now that you've all decided to stop wasting my time," Abbott started a few seconds later, obviously not caring that as she went about her class like normal, my entire life was falling apart, bit by worthless bit, "we can finally begin. Now, listen well—I want _everyone's_ attention, do you understand me?"

The distinctive bite in her voice—one even sharper than normal Abbott-voice-bite—was perhaps the only thing that could've convinced me to lift by head back up out of my hands. And I wasn't the only one who had snapped to attention. Even the oddball how-did-they-even- _get_ -into-this-class group of Hufflepuffs who mess around in the back of the classroom all the time were staring at Abbott curiously, waiting for her to go on. What had her acting so urgent?

                "There will be no—I repeat _no_ _foolishness_ at _any point_ during today's lesson, do you all understand me?" she said loudly, forcing everyone to quickly murmur their consent. Even the fools in back. Abbott nodded sharply. "Good. As some of you may have discovered if you had bothered to begin your assignments last night, today we will be brewing Ruberis Draught."

                Loud whispers instantly filled the classroom. 

                "Jeez," Grace hissed beside me. "Is she _kidding_?"

                "Ruberis Draught?" a voice questioned from the back of the dungeon. It was one of the Hufflepuff loons—Willie Rhodes. "But Professor, isn't that made with oleander leaves? And mandrake root? That stuff together can kill you! It'll burn your skin right off!"

                "Exactly," Abbott stated, her eyes darting quickly about the classroom.

                "She can't be serious," Emma whispered, ducking her head close to mine. "We can't. Someone's going to get hurt."

                "I don't think she cares," I whispered back. Not for the first time, I wondered if my insanity was contagious.

                Because really, even _considering_ letting any of us kids anywhere _near_ Ruberis Draught is about as insane as it gets. I mean, loony or not, Willie Rhodes speaks the truth. In my attempts to forget my horrible night, I _had_ done my assignment this morning, and that oleander and mandrake mix quite literally _could_ burn a person's skin right off. I mean, yeah, it's neutralized with the bezoars and all, but you don't add the bezoars until the very end. Up until that point, the potion is pretty much pure acid. Was Abbott seriously going to trust the likes of us with that sort of stuff? Half our class can't even pour their morning pumpkin juice properly, for Merlin's sake!

                What, has _everyone_ suddenly lost it?

                "If you would all cease your endless chatter," Abbott went on, and it was little surprise when the room grew silent in no time, "I have some distinct directions to give." She glared. "Open your books to page 762." There was an instant flutter of pages. "These are the directions you will be following throughout your lesson today.  Do not even _think_ about deviating off the _exact_ instructions on this page. They are to be followed exactly as printed with perfect precision. And heed this, ladies and gentlemen." She paused, her voice growing distinctly louder. "If there are any— _any_ —mishaps during this lesson, if I see _any_ unruly behavior or careless actions, not only will you be in detention until you graduate, but that punishment will start just as soon as you get out of the Hospital Wing— _if_ you get out of the Hospital Wing! Is that _quite_ _clear_?"

                Yes, ma'am.

                "Good," she said. Then, "Upon each workstation you will find a large vial of colorless liquid. Inside this vial is a healthy dose of ethermine. If, for any reason, the oleander and mandrake root mixture touches your skin, you are to pour this solution on the spot immediately. The consequences otherwise would be disastrous.  However," she said, giving us all an oh-you-better-not-mess-this-up-or-I'll- _kill_ -all-of-you stare, "I'm sure we won't be having any use for these, will we?"

                Everyone muttered their consent once more. Abbott, however, did not look satisfied with our genuine-if-perhaps-lackluster agreement. Her eyes scanned across the room, until suddenly, she finally seemed to come to a conclusion. "Don't get comfortable," she snapped. "I will be assigning you partners today."

                Oh, _bugger_ it.

                Didn't she just _tell me_ to sit down?

                "Come off it, Professor," Sirius called from the front of the classroom, annoyance in his voice. "I'm not going to trust just anyone when there are vats of open acid lying about."

                Abbott smiled. "Of course not," she responded, though now that I really looked... _she_ looked...rather...devious? "How could I ever allow such a discomfort, Mr. Black?"

                Sirius leaned back in his seat, his eyebrows raised. Abbott grinned even more broadly. I didn't know why, but suddenly my stomach began to clench.

                That's when I realised that my stomach was a bit quicker on the uptake than I was.

                "Seeing as you surely trust each other enough to dally about talking instead of finding your seats for my class,"  Abbott said, her voice a careless drawl, "I'm sure you won't have any objections to my allowing you and Miss Evans to be my first chosen pair, isn't that right?"

                Oh, _shit_.

                Shit, shit, _shit._

                I don't know who objected first. Sirius and I both started our instant pleas of "Professor—" at the same time, our voices mixing together in the quiet of the classroom. Abbott, however, was naturally having none of it.

                " _Move_ ," was all she said, throwing each of us a glare. Then, without so much as a 'too bad', "Lupin, Rice, you next. Reynolds and Rhodes. Jergins and Forester—"

                I didn't hear anything after that.

                I panicked.

                _Panicked_.

                "Oh god," I whispered, grabbing hold of Grace's arm. "He's going to kill me. _Kill_ me."

                "Count yourself lucky," Grace scowled, throwing a bitter look towards the back of the classroom where Willie Rhodes had already gone back to playing a little game of who-can-be-the-biggest-berk with his mates. "At least you're getting killed on purpose. Much quicker that way." She swallowed audibly, watching as Willie very nearly knocked his cauldron off his table in the midst of his fun. She shuddered. "What did I do to deserve this?"

                I couldn't help thinking the same thing myself.

                I barely noticed as Grace finally managed to trudge her way to the back of the classroom and Emma left to join some Ravenclaw sitting towards the front. I didn't move from my seat, deciding without asking that this is where Sirius and I would be working for the afternoon, trying in vain to get a hold of myself. 

                Because…okay.

                Yes, Sirius Black is a little off his end. And yes, he is more than a tiny bit cross with me at this present moment. But he's no _monster_. He wouldn't deliberately _harm_ me. 

                Not in front of so many witnesses in any case.

                Bugger.

                Bugger, bugger, _shit_.

                I don't know how long I sat there, staring determinedly down at my desk. After a time, I felt rather than saw Sirius approach, a loud _thump!_ heralding his official arrival as he unceremoniously dropped his books and materials down on the worktable. I looked up to find him—oh, really, how _very_ shocking—glaring rather avidly at me, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of having me glare back like a petty four-year-old lost in a tantrum. If he wanted to disintegrate my skin with acidic solution, well then _fine_ —great, brilliant, let's give him a medal!—but I'd be _damned_ if I'd go down without a civilized attempt at harmony.

                You can take my skin, but you can't take my dignity!

                Or something like that.

                "Very mature, Black," I muttered, forcing my voice to remain as flat as possible. I finally managed to look at him completely, taking his piercing gaze on at full force. I ignored it. Or tried to, in any case. "You know," I started, squirming under his glares, "if you could just for a moment try to forget about your stupid, petty self and all your, I'm sure, _extremely_ well-founded hatred for me, we can perhaps manage not to kill someone this afternoon and get this potion made. All right?"

                Sirius shot me a sardonic glance, not pausing in his glares as he sat down. "Whatever you say, Evans. Take charge, why don't you? Forget about the little people lying in your path."

                I clenched my jaw. "Stop."

                "Stop what?"

                "We can't work like this."

                Sirius leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest. "I actually wasn't intending on working at all, thanks."

                I'm going to kill him.

                _I'm_ going to _kill_ _him_.

                " _Fine_ ," I finally snapped, losing control of any semblance of restraint that I somehow managed to convince myself that I had had. "That's just bloody _fine_ with me. Sit there. Glare. Make snide comments. Do whatever the _bloody hell_ you want, Sirius, because to be perfectly honest, I don't _care_."

                Suddenly, Sirius stood up, his chair making a loud scraping noise as it slid against the dungeon floor. I jumped back, startled as he loomed over me, his face noticeably darker than before. 

                Shit.

                "Don't care, do you?" he spat, his voice quiet, but menacing. "And that's supposed to _surprise_ me? Since when have you ever given a flying fuck about anyone but yourself, Evans?"

                "Me?" I cried, standing up as well. "Oh, _that's_ rich. And this from the most self-absorbed prick to ever walk the planet? Don't you _dare_ make judgments on me, Sirius Black! I may not be perfect, but I'm a fair sight better than you!"

                Sirius opened his mouth to say something, what, I'm not sure, but just as quickly as it opened, his mouth closed shut again and he turned his face away from me. I stared blankly at his profile, confused at why he'd gone and finally shut up, but before I had much time to ponder the whats and whys of it, he turned back to me, his face void of any expression.

                "You're right," he said, his voice lacking any of the caustic bite it had just been overflowing with not moments before. I stared at him in shock. "But while I may be a shit person,” he went on, looking me straight in the eyes, “I'd like to think of myself as a slightly-less-than-shit mate. And I'll be _damned_ if I'll give up that little bit of decency I've got to the likes of you." He turned away from me. "Where are the doxy eggs?" he asked. "We should get started."

                And that was that. He didn't say anything else. He just grabbed the doxy eggs from where they were lying next to my cauldron, picked up his paring knife, and started slicing. And, utterly dumbfounded by his quick change of mood as well as his less-than-simple statements, I couldn't muster up enough courage to do anything besides just stand there, gaping like an idiot, before finally managing to begin working myself.

                Because honestly, what do you _say_ to that?

                How can I fault him for trying to be a good mate? How can I stand there and trade insults with the bloke when I know that, had our positions been reversed, I would be doing the exact same thing? Because I guess...well, I suppose he has every right to believe I've been a complete arse where James is concerned—I _have_ been. But I never _meant_ any of it. I really didn't. I mean, before last week, I wasn't even really aware that James still fancied me, so how can I be held responsible for my actions when I was so out of the loop? But Sirius doesn't know any of that. He doesn't know what's happened. He doesn't know that I was not in any way trying to deliberately hurt James. I was just...being stupid. Or something. So I suppose I rather have to respect him for that...even though he's still an arse.

                But an arse for an all right reason.

                So...semi-excusable arse-ishness.

                But regardless of whatever level of excusable I had presently deemed Sirius Black as being, we still worked for most of the class in utter silence. I was bursting to say something, but didn't know what exactly I _could_ say that would explain it all. And Sirius seemed more than content to work without a single word.

                I was crushing up the last of the ginger roots, getting ready to pour the rest of it into our already boiling potion, when Sirius finally broke the silence.

                "You want to handle this?" he asked, holding up the oleander leaves and the mandrake root, all ready to be mixed together for an acidic solution surprise. His eyebrow quirked. "You know, just so there's no question of who's burning whose flesh off and such."

                "Yeah, all right," I murmured, my voice a bit raspy from disuse and perhaps from all the pent-up feelings I wanted to get out, but couldn't. I grabbed the two vials carefully out of his hands, feeling the weight of them in my fingers as I gently placed each back down on the table. 

                He went to turn away, lifting his knife to finish slicing up something else, when suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. The words just came out. 

                "Just so you know," I said, grabbing his hand, gripping his wrist like he had held mine not a half-hour before, "I'm not...I'm not as terrible as you think I am, all right? I may be a lot of things, but I would never... I wouldn't _deliberately_...I'm just...not, all right?"

                Always articulate, aren't I?

                _Psh_.

                Sirius didn't say anything for a few seconds, enough time for me to turn a completely humiliating shade of red as I instantly regretted saying anything at all. But his giant sigh came as a relief to me and I watched as he shook his head and easily pulled his wrist from my grip. 

                "I don't think you're terrible," he said gruffly, throwing me a guarded side-glance. "You just don't think before you do things."

                Don't think?

                Don't _think_?

                I've got a whole journal filled with _think_ , there, buddy.

                "That's not fair," I retorted, pursing my lips. "I do so think. You're just talking about decisions that don't have right answers. I can't—"

                "That out there," Sirius suddenly interrupted, pointing his knife towards the now closed dungeon doorway. " _That_ was a right or wrong, Evans. And you were wrong."

                I felt something inside my stomach clench tightly. He was talking about the kiss. That stupid, stupid kiss with Amos. "I'm not going to apologise for that," I replied stubbornly, but already on the tip of my tongue were the words to do just that. I swallowed them down, telling myself that I had no reason to be ashamed for kissing a bloke I'm to go out with. But somehow, inevitably, I suppose, I couldn't quite hold back everything as I heard myself softly adding, "I didn't know you were standing there."

                Sirius shook his head. "That's not even the point."

                I bit my lip, wanting to defend myself, but seriously starting to wonder if I even had anything left to defend. Merlin, what a _mess_. "I know what it must seem like," I started slowly, trying to rationalize even if I couldn't defend. "I know you must think I'm some sort of...well, I don't know what you're thinking. But you have to know that James is my mate and—"

                "But that's just _it_ , Evans!" Sirius suddenly cried, throwing up his hands in frustration. "James doesn't want to _be_ your mate! He's never _only_ wanted to _be_ your _mate_! Don't you _get_ that?"

                And there it was.

                Just like that.

                It was the first time that I'd heard it so simply, so plainly like that. And I know that it shouldn't have mattered. I know that that one, stupid fact—a fact, for Merlin's sake, that I already _know_. He fancies me. He snogged me. Of course he doesn't want to be my _mate_. You don't _snog_ your _mates_!—shouldn't have felt like the swift kick to the gut that it did. I shouldn't have been feeling the least bit worse off. It was old news. _Old news._

                But apparently it was still pretty new to me.

                Which, you know, _shocker_ , Lily's behind.

                Psh.

                I didn't respond to Sirius's question. I didn't mutter a "Yes, I get it," or a "No, actually, I've just sort of realised" or anything at all because I was finally beginning to learn that perhaps keeping my mouth shut is really just best for everyone. I mean, human muzzles are made for people like me. We shouldn't have the choice to open our mouths, even when we have control over them and their traitorous ways. It can only end in tears.

                But I knew Sirius was waiting for an answer. I could feel his eyes boring into me, even as I turned away from him and focused instead on removing the cork from the vile of ethermine and preparing to mix the oleander leaves and mandrake root in the large, acid-resistant beaker Abbott had given us. 

                Because maybe I didn't get it. Or maybe I did. But either way, I wasn't going to discuss my confusion with Sirius Black. I just wouldn't.

                "I'm going to mix these now," I said in my most casual tone, hoping Sirius would catch on and drop the whole thing. But instead of cooperating, he made a loud noise of frustration and took a step closer to me.

                "Don't just stand there and pretend you can't hear me," he said, pausing for a moment in his speech as he watched me carefully pour the oleander leaves and mandrake root together. The solution gave a loud sizzle and turned a dark shade of blue. The second I put the beaker back down on the table, Sirius began again. "You know exactly what this is about and for the life of me I can't figure out why you don't use that brain everyone's always raving about you having and figure out what the hell you want!"

                "What do you know about what I want?" I snapped, picking up the beaker again when it finally stopped boiling. Sirius didn't bother pausing in his speech this time. He didn't stop even as I made my way over to our cauldron and began slowly pouring the acidic solution in. He was right behind me, pressed up against my side.

                "I know you're not indifferent," he said, causing me to look up, though only for a moment. He sighed loudly. "Merlin knows it was a whole lot easier when you were. But now you've got him jumping through hoops for you, questioning every damn thing he does and doesn't do." His voice rose as he got more cross. "Where's your fucking decency, Evans? Where's basic human compassion? You get his hopes up and then drop him without a care in the world. You lead him on—"

                "I don't lead him on!"

                "Then what the fuck do you call snogging him in a stairwell and then pretending it never happened?"

                W _hat the fuck do you call snogging him in a stairwell and then pretending it never happened._

__

__ Oh, god.

                Oh, _god_.

                He knows.

                _He knows_.

                That was the last thought in my head before chaos erupted.

                Everything happened rather quickly after that.

                I saw rather than felt the beaker slip from my fingers, so numb was I at Sirius's words. I didn't have time to think. Even now, hours later, I'm not sure how I managed it. All I know is that if my instincts hadn't kicked in, I'm not sure where I'd be right now. But I saw the consequences in my mind's eye in the split second before the beaker crashed into the cauldron, bringing forth a healthy dose of the newly acidic potion with the impact, but also cracking against the side of the cauldron as it fell. Sirius was still standing right next to me, barely a whisper away, so I didn't have to shove very hard to get him out of harm's way. 

                But I wasn't quick enough. 

                Well, not quick enough for _myself,_ anyway. 

                I think that it was then—just as I was pushing Sirius away from the splashes, I mean—that the acid hit my skin. I wasn't completely incompetent, mind you. I _had_ managed to move most of myself out of the way. But the hand that had dropped the beaker—that _stupid_ , clumsy hand—hadn't moved from its spot. A splash of dark blue acid caught the inside of my wrist and instantly began to spread.

                And Holy Merlin, shit, fuck, _shit_ , _shit, shit,_ it _burned_.

                It burned like nothing else in the entire world.

                Like fire, but worse.

                I don't know how I managed to reach the ethermine. Thank Merlin that I had been bright enough to uncork it before, or the acid might have spread from the small patch at the inside of my wrist to my entire arm or my entire body or something quite devastating like that. In any case, the last things I registered before everything went black were the cold sizzle of my skin as the ethermine took effect and the sound of people shouting as I fell to the floor.

                Well...okay. 

                I don't actually _remember_ people shouting or falling to the floor. But Grace and Emma told me it happened, and they say it was all very dramatic.

                Which, you know, was comforting.

                I'd hate to think that my fatal accidents were boring.

                Psh.

                Pomfrey says I was rather lucky—well, by 'say', I suppose I really rather mean 'screech', seeing as what Pomfrey was doing quite eluded the decibel it takes to be considered a decent tone of voice. The woman was positively _bellowing_ like a bloody _banshee_ for most of the afternoon. Woke me right straight out of unconsciousness, in fact. She went on and on about how I was centimeters away from death, going into quite realistic detail about how close the burn had come to a main vein and would I have enjoyed bleeding out all over the dungeon floors, drowning about in my own blood, staining red as I turned white? 

                Which, you know, was really just a _swell_ visual and I promptly passed out again.

                Merlin, don't these medical types have _any_ compassion for the miserable souls they heal?

                Bleeding out on the dungeon floor...ew.

                The next time I woke up, I could see the sun beginning to set just outside the Hospital Wing windows as I groggily registered my surroundings. I turned my head to the side, finding Grace and Emma lounging about beside my bed, munching on chocolate frogs (Grace) and reading out of a ghastly old tomb (Emma) in the cushiony Hospital Wing chairs.

                Ah, mates.

                "I'm glad to see how distressed you both are over my injury," I croaked flatly, causing Emma to jump up in surprise and Grace to simply lift her head and grin. "Please, mop up your tears. Thank you for standing vigil at my bedside. And I do hope the refreshments were to your liking."

                "Just smashing, thanks," Grace said, taking another large bite of her sweet. I gave off a pathetic sort of laugh as Emma launched herself at me, cutting off my every air supply.

                "Oh, Lily!" she cried, squeezing the very life out of me. "How could you be so clumsy? Do you know the fright you gave all of us?"

                "Uh—sorry," I wheezed, still trying to catch a breath. "Um, Em, would you mind—?"

                "Oh! Sorry."

                "No...worries. And I promise I won't do it again."

                "Oh, now don't say that," Grace piped up, rolling her eyes from behind Emma's shoulder as Emma finally released me, taking a seat on the side of my cot. "It was actually all very dramatic," Grace told me, nodding her head and throwing me a thoughtful smirk. "If it hadn't been you, I think you would have found the whole thing quite spectacular, actually. Very entertaining stuff."

                I let out another laugh. "Oh, yes, well, you know how I love my entertainment."

                "I know you do. Now let me tell you what happened—"

                So that's when I learned about everything that had gone down after I'd passed out. Like about how Sirius hadn't realised at first that I'd dropped the beaker and saved his stupid life and instead started swearing like mad over the fact that I'd thrown him to the floor for no good reason, only to see me a few seconds later upon the floor as well ("Drowning in my own blood?" I asked Grace. "No," she answered. "Though your hand _did_ fly up and there _was_ a bit near your nose and mouth. Does that count?"), and then Sirius began swearing for a whole _other_ reason. And then how Abbott had started yelling at Sirius to stop swearing, only to listen to what he was swearing _about_ , and then _she_ started yelling, too, only then it was for someone to get Madam Pomfrey and for Sirius to douse me with ethermine, even though I'd already done that myself. Then everyone was all around and Katie Frost passed out as well because Abbott had lifted my wrist up to see the damage and it was apparently _extremely_ gruesome and Katie's delicate disposition couldn't handle it and she banged her head against the side of a desk, but was generally okay except for a little dizziness and a lot of dramatic tears ("She was clearly trying to steal your limelight," Grace muttered).  And then it was just a mass of everyone yelling and talking and trying to see my wrist ("We could barely get to you," Emma informed me, very distressed. "It was sort of like a freak-show," Grace added. "Except, you know, it was you.") and how Abbott was still yelling, but this time she was telling everyone to back away and then screaming again for someone to fetch Pomfrey, even though Remus had apparently run off to do just that at her first request. And that's when Emma started crying ("I'm very emotional lately!") and Grace started kicking people out of the way ("They wouldn't bloody _back up!_ ") and Abbott was trying once more to make sure the burn wasn't spreading ("Luckily it wasn't. But it was still _disgusting_ , Lil.") and then Pomfrey had finally arrived and the madness continued to ensue as they finally got me up to the Hospital Wing, where Pomfrey slammed the door and refused to let anyone else inside and everyone went back to class where bezoars were quickly passed around.

                And all the while, I was out of it.

                Apparently, I am a _very_ deep unconsciousness-er...er.

                "She let us in about twenty minutes ago," Emma informed me at the end of Grace's theatric retelling, now sitting crossed-legged on my cot alongside Grace, who had taken a seat on the opposite side. We were all munching on chocolate now, though it was the kind Madam Pomfrey's elves give out as a restorative and not of the faux-amphibian variety. "We've been hanging about outside the doorway since classes ended, but she's only just allowed us inside."

                "She was lecturing me," I muttered flatly, taking a large bite of chocolate. "Something about bleeding out on the dungeon floors. I don't know. I was in pain. I can't remember."

                "Did it hurt catastrophically?" Grace questioned, nodding her head at my now completely wrapped up wrist. I lifted the hand in question and considered it thoughtfully.

                "It did when the acid hit," I answered, still regarding my injury. "I don't really recall much after that. I haven't even seen the burn yet. It was already wrapped up by the time I woke up. Actually, it reminds me of—"

                James.

                Oh God, _James_.

                Suddenly, it all came back.

                Why I was in this bed in the first place.

                What had caused the beaker to drop.

                I sprang from the cot in a sudden flurry of motion. 

                "Black," I croaked. "I need Sirius Black. Where's Sirius Black?"

                My mates regarded me quite as if I had just acquired three new heads.

                "What?" Emma asked dumbly, her eyebrows furrowing. "What are you talking about, Lily? Why do you need Sirius Black?"

                "Yeah," Grace added, looking a sight bit more than confused, as well. "What does he have to do with anything?"

                Everything.

                He had _everything_ to do with anything.

                I couldn't stop the panic from rising up in my chest as Sirius's words played back in my head, over and over again like a broken record.

                ... _snogging him in a stairwell..._

__

_                 ...pretending it never happened... _

__

__ He knew.

                He knew about the party.

                And yet...

                My head began to spin. Because after the initial shock of it—Merlin, I _still_ can't believe _he knew!_ —the whole thing just didn't make any bit of sense.

                Because if _Sirius_ knew...then how is it that James _didn't_?

                Unless Sirius hadn't told him.

                But just why the _bleeding hell_ wouldn't Sirius have told him?

                I can't figure it out. I don't understand. I mean, I deduced rather quickly that Sirius had obviously seen James and me that night in the stairwell—how could he have known otherwise? I didn't tell him, my mates wouldn't have told him, James doesn't remember, and the only other person who knows—or rather, I _hope_ the only other person who knows. Spectators do suddenly seem to be springing forth from the ground like new-summer daisies—is MJ, and I hardly doubt that the pair of _them_ got together for some teacakes and gossip. So Sirius must have seen. But that isn't even the big problem here. 

                The problem _is_ that five days ago, James Potter snogged me. He snogged me, his best mate saw, and for some unexplainable reason, James _still_ doesn't know about it.

                And while I'm rather confident in my assumption that Sirius Black and Maurice John Rosier haven't been meeting together for a ladies' lunch in their off periods, I can't honestly say the same thing about James and Sirius. In fact, I do believe they're rather known for their affinity to chat among themselves like a pack of meddlesome old hoots.

                In a very masculine way, though, of course.

                But why didn't James _know_ , then?

                James told me himself that there's rarely anything those boys don't share with each other. Hadn't Peter told James about Mission De-Pruding? And I hardly think that if my newly changed wardrobe merits enough importance to be discussed, my very person attached to one of _their_ persons isn't equally if not more so significant enough to chat about over some tea and biscuits. It's been five days—five _days!_ And after everything that has gone down between James and me this week...you'd _think_ that Sirius would have said _something_. Why even _bother_ to keep silent about it, anyway? What purpose does that serve? I mean, it helps _me_ , but I hardly think that my wants and emotional needs are presently top priority on Sirius Black's hidden agenda. 

                But _why,_ then?

                _Bugger_.

                How the hell was I supposed to figure out Sirius Black's mad motives? I did _not_ sign up for that sort of blatant insanity.

                What the bleeding _hell_ is he on about, though?

                I don't know.

                I just _don't know_.

                I was still trying to process all of this as I was half-sitting/half-standing on my Hospital Wing cot, Grace and Emma both beside me, both looking more confused as the seconds wore on. I don't know why I didn't tell them about what Sirius had said. I don't know why I didn't let them know what was going on. I just...didn't.

                I guess Sirius and I have that in common.

                "Lily, are you all right?" Grace finally asked, all traces of amusement gone from her face. She put her hand on my forehead, looking worried. "You look feverish. Do you need us to get Pomfrey?"

                "No," I answered slowly, shaking my still spinning head, taking a bite of chocolate to distract myself. "No, I'm all right. I just...mad moment. Sorry."

                "What about Sirius?" Emma asked, rising off the bed and coming to stand at the side of the cot. "What did you want him for?"

                I shrugged, not even tempted to tell them what was going on. "It's not a big deal," I answered, giving off a little smile. "Like I said, mad moment. I must really be recovering, yeah? It doesn't matter," I reiterated again, when neither looked particularly convinced. "Really. I just wanted to...apologise! And...well, I'll talk to him tomorrow or something."

                "You can talk to him tonight," Grace corrected, reaching over to grab something off the bedside table. I stared at her, confused.

                "Tonight?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

                Grace's face was slightly pained when she straightened. She held something out to me. A piece of paper. "Detention," she said with a wince. "Sorry."

                I took the slip of paper from her. And sure enough, there in Abbott's familiar script:

                _Please report to the dungeons at seven-thirty this evening for detention. Madam Pomfrey assures me you will be released by then._

__

__ Oh, come on.

                Come _on_.

                "Well, that's just _mean_ ," I sulked, staring down at the tiny slip of paper with disdain. "That's really just cruel. I am _injured_."

                "I really don't think Abbott cares," Grace answered sympathetically. 

                My lips pursed into a pout. "You don't think she'll _actually_ give me detention until graduation, do you?" I asked, some small part of me hoping that one of them would answer 'yes' because people who have detention can't go on Hogsmeade dates, now can they?

                "I don't _think_ so," Emma pondered aloud, shooting _that_ idea to the ground. "She was really more concerned about you than she was angry." Emma shrugged. "But I suppose she _does_ have to save face. She did make the threat."

                I groaned, not sure whether I was groaning in relief or frustration.

                But honestly, even so, Abbott couldn't even give me a _day_?

                "She gave Sirius detention, as well?" I asked, remembering all of a sudden Grace's previous comment about me seeing him tonight. My eyebrows furrowed. "But it wasn't his fault," I protested. "She had to see it wasn't his fault. I'm the one who dropped the beaker."

                "Oh, she knows that," Grace said, giving her hand a careless wave. I threw her a look. She grinned. "Quit fretting," she scoffed, apparently attuning to the fact that I was genuinely concerned about this. "I'm relatively certain that his detention had more to do with his excellent, endless, bellowing stream of 'fucks' than it did with your klutziness. Besides," she added flatly, "if not this, it would undoubtedly be something else. You know him."

                "Yeah, I suppose," I muttered absently, pursing my lips.

                So I'll be spending the evening with Sirius Black.

                Lovely.

                Just _lovely_.

                Grace and Emma stayed for a little while longer, but I have to admit, I was a bit relieved when Pomfrey came and chased them off like the mad dictator that she is. I mean, not that I wasn't entirely appreciative of their company and all, but...well, you know. I have a lot to think about. Like what on earth I'm going to do when I see Sirius tonight. Or what in the hell I'm going to say. Or why I can't for the life of me catch a break in this miserable world.

                _Merlin_.

                I blame the scarf.

                I said it before and I'll say it again, this is _entirely_ the scarf's fault.

                Stupid bloody piece of rubbish _scarf_.

                Hmph.

                I should have destroyed it when I had the chance.

______________________________________________

__

** Later Later, Still in the Hospital Wing **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

****

**** We won't even get to speak, so what am I so worried about?

                Sirius and me, I mean. At detention. I don't know why I'm worrying about it because I won't even have a chance to talk to him, even if that's what I wanted, which it most definitely is _not_. I mean, we might not even be in the same room! Abbott could easily separate us. And even if she doesn't, she'll undoubtedly still be in that room _with_ us. He can't be all, "Hey, Evans. Remember that time I knew about your lust for James? Wanna chat about it?" when Abbott's _right there_.

                Well, I mean, he _could_ , but...

                Oh, bugger.

______________________________________________

__

** Minute Later, Still in the Hospital Wing **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

                Sirius Black is an arse, but he's not _that_ big of an arse.

                And you know what? Even if he _did_ say that, Abbott would probably just tell him to shut up.

                Yeah.

                _Yeah_.

                She's got my back.

______________________________________________

__

** Two Minutes Later, Hospital Wing **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

**** Unless she's a gossip.

                Oh, Merlin. What if behind that mean, stony facade is an unbelievable, chatty, batty old gossip? What if when Sirius is all, "You? James? Procreation in the stairwell?" Abbott is all, "When's the wedding?"

                What _then_?

______________________________________________

__

** Moments, Still HW **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

**** What am I talking about?

                Of _course,_ Abbott is not a gossip. Abbott's not even fully _human_. And part-sadist, devilish machines, they don't gossip. Even if they can take a laugh about a less-than-complete-assignment-letter thing. They dictate. And yell. And plot world domination. Who can fit in knowing whose knickers were found in whose trousers when they've got all of _that_ on their plate? Abbott gossiping is like...like...it's like _Pomfrey_ gossiping. Pomfrey—

                Well, actually, Pomfrey's yelling at me.

                Oh, blah, blah, blah, Nutty Nurse. Wrist strain, my arse.

                It's not my _wrist_ in question, it's my mental _sanity_ , thanks. And just—

______________________________________________

__

** Later, HW **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

                That _hag!_

                She stole my quill! That stupid, nutty, mad old nurse strode right up, screeched me deaf, and then _took my quill_. Straight from my hand!! Stupid, conniving, quill-stealing _hag_.

                Well, I showed her, didn't I?

                You don't write as often as I do without having a spare quill on your person at all times. Take _that_ , Pomfrey Prat. Look at me! _Straining_ the wrist! _Yeah_ , I am.

                Ha.

______________________________________________

__

** Same, Same **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

                Bitch.

                She did it again.

                And threatened me. My very life!

                I think I shall report her.

______________________________________________

__

** Ehh Whatever **

** Day 31 **

** No Time to Observe **

****

                "If that's another quill in your hand, Miss Evans, you and I are going to have a serious problem."

                "You stole my possessions, Madam. I think we already have a serious problem."

                "Quiet, girl."

______________________________________________

__

** SAME **

** SAME **

** SAME **

****

**** Merlin, I'm starving.

                What does it take to get a little rice around this hellhole, anyway?

______________________________________________

__

** Moments, HW **

** OL:  31 **

** TO: 193 **

****

**** "May I please have some dinner, Madam, preferably of the rice variety?"

                "You may have this gross, shitty, mush-of-a-meal we serve and call food in my lair of destruction for dinner, Miss Evans."

______________________________________________

__

** SAME **

** SAME **

** SAME **

****

**** Well...okay. 

                She didn't exactly _call_ it a gross, shitty, mush-of-a-meal. Or her lair of destruction. More like chicken soup and potatoes and the Hospital Wing. But I'm not stupid. I can read between the lines. And it doesn't _look_ like chicken soup and potatoes. It _looks_ like a load of rubbish. Plus, she said it with such a smirk. Like, "Yeah. You _have_ to eat this. _Ha_."

                Merlin, what a sadist.

______________________________________________

__

** S **

** S **

** S **

****

                I won't eat this. I won't. It's probably not even edible. It's probably poisoned. She can't make me—

                Oh!

                Elves!

                Elves with _rice!!!_

                Elves with rice _heading for me!!!!!!_

______________________________________________

__

** Later, Heaven/Hell **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

                Bloody effing _love_ those elves.

                _Love_ them. Like, more than life itself. More than—well, okay, maybe not more than _rice_ itself, because this is pretty ruddy good, but I love them almost as much for _getting_ me the rice.

                Magnificent, _brilliant_ creatures.

______________________________________________

__

** Moments, H/H AKA HW **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

**** "Where did you get that, Evans?"

                "I think you've got a rebellion on your hands, Pomfrey."

______________________________________________

__

** More Moments, H/H AKA HW **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

**** Half-hour until seven-thirty.

                Not panicking.

                _So_ not panicking.

                Whatever.

                It'll be fine.

                Fine.

                Hm.

                I _think_ I need more rice.

______________________________________________

__

** More and More Moments, H/H AKA HW **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 193 **

****

**** "I fear that I am still recovering, Madam Pomfrey. I feel lightheaded. Faint. I could really pass out at _any moment_. Perhaps I should stay a few more hours. Or days. Actually, you know what? Let's play it safe. Let's go with weeks."

                "Perhaps you should go to detention, Miss Evans."

                God, how rude.

______________________________________________

__

** Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31 **

** Total Observations: 194 **

****

****

**** I tried one last time to appeal to Pomfrey's obviously non-existent nurturing nature, regaling her with my tragic medical woes and all of the horrific ends I would most probably meet as a result of my untimely release, but my theatric tales were all for naught as the madwoman simply told me to get out of her wing and if she ever saw me again, it would be too soon. So I threw her a look of pure distain, told her she would probably see me _incredibly_ soon as I was bound to have an aneurism and die during my detention and how would she feel about having _that_ little piece of wonderment on her conscience, but was shuffled out of the wing nonetheless because Pomfrey's only response to _that_ was, "Good. I don't have to waste medical supplies on corpses."

                Merlin, what a cow.

                Psh.

                So I suppose it was little surprise that I spent most of my trek from the Hospital Wing to the dungeons imagining all the things I could do to Pomfrey if I had only had some mandrake root and oleander leaves on hand—which, you know, a bit disturbing, I suppose, but also _rather_ funny when you thought about it. Not to mention that the whole thing kept me from dwelling on the undoubtedly messy encounter I was about to have. Because instead of thinking about Sirius Black and the terror he was determined to reign in my head, I was instead imagining a lovely scene in which Pomfrey was down on her knees, begging for my forgiveness for being a cow-of-a-kleptomaniac nurse as her fellow house elves cowered with fear in the corners of the Hospital Wing, shaking under the intensity of my power and wrath.

                Actually, I'd probably let the elves go. 

                They did get me rice and all.

                So it was a _brilliant_ distraction, you see. And, smiling quite contently to myself as I dawdled on down the dungeon corridors, I had actually almost forgotten what was waiting for me up ahead, so lost was I in my mad dreams. There was no apprehension, no panic, no fear...

                ...until a voice broke through my happy daze, shattering any illusions of peace and serenity I may have had, bringing me crashing back into ugly reality.

                Naturally.

                "All right, Lily?"

                My head shot up from its downward position at the quiet call of my name. I looked up to find—strangely enough. Did I order two instead of one?—Remus standing against the very same door that we had _all_ stood before earlier this afternoon—you know, back when the only things I had to worry about were a badly-timed kiss and a rather awful case of the silent treatment. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his face was a bit pale, but he was giving me a smile, which was considerably more reassuring than the face I was getting from the _other_ occupant of the corridor. 

                Sirius leaned brooding against the opposite wall, slowly taking a long drag of a cigarette. When he spotted me, his eyes flashed, the look in them little warmer than a giant shard of ice. I stopped at my end of the corridor, regarding the pair warily. Then, taking a deep breath, I took a few slow steps forward.

                I could do this.

                I totally could.

                "Yeah, all right," I answered Remus, deliberately keeping my gaze away from Sirius, though the smoke rings he was blowing billowed through the air in front of me. "Don't tell me you're in detention as well?"

                Remus shook his head. "Not tonight," he told me. He hooked a thumb at his mate. "Just keeping this one company. Then I'm off to the Hospital Wing."

                "Are you sick?"

                Remus shrugged. "Free chocolate," he said. Then, looking a bit uncomfortable, he nodded towards my bandaged wrist. "So...you're all right, then?"

                I nodded my head, lifting my hand and rotating my wrist around deftly. "Fine.  A little sore, I guess, but Pomfrey gave me a bunch of potions and then sent me off."

                "Yeah, straight off to _detention_ ," Remus winced. "That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

                I sighed loudly. "The healthcare system at this school is clearly corrupt."

                "You should file a letter of complaint."

                "I intend to."

                "Good for you."

                I smiled and shrugged. Remus smiled back. Sirius remained silent, unemotional, dropping his cigarette on the floor and putting the remaining embers out with a quick step and twist of his foot. It was entirely awkward. Like really, sickeningly awkward. For lack of anything better to do, I asked Remus the time. He obligingly checked his watch.

                "7:37," he said. 

                "Where do you think Abbott is?" I asked.

                "I think she's right here," a voice answered. 

                The whole lot of us turned to see Abbott striding purposefully down the corridor, her black robes billowing behind her. She took us all in with characteristically narrowed eyes. They focused in on Remus first. "Mr. Lupin," she began, eyebrows raised, "will you be joining us?"

                "Not tonight, Professor," Remus responded again, pushing away from the dungeon door. He threw Sirius a telling look that probably communicated a thousand things in that silent-Marauder-boy language they've got, but I couldn't for the life of me decipher what it meant, except maybe to suppose that it was probably something along the lines of,  "Please don't kill her. I don't have time to dispose of the body properly". 

                Which I think is pretty nice of him. You know, prolonging my life and all.

                Even if it's only because he can't shovel a grave from the Hospital Wing.

                But whatever. I’m not fussy.

                When he turned to me, Remus's face was normal again. "See you around, Lily," he said casually. "Glad you're all right."

                "Thanks," I muttered, figuring he probably didn't mean it, but thankful for the lie nonetheless. There was silence in the corridor as Remus disappeared around the corner.

                "Let's go," Abbott finally said, leaving no room for argument as she briskly walked past me, pulling the dungeon door open and striding quickly into the classroom. She didn't even bother looking back to make sure we were following. I stayed where I was, letting Sirius brush past me and enter the room first. I followed along behind him, feeling a distinct sinking in my stomach.

                And so it began.

                Abbott was sorting through some things on her desk when I finally trudged in, trying to convince myself that the next couple of hours _weren't_ going to be the worst of my life. Sirius stood silently in front of Abbott, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression blank. At the sound my footsteps, Abbott glanced up from her papers, her eyes darting up and down my person. 

                "Get over here," she snapped.

                I complied instantly, quickly going to stand next to Sirius as Abbott moved from behind her desk. She rather shocked me when instead of snapping at me again for some rubbish or another, she instead reached out and grabbed my hand, carefully lifting it up as she slowly examined my bandaged wrist. 

                "You used up all your luck with this one, Evans," she declared loudly, giving me a stern look. "Do you have _any_ idea what your foolishness could have caused?"

                Er.

Blood drowning. Staining red as I turned white.

                Yeah, Professor. 

                I've heard it once or twice.

                "I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to look very meek and trite and all oh-I'm-so-very-apologetic-for-my-foolishness, even though, to my way of thinking, I was pretty much the least guilty person in the room. You know, what with Abbott forcing us to make the potion in the first place and Sirius not being able to keep his stupid knowledge to his stupid self while there was _acid_ in the room. "It was an accident. I was pouring and the—"

                "I expected this from other students," Abbott interrupted, "but not from you. I'd think you were above this sort of clumsiness."

                Uh...hello?

                Do the words 'inexplicably bad karma' ring a bell?

                As if I had a bleeding _choice_.

                "Yes, I know," I mumbled, even though, psh, _please_ , I practically _am_ an accident. "I don't know how it happened."

                But I did, of course.

                And his name was Sirius Black.

                As if sensing my thoughts, I turned my head slightly and caught Sirius's gaze pinned on me. His eyebrow cocked, practically screaming, "Don't know what happened, eh?" into the quiet room.

                Stupid arse.

                Stupid, idiotic, voyeuring _arse_.

                It was obvious then that he was not going to make the next few hours easy. Not by a long shot.

                Abbott seemed to sense the unspoken tension floating between Sirius and me, but she didn't say a word. She only sent a shrewd look our way that clearly said, "Kill each other on your own time."

                Or something.

                "Well, let's be about this then," she finally said, filling the heavy silence. She turned towards the back of the dungeon, leading us to the old cauldrons and the supply cabinets. "Those cauldrons are to be cleaned and the supplies on the floor are to be sorted and put away. It's simple, straightforward. Don't even think about doing it carelessly or I'll have both of you back here tomorrow night and the night after that and the night after that until it's done properly. Is that understood?"

                "Won't she be here until graduation, anyway?" Sirius asked with a bit too much amusement in his voice for me to just ignore. I shot him my nastiest look, even though just an hour ago, I had been debating over whether or not I would even mind being in detention until graduation. However, looking at the dirty, crusted cauldrons and the slimy, grotesque ingredients I was now expected to manhandle had me quickly reevaluating just how big of a deal one small date with Amos Diggory was anyway.

                Merlin, detentions are _gross_.

                Abbott let out a sort of half-laugh that could have been taken quite easily as either an ‘Oh-you-silly-boy-are-you-mad-of-course-not!’ snort or an 'Oh-yes-thanks-for-reminding-me-I-have-a-captive-for-the-next-eight-months!' chuckle, which really had me holding my breath. But thankfully what came out of her mouth was, "I think Miss Evans and I spend quite enough time with each other as it is, Sirius. Besides," she added, her gaze (almost) softening a bit, "I really can't think of a worse punishment than having your skin burned off. I think Miss Evans has learned her lesson, no?"

                "Most definitely!" I answered instantly, wanting to shoot Sirius a triumphant look, but figuring it was probably not appropriate just then. But I did it mentally. 

                Abbott nodded, then turned on her heel and began to walk away. It took me a few seconds to realise that she hadn't stopped at her desk. 

                Where was she...

                _What_ was she...

                Oh, no.

                _No._

                "Where are you going, Professor?" I sputtered out, already half into panic-mode.

                Abbott turned, pausing just inside the classroom, one foot already out in the corridor. She stared at me coolly. 

                "I hardly think you need a keeper, Miss Evans," was what she said. I started to object to that—a keeper? Of _course,_ I need a keeper! I've never known someone who needed a keeper as _much_ as I do!—but Abbott wouldn't let me. "I've said my piece," she went on, cutting me and my every attempt at objection off. "As long as it's done correctly, I don't care what you do. I have better things to do with my time than to watch over the pair of you."

                Oh, _damn_.

                She _cannot_ be serious.

                "Yes, but—"

                "Get to it, Miss Evans," she interrupted again, turning to leave once more. "I will check your work in the morning. Good night."

                And with that final dismissal, she closed the dungeon door with a loud snap, leaving Sirius and me alone inside the otherwise empty room.

                Oh, _bugger_.

                Seriously?

                _Seriously?_

                I couldn't bloody well believe it. I mean, could she even _do_ that? Like, legally? What if something happened? What if one of us got hurt? There are many dangerous things hidden inside these innocent-looking supply jars, as I do believe I demonstrated _quite_ efficiently this afternoon!

                How could she just leave like that? 

                How could she just leave _me_ like that?

                _Bugger it!!_

                I wasn't going to say anything. Almost as soon as Abbott had slammed the door—slammed it so bloody hard like the door to my ruddy hopes and dreams, for Merlin's sake!—my mind made the instant decision. Because silence, I quickly realised, was really my only true defense. Because if _I_ didn't talk to _him_...well, Sirius wouldn't talk to _me_. Or he would stop, in any case, once he realised I wasn't going to answer. I could avoid the entire confrontation if I just kept my stupid traitor-of-a-mouth pried shut for a few hours. I thought I could handle that. I mean, it's a relatively unruly mouth, but it was _mine_ , wasn't it, so I figured I could manage to wield _some_ control. 

                I _wasn't_ going to speak. I would _not_ participate in any conversation. Never. Not at all. For anything.

                Psh.

                Yeah, _okay_.

                After Abbott left, I watched _silently_ as Sirius strode—equally as silently, thank Merlin—over towards the supply cabinets. I followed behind him slowly, my eyes lifting to where he was already opening cabinets and reaching towards the top shelves for some empty jars, his back tense and his attention apparently elsewhere. I pressed my lips together, reaffirming my decision not to speak, still watching him. 

                I would really like to believe that I might have actually stayed silent. I mean, I think I really _did_ have every intention of doing so. However, as luck would have it—or rather, as _bad_ luck would have it. Or perhaps, as _inexplicably bad karma_ would have it—something drew my attention to where Sirius's hand was still waving about on the top shelf. Though his hand still meddled up there, hiseyes and attention were clearly focused quite fiercely on another, lower shelf. His hand shuffled about, clanking against some useless knickknacks, but also inadvertently knocking against a capped jar filled with something green that was quickly being moved precariously closer to the end of the shelf by his fumbling fingers. The glass container was soon teetering dangerously on the edge. 

                And just about then, I knew what was going to happen. I think I rather expected it, actually. I mean, I really couldn't have _believed_ that I'd get through this detention without drama, could I? 

                Psh. _Please_. 

                So when Sirius's hand gave the jar its final, necessary shove, I reacted instinctively for the second time today, already resigned to my fate.

                Merlin, why can't _anything_ in my life be simple?

                "Watch _out_!"

                Sirius turned as I dove, the falling jar barely slipping into my grasp as I lunged for it, the small, innocent container centimeters away from a disastrous smash against the supplies counter. I remained frozen, awkwardly extended with my hand outstretched and my body quite far behind it, the dastardly jar vibrating slightly in my still shaking fingers. Neither of us moved for a good few seconds. Then, letting out a long, deep breath, I carefully placed the jar on the counter. Shifting upright, I looked at Sirius. His eyes blinked rapidly at me.

                "Shit," he said.

                Shit.

                Holy _hell_ , yes, _shit_.

                I let out a pathetic sort of laugh, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. "Yeah," I whispered, still a bit winded. "That could have been bad."

                "I think we're prone to smashing things," he muttered, a hand coming up to run through his hair. His eyes flashed over to mine. "We shouldn't be allowed in here."

                "Certainly not," I answered.

                "Perhaps we should tell Abbott."

                "I'll go flag her down."

                "Yeah."

                "Yeah."

                Silence.

                Long, awkward silence.

                We probably could have stood like that all day, just me and him, awkward as awkward gets. He actually looked like he _wanted_ to, which was so unlike the Sirius I had come to know over the last seven years that I was actually rather thrown off by it. I didn't understand why he wasn't yelling at me yet, or swearing at me, or something equally as ferocious. I had been waiting for the outburst since Abbott slammed the door, but Sirius wasn't doing anything. I mean, he _looked_ angry—even then, still a bit shaken from the almost-smashed jar incident, I could see the hardness in him. But he wasn't letting it out. He was holding it back. 

                What was he doing?

                What was _I_ supposed to do?

                I didn't know.

                I think that off-center-ness was what finally got my feet to move, as odd as that sounds. But I just couldn't take it anymore. I was really, _really_ sick of all this madness.

                Grabbing two empty jars and a box of unsorted supplies, I quickly hauled my load to an empty desk and sat down, leaving Sirius behind me. 

                I would work, I decided then. I would work, get all these bloody supplies sorted and all those stupid cauldrons clean and then I would leave. Not another word would be spoken, not another awkward air would be acknowledged. We would _clean_ , just as we were supposed to, and then _leave_. That was the plan. The good, solid, undebatable plan.

                The good, solid, undebatable plan lasted about a minute.

                Hm.

                "That's _it_." Sirius slammed his own box of materials down on the desk just in front of me, pulling his chair onto the opposite side of the table so that we were facing one another, two desks and about a meter of space separating us. It was not even remotely enough. "I can't do this coy bullshit," he claimed, throwing me a look. "I'm no fucking good at it. I have a few things to say to you, Evans, and you can burn as much skin off yourself as you bloody well like, but I'm _still_ going to say them, understand?"

                "We have to work," I protested weakly, though I was already pretty much resigned to the fact that I was about to be shred into pieces by the likes of Sirius Black. I never much liked my pieces anyway, right? "We have to get this done."

                "Oh, we'll get it done," Sirius insisted, almost menacingly. "But you're going to listen to me. And you're going to talk."

                Um, no, actually.

                You know. The _plan_ and everything.

                I kept my mouth shut, hoping that Sirius would take the hint that, no, I really _wasn't_ going to talk about this, despite what he may think or want because talking about it—especially with _him_ —was acknowledging it, which I was presently not doing, thank you very much. Not to mention the fact that talking to Sirius was practically like talking to James _himself_ and there was no way in the name of all that's magical I was about to do something as ruddy stupid as _that_.

                Don't talk.

                Don't talk.

                If you have even the tiniest bit of loyalty left for me, you stupid traitor-of-a-mouth, just _keep yourself bloody closed!_

__

__ Sirius was staring at me, I suppose still waiting for an answer. And perhaps it had actually heeded my pleas, or maybe it was just waiting for the most opportune moment to strike, but my mouth for once listened to my brain and remained closed. I deliberately looked down at my supplies, using my wand to levitate the unsorted materials out of their boxes. I heard Sirius make a noise of frustration across from me. He gave up waiting for an answer. Unfortunately, he didn't give up talking altogether. 

                There were a million things I expected him to say—a million things that I was sure he undoubtedly _would_ say. Every single, last, degrading one of them.

                But I didn't expect what came out of his mouth first. Not at all.

                "I knew this year was going to be bad," he muttered quietly, his gaze locking coldly on me. "From the second that stupid, bleeding badge fell out of James's envelope, I knew things were going to hell. I mean, sure," he said, rolling his eyes, "he bitched and complained about it with the best of us. But he's never been good at hiding shit from me. I knew what he really thought about it— _who_ he was thinking about." His voice took an ugly turn. I deliberately looked away. "You," he bit out caustically. "It's always been about fucking _you_."

                I swallowed hard.

                I don't think I'd ever been more ashamed to be 'fucking _me_ ' than at that very moment.

                I didn't want to hear more. I really didn't. For all my fascination with all things James Potter, I knew I wasn't even mildly prepared to hear this. But Sirius didn't seem to be anywhere near ready to stop, and I was too pathetic not to listen.

                "I've never really had a problem with you, Evans," he said suddenly, surprising me by how truthful he sounded. I glanced up at him despite myself, meeting his piercing gaze. "I don't _hate_ you or anything. I know you think I do, and I'm not going to lie to you—you've pissed me off more than anyone else has these past few weeks. But you don't _mean_ to. Truth be told," he went on, a bit ruefully, "you're an all right bird when you take that stick out of your arse, quit being all high and mighty. And even when you were a raging bitch, you were still entertaining. You never really did any harm. And as for James..." Sirius trailed off, shaking his head and looking down. I waited for him to finish, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. "Well, he's always been one to want what he can't have," he finally said, looking up at me again. "Things come easily to him. He likes the chase. We all thought that's what you were for awhile—just something he couldn't have." His eyes suddenly bore into mine. Coldly. "We were wrong."

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                "I didn't know," I suddenly found myself saying, and even more surprising than the fact that I had actually spoken was the fact that it wasn't even my traitor-of-a-mouth's doing. It was _mine_. I _wanted_ him to know this. "I know that sounds ridiculous and you may not even believe me, but I didn't realise he was...that it was...like _that_ until the other night. When he..."

                Kissed me.

                When he _kissed me_.

                I couldn't even say it. How pathetic is _that_?

                "Why didn't you tell him?" I asked instead, wondering almost directly after I put the question out if I even wanted to hear the answer. Sirius's eyes narrowed. He knew exactly what I was talking about.

                "Why didn't _you_?" he shot back.

                "I think it's fairly obvious why I didn't."

                "You say that, Evans, but everything stopped being 'fairly obvious' the second you let him kiss you like that."

                "I didn't—" My mouth clamped shut. I was going to say 'I didn't mean to', but if I've learned one thing about myself these past couple of weeks, I think it's passably accurate to say that where James Potter is concerned, whether or not I care to admit it, I actually _do_ mean most things. I mean them a lot. More than I should. "You know why I didn't," I said instead, because I didn't feel like getting into all the drama of Amos and James and feelings and snogs and... _ugh_. "What I don't know," I went on, "is why _you_ didn't. You had no reason to keep it from him. You don't keep _anything_ from him. James told me so. So why this, of all things? Why?"

                Sirius stared at me with clear annoyance. He let out a sound of exasperation. "You two and your fucking games," he muttered, though I think it was mostly to himself. "I'm not getting involved."

                "You're already involved," I pointed out. "This whole conversation is involving you. So why didn't you tell him?"

                "Because he already—" Sirius stopped himself, pressing his lips together in frustration. He glared at me, as if it were _my_ fault he hadn't told James or something. "Fine," he finally snapped, still glaring daggers at me. "Why didn't I tell him? _Why?_ Well, why the bloody hell _should_ I, Evans? To get his hopes up? Let him know you let the ball drop for a second, only to have you pick it up again in the morning and hold onto it even tighter? How do you think that little kiss of yours out there in front of the doorway would have looked if James _had_ known? How do you think he would have been feeling _then_?"

                "I don't think it would have happened then," I answered, surprising even myself with how pathetically true that was. Sirius looked a bit shocked at that answer, as well, but then it just seemed to make him even more cross.

                As if he could _get_ more cross.

                What happened to that 'keep silent' plan, again?

                "You're shitting me, right?" he asked, looking quite like he was ready to pull his hair out from his head. Or kill me. Whichever one came easier. "What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean? Come _on_ , Evans. What sort of sick game are you playing? You can't keep dangling the pair of them along like this! Can't you just pick one?"

                "You think I _want_ to feel this way?" I snapped back, glaring at _him_ now. "If you think it's hard on them, why not think about _me?_ I didn't ask for this. I was quite content with just fancying Amos, thank you very much! But James just wouldn't...I mean, he was always _there_! Even if he wasn't doing it outright, he was still...well, you know! And—"

                "So now it's _James's_ fault?"

                "No! No, I'm not saying that. It's just—"

                "Well, why not?" Sirius asked, and I was rather shocked to find him actually _laughing_. Like, really _chuckling_. Even though not quite a second ago, he'd been _glaring_. "I think James would be a bit pestered if you didn't blame him. Merlin only knows how bloody hard the fool's been trying to get under your skin. It's been a very _long_ two months."

                "What?" I asked dumbly.

                Sirius—really, no wonder he and James are best mates. Bipolar, the whole lot of them!—chuckled again. "Ever since that first day at the station," he told me, shaking his head. "It's entirely pathetic. But he was determined. Blotched things up a bit in the beginning, I reckon—well, we sort of helped—"

                "What do you mean, you helped?"

                "Well, that disaster in the library for one," Sirius said, quite casually. "But in our defense, we didn't _mean_ for it to hit you. It was _supposed_ to hit James. But then he got up for some bloody stupid reason and the thing was already timed and you shifted the wrong way—"

                "Wait a minute," I cut him off abruptly. "Do you mean...are you talking about that tutoring session? Our first one?"

                "What else would I be talking about?" Sirius asked. Suddenly, he was lost in the memory again, chuckling a bit more to himself. "Fuck, James was _fumed_. You should have seen him. Didn't talk to us for _hours_. We tried to tell him it was _supposed_ to be him—you know, to break the ice and everything—but he wouldn't listen to a ruddy word we said. Of course, he got us back good the next morning..."

                Sirius continued babbling on, but I wasn't listening.

                I couldn't believe it. I mean, I don't know _why_ I was so shocked. It was apparent to me now that James had changed, but even so...Merlin, didn't they realise how _angry_ I had been? How long it took me to trust James again after that stupid green goop incident? I could have given up on him completely! I had tried to, actually! It was pure luck that James somehow managed to weasel his way back into my good graces. And yet...

                Had he tried to tell me? That it wasn't him, I mean? Probably. I just wasn't willing to listen. I was so dead-set against him and—

                "Why are you looking like that? Evans? Lily?"

                My head snapped up at Sirius's questionings. He stared at me, confused. 

                "What?" he asked.

                I shook my head. "It's nothing. I just...I hadn't realised..."

                "Hadn't realised what?"

                "That he hadn't been in on it."

                Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "On the green goo prank?"

                I nodded.

                Sirius gave me a decidedly dirty look. 

                "Well, why the bloody hell _would_ he've been?" he asked, throwing in a glare. Then he rolled his eyes. "It's hard enough getting him to do anything remotely irresponsible anymore, much less in front of _you_."

                The truth of that statement hit me a bit hard. Hard to get him to do something irresponsible? _James?_ He was _always_...

                Well, actually...

                When _was_ the last time I'd seen James pull something? I mean, _really_ do something completely stupid and immature? Don't get me wrong, he's still a mischievous little sod on his own, but when was the last time he'd _really_ made a spectacle? Like, dangerously and obnoxiously? The only thing that came to mind was the fireworks incident awhile back, but other than that...

                Merlin, when had _that_ changed?

                James had grown up. I knew that. But...

                Could he actually have changed more than I expected?

                "He really has changed," I muttered mostly to myself, though I suppose Sirius heard as well. I looked up at him and he was staring at me strangely. "James," I explained, because I thought he was confused. "He really has changed this year, hasn't he? Grown up. More than I realised."

                Sirius shot me a rather bitter smirk. "Hate to break this to you, love," he said, "but this straitlaced streak's been going on a bit more long-term than September. And speaking of which..." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "There's something else I've got to pick with you."

                Oh, boy.

                "What?" I asked warily.

                The scowl was back on his face. I figured he was about to start another tirade, one that was probably much worse than the last by the look of things. I prepared myself to close out all the yelling. What _else_ had I done? What could it—

                "Rosier," Sirius finally growled, surprising me. "That _has_ to stop."

                Rosier? MJ, he meant? _That's_ what he wanted to talk about? Seriously?

                Well, why didn't he just _say_ so?

                My meddling instincts practically sang a little joyous diddy. _Finally_ something I actually wanted to hear!

                "Oh, yeah," I said, a bit too eagerly perhaps, but, you know, meddler. "What the bloody hell is going on _there_? Yesterday when I tried to introduce James, he went absolutely _mad_ —"

                "Of course he did," Sirius snapped, rolling his eyes. "Don't even _try_ with that one, Evans. Trust me, James _does not_ need to be introduced to your little Death Eater and he _certainly_ isn't going to have anything to do with him any time soon—"

                "Well, _why_?" I cried, throwing my hands up. "And MJ's not a Death Eater. He's thirteen, for Merlin's sake!"

                "It's bad blood, Evans. _Really_ bad blood. And James doesn't need to be reminded—"

                "Reminded of _what_?"

                Sirius's mouth clamped shut, his jaw clenched. He didn't say anything.

                Oh, so _now_ he was going to shut up?

                I think _not_.

                "MJ said something yesterday," I prodded gently, sensing that apparently the situation was sticky enough—but really, what could _that_ mean?—that it needed to be dealt with carefully. If James and MJ's reactions yesterday weren't enough to fuel my curiosity, Sirius's refusal to speak of it and his ambiguously mysterious comments that _had_ slipped were enough to tell a thousand tales. I was dying to know. _Dying_. "At tutoring," I continued, still speaking slowly. "When I tried to introduce them, MJ said...well, he said they didn't need to be introduced. Because they're—"

                "Cousins," Sirius interrupted grimly, shooting me a dirty look. "He said they're cousins."

                Bull’s eye.

                "Are they?" I asked.

                My question hung unanswered in the air. I stared determinedly at Sirius, watching the range of emotions that filtered across his face. The inner debate going on inside of his head was evident. He looked at the same time angry and resigned, and the two sides appeared to be battling it out in an all-out war. I wasn't entirely positive which side I was rooting for, but I tried to send him telepathic 'Just TELL me!' waves anyway. The feud did not seem at a complete end when he finally spoke again.

                "Why do you even care?" he asked gruffly. "What's it to you?"

                I opened my mouth to answer, only to close it again a second later when nothing seemed to come out. 

                Why did I care? What was it to me? I'm a meddler, _that's_ why I care. I wanted to find out just what in the hell was going on between those two and then I wanted to gather about my information, set a game plan, and _fix it_. Because I could. I _knew_ I could. I just needed to find out what in the hell was going on so that I could understand what needed to be fixed. Because...well, because...

                Because I had never seen James angrier than I had last night. And regardless of his stupid temper and how it goes off at stupid times for the stupidest reasons...this didn't seem like one of those stupid reasons. And even though I'm _supposed_ to be thinking about Amos—and I _am_. I really _am_ —I can't help but think...well, I mean, James is still my _mate_ if nothing else, and no one with the tiniest bit of a soul would want their mate walking around with the type of hostility that James is clearly harboring for MJ. It's not healthy. And not fair.

                So I would fix it.

                If they would just _let_ me.

                "He was...really, really angry," was what I finally said, idly poking at a few toad's legs. "James. He was...but _why_? I mean, I know he has a temper and it goes off at stupid things, but this wasn't like that. And I'm just trying to understand."

                Sirius seemed to consider this, still scowling. It might have been the wrong thing to say, but I didn't know what the _right_ thing to say was. Besides, I was too out of sorts to lie properly. And it was the truth. Wasn't the truth supposed to be a _good_ thing?

                I mean, not that I'd _know_ because I never tell it, but _still_.

                "You can't fix this, Evans," he answered sharply, his look strained. "If that's what this is about, forget it. This isn't something that can be fixed."

                "You don't know that," I insisted. "Maybe I—"

                "I _do_ know that!" Sirius snapped. " _You_ don't know. _You_ don't—"

                "Well, then _tell_ me!"

                Sirius glared. He glared hard. But he was giving in. I could see it in his face. He looked angry, but defeated. He sighed heavily.

                "I shouldn't be telling you this," he growled bitterly, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "For fuck's sake, James doesn't even talk to _me_ about it."

                I didn't say anything, didn't even move. It was painfully obvious that he was already on the brink of changing his mind; he didn't need my input to make that decision easier. So I waited with halted breath for him to start, feeling far more anxious than I had all day—which is seriously saying something, considering my day— but I couldn't help it. The more I learned about this mystery secret, the more I wondered. What could it _be_? What would be so serious that it created this sort of animosity, this sort of _hatred_ , really? James is a lot of things, but hate-filled...no. Certainly not. And yet, he _is_. I was ready to pull my hair out at the confusion of it all. I just wanted to _know_. Even if I couldn't fix it, I just wanted to understand. Was that really so much to ask?

                It wasn't. It really wasn't.

                Or so I thought, anyway.

                "This does _not_ leave this room," Sirius finally started, giving me the darkest, most no-bullshit look I think I've ever received. I nodded instantly, my heart pounding in my chest. That didn't satisfy him. "I'm not kidding, Evans," he warned. "Most people don't know what really happened and the Potters want to keep it that way. So no Grace, no Emma, and for fuck's sake, _especially_ no James. I don't want him to know I told you. Understand?"

                "Yeah," I answered quickly, earnestly. "Yes. I understand. I won't say anything. I swear it."

                Sirius merely grunted in response, but even if he didn't believe me, I think we both knew we had gone too far to turn back now. I knew nothing, really, but already it was apparently too much. And I think Sirius knew I wouldn't quit until I figured out just what was going on.

                So he told me. He had to.

                "Do you remember James at all last year?" he started slowly, abandoning his supplies entirely as he stared at me coolly, unblinkingly. "Do you remember what he was like?"

                I was taken aback by his questions. "What do you mean?" I asked unsurely. "I remember...I don't know. Him. Like he's always been. Why?"

                "Because that's just _it_ , Evans," Sirius said, looking annoyed. "He _wasn't_ like he'd always been. Not even bloody close. And certainly not like he is now, either. And you're telling me you don't recall that at _all_?"

                I hated the censure in his voice. He seemed angry that I hadn't noticed, but I didn't know what to say. I tried to think back, as hard as I could, but sixth-year rather mussed into a blur for me. I tried to grab for something, anything. James in sixth-year...James in sixth-year...

                Bloody hell, what had he been doing all of sixth-year?

                "Saunders!" I finally remembered, the memory coming to me rather pathetically and utterly late. "He dated Elisabeth Saunders last year. I remember that."

                Sirius snorted. " _That's_ what you remember?" he asked dryly, eyebrows raised. "His fucked up relationship with Liz? That's your entire store of memories on him?"

                I crossed my arms over my chest, shifting uncomfortably. "You don't have to say it like that," I snapped, feeling defensive. "I know it's nothing, but it's what I remember. James and I weren't exactly on the same radar before this year. That's not my fault."

                "Well, that depends on how you look at it," Sirius muttered with a touch of rebuke. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Sirius cut me off, shaking his head. "No," he said. "Forget it. We can save that argument for later, all right? Let me get this out." He stopped for a second, sighing heavily. He seemed to be thinking about where to go. "Fine," he began again, the annoyance still in his voice. "You don't remember sixth-year. What _do_ you remember then? What was your last clear memory of James before this year?"

                I thought about it. My last clear memory...

                "The end of fifth year," I decided, a memory finally coming to me. "After the Defense O.W.L.. Not exactly a _flattering_ memory, really."

                "What happened?"

                "You lot were picking on Severus Snape again," I answered, throwing him a disapproving look, even though it was two years after the fact. And not that it would have mattered, anyway. Like _I_ could really chastise any of _them_. "Down by the lake. James especially was being a giant prat. He...I don't know. Said he was going to do something to Snape, I think. I overheard and blew up at him, told him off. He..." I trailed off, blushing. "He...asked me out. I thought he was teasing me," I quickly explained, as Sirius merely rolled his eyes. "I always thought he was teasing me when he did that. I was wrong, obviously. I think I called him a toerag." I stopped, biting at my lower lip. "I was so cross with him for being such a bully—cross with all of you, really. I stormed off with Grace and Emma. I think James did something to Snape, anyway. I didn't much expect that he wouldn't. You lot were always in trouble for that sort of thing. That's what I remember."

                Sirius smirked as I completed my retelling. 

                "I remember that, as well, actually," he said, though he clearly did not harbor the same negative connotations that I did the long-ago afternoon. " _That_ was my James," he told me proudly, as if recalling his prize pet. "How he _used_ to be. That kid didn't have a care in the world, except when it came to his mates and his family. And you, occasionally," he added flatly. I blushed, feeling myself turn red. Sirius ignored that, sighing wistfully at the memory. Even through my embarrassment, though, I couldn't help getting a bit peeved. I didn't enjoy remembering James like that. That might have been _Sirius's_ James, but _my_ James didn't torture people for the fun of it. Not anymore. "Not like that now," Sirius sighed, shaking his head. He looked up at me then. "But that's beside the point. That's a good place to start. That was James _before_ the summer before sixth year. Before...everything."

                "Everything?" I questioned quietly.

                "Yeah," Sirius nodded. "Everything."

                I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything further as Sirius appeared to be gathering his thoughts. It seemed we had travelled far from the topic of MJ, but I wasn't exactly in a place to argue and I figured Sirius knew what he was saying. Besides, this was about James as much as it was about his stupid family secret. And I suppose it was good for me to remember what he had been like before. It was still a part of him, after all. It wasn't something I should forget, mate or otherwise.

                "Did James ever tell you about his family?" Sirius asked, jolting me out of my thoughts of James, past and present. I quickly thought of everything James had said about his family. There wasn't very much to sort through.

                "Not much," I confessed, shrugging slightly. "I know that they're older and are both Aurors. And I know James's mum is French and they go there sometimes to see her mates."

                "Well, didn't you make the connection, then?" Sirius asked, sounding put out.

                "What connection?" I asked.

                Sirius rolled his eyes. "Rosier isn't exactly English, is it?"

                It took me a moment to realise what he was implying, but when I did, I snorted loudly. 

                "Are you telling me," I started, shooting him an incredulous look, "that just because James said his mum is French, and the Rosiers _happen_ to have a French surname, I was supposed to put circles and squares together and come to the conclusion that they're _related_?" I laughed at the mere thought of it. "That's ridiculous, Sirius! I mean, what, am I to assume now that _anyone_ with a French sounding name is related to James?"

                "If they're pureblood," Sirius answered, completely unfazed. "You probably wouldn't be that far off in your estimation then."

                "That's _stupid_."

                "That's wizarding family trees."

                "All right then," I said, throwing up my hands in defeat. "Fine. I missed that one. So sorry. Now can you _please_ just explain? Does that mean Mrs. Potter is related to the Rosiers?"

                "Directly," Sirius answered, his voice suddenly taking on a grim tone. "Mrs. Potter's maiden name was Rosier. She's your little Death Eater's father's sister, in fact. Unfortunately."

                She was MJ's aunt? So then James and MJ _were_ cousins. First cousins, even! But then why on earth would James have said...

                "So they are cousins," I said aloud, hoping for some sort of clarification or explanation. Sirius just nodded.

                "Technically," he answered. "But even before last summer, they were estranged. Mrs. Potter hadn't spoken to her family since she married Mr. Potter. The family didn't approve."

                "Didn't approve?" I asked, confused. "How could they not approve? Aren't the Potters pureblood royalty or some rubbish like that? How could they possibly object?"

                Sirius smirked. "It's a bit more complicated than that, pet." He waved his wand this way and that, moving some supplies into their proper jars. I waited in silence for him to continue, my own supplies lying forgotten on the desk. I couldn't possibly think about detention when Sirius was just about to get to the good parts. Why the bloody hell was he dallying? He was going to drive me _mad_.

                "Complicated, how?" I prodded, impatience getting the better of me. "I don't understand."

                "Of course you don't. You're Muggleborn." Sirius paused, sending me a pointed look. He flicked his wand some more. The last of the materials in his box were quickly sorted into their proper containers. He waved his wand again and another box took the empty one's place. But Sirius didn't touch it. Instead, he sighed heavily and looked directly at me. "Listen well, Evans," he finally said. "This is where it starts."

                Thank _Merlin_.

                Couldn't _possibly_ be listening any _better_ right now, thank you.

                "There are two things pureblood families are masters at," Sirius began, his tone suddenly dry. "Marrying each other, and divorcing each other. No one does it quite as often or quite as spectacularly as the purebloods do. The Rosiers were particularly spectacular about it. Mrs. Potter's parents divorced when she was eleven. It was the nastiest separation you ever saw, or so Mr. Potter says, anyway. They were living in France at the time, though they were both born in England, I think. Anyway, after the divorce, Mrs. Rosier sent her daughter to Hogwarts. She didn't want her in the middle. Mr. Potter says that Mrs. Rosier was the only one who gave a damn about his wife. Mr. Rosier certainly didn't. Anyway, that's where they met. Mr. and Mrs. Potter. He was a few years ahead of her at Hogwarts."

                "He's the one who told you all of this?" I asked quietly, when Sirius had paused. "James's dad?"

                Sirius nodded. "Yeah," he muttered, running a quick hand through his hair. "The night of...last summer. No one was telling James anything. I was with him. He went raving mad at being kept out. That's when Mr. Potter sat us down and told us what I'm telling you now. He reckoned we were old enough for the truth."

                "Were you?"

                "Fuck, no," Sirius answered. "Not then, anyway. Especially James. I was used to fucked up families. He wasn't. But I'm not up to that part yet," he said, throwing me a glare. "Quit rushing me."

                "Sorry," I said, though I wasn't. What did he mean 'especially James'? Was this about sixth-year? Bloody hell, why couldn't I remember anything? "Go on," I said.

                "Yeah, all right," Sirius muttered. "Where was I?"

                "Hogwarts," I answered instantly. "Mr. and Mrs. Potter met there?"

                "Oh, yeah. They dated there, I think, but no one said anything then, mostly because the Rosiers figured it was just a school thing and once Mr. Potter left, their daughter would meet an appropriate pureblood and marry him. But that's not how it happened. Obviously."

                "But I still don't get it," I cut in, ignoring Sirius's annoyed glance at my interruption. " _Why_ were they so against Mr. Potter? Why didn't they want her with him?"

                "Because Potters don't know how to keep their mouths shut," Sirius explained dryly, giving me a look. "And even at eighteen, Mr. Potter was already spouting off his beliefs. People like the Rosiers weren't exactly thrilled with his blood-tainting views."

                "Blood-tainting?" I repeated, feeling something in my chest sink. "You mean...Muggleborns? Like me?"

                "Just like you," Sirius drawled lazily, smirking slightly. "The Potters have always been on their crusades for blood justice. And Mrs. Potter either never caught the 'pureblood-is-the-only-blood' gene, or else Mr. Potter somehow talked it out of her. Either way, the Rosiers thought Mr. Potter was turning their daughter into a traitorous radical—especially when she told them she was joining the Auror force after school. Women didn't do that then. Especially pureblood women. That's when Mr. Rosier threw down his ultimatum. He told his daughter that if she didn't give up her training and Mr. Potter and come home, he was going to disown her, cut her off completely." Sirius stopped, shrugging his shoulders. "And that was that," he said. "They didn't talk again for decades."

                Dec... _what_?

                " _Decades_?" I asked in disbelief, not quite grasping it yet. "That was it? He really just cut her off entirely like that? What about her mother? Didn't you say that her mother cared about her? How could _she_ do that? And MJ's dad. Her own _brother_. Did he follow along with it?"

                "The Death Eater's dad is a replica of his father," Sirius told me, suddenly rummaging through his robe’s pockets. He came out with a packet of cigarettes and quickly grabbed one and lit it. "He hated Mrs. Potter just as much as her father did. Her mother was the one exception—I mean, don't get me wrong," he added wirily, rolling his eyes, "she was still ashamed. Her daughter's rebellion embarrassed her in front of all her pureblooded friends. But she didn't cut her off. Not completely, anyway. When Mr. Rosier and his son moved to England permanently, Mrs. Rosier stayed in France. Mrs. Potter went to visit her there a lot. James met her a couple of times—said she was odd, but all right."

                "And her father?" I asked hesitantly, sensing this was where it was going to get tricky. "What about him? Did James ever meet him?"

                Sirius grimaced, sticking the cigarette in his mouth. "No," he answered tightly, blowing out some smoke. "James never met him."

                I didn't say anything to that, mostly because Sirius looked like he had a lot to say but had no idea how to say it. I pushed the questions that even then continued to pop into my head away as I waited for him to continue. I didn't know why, but suddenly, though I was still as eager as ever to hear the story, I started to feel...strange. A sort of pressure. I already knew the story obviously couldn't end well, but...

                Just _how_ badly did it end?

                I didn't know.

                I wasn't sure I really wanted to.

                "The first time Mrs. Potter saw her father after the disownment, they were in court," Sirius finally continued, spurring me out of my apprehensions as I once again became the attentive—if now a bit hesitant—listener. "James was ten or eleven, just before Hogwarts. You-Know-Who was just starting to cause his trouble and a few of Mr. Rosier's shady mates found themselves on the wrong end of the law. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were on the case, so they were there when the bastards were finally going to be put away. There were four of them—two purebloods, two half. The half-bloods were sent to Azkaban. The purebloods—Mr. Rosier's mates—were let off without so much as a warning. The Potters were furious. Mrs. Potter knew it was her father's influence that had gotten them off. She said something to him after the trial."

                "What did she say?" I asked.

                Sirius shrugged. "To back off, more or less. She knew his mates were guilty. She told him that if he didn't want to find himself behind bars as well, he'd let the Auror Department do its job and cut off his ties with those who didn't. Mr. Rosier didn't take too well to that kind of talk. He threatened her."

                "Threatened her?" I choked out, stunned. "Right there in open court? An Auror?"

                "You don't understand how wizarding law works yet, do you?" Sirius questioned flatly, making me feel more than a bit stupid. He sighed heavily. "The Rosiers are purebloods," he explained. "Powerful purebloods. He could have threatened the Minister himself and still would have walked away with little more than a slap on the wrist. Why do you think it's so bloody hard to stop You-Know-Who? Because every fucking pureblood supporter he gains is another follower with universal amnesty. Unless they're standing over someone, dark mark blazing and Unforgivable in process, purebloods are untouchable. Mr. Rosier knew that, which was why he was able to threaten the Potters and their son without a care."

                My heart stopped in my chest. "James?" I sputtered. "He threatened James?"

                Sirius nodded. "Wasn't polite about it, either. He told the Potters that if they didn't learn their place, someone was going to teach it to them. Then he mentioned that he knew James was going to Hogwarts. Said he'd lost a child there to dangerous influences and traitorous bastards, but that there was more than one way to lose a child. He told them to think about that the next time they crossed him."

                "Merlin," I whispered, suddenly feeling drained. "The Potters must have been terrified."

                "More like furious," Sirius snorted, rolling his eyes. "Potters have always had more pride than sense. It was all-out war from then on. James was safe at Hogwarts—Dumbledore was watching—but neither of his parents was willing to take that sort of threat lying down. Every tip about any of the Rosiers' acquaintances went straight to them. The Potters and their teams sent some important people—dangerous, mad bastards, but important nonetheless—to Azkaban. It...it reached a peak," Sirius got out, sighing. "There were a lot of people who weren't happy with the Potters. Tensions were high."

                Sirius stopped then, his eyes narrowing slightly, a deep frown settling across his face. I bit nervously at my bottom lip, not liking the look of him at all. He leaned back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest. He twitched his jaw left, then right.

                I couldn't keep silent any longer. I just couldn't.

                "It's bad, isn't it?" I asked softly, feeling breathless. "Whatever happened. It's really bad."

                "Yeah," Sirius muttered, his eyes flickering across my face. "Yeah, it's bad."

                I nodded, mostly because I didn't know what else to do. I felt stupid. I had wanted so badly to know what was going on, but did I even really consider what I was asking? About what I'd hear? Didn't I realise that the situation had to be serious enough for it to produce these sorts of reactions? What did I think that meant? I was uneasy, nervous. All the talk of You-Know-Who and threats and dangerous people...it was bad. Maybe I didn't want to know. I didn't. If only I had accepted the problem for what it was. If only I had left it alone.

                If _only_.

                "Sirius—"

                "Don't turn coward on me now, Evans," he snapped, his eyes turning cold. "Don't turn back just because it's starting to get hard. I didn't think I should tell you this before, but now I'm thinking it was the right thing to do. You want to understand James?" he asked, rising up in his seat. "You want to make a decision about him? Well then make it with all the facts. Maybe your pretty Diggory hasn't had to deal with all this shit, maybe he won't come with all the baggage. But that means he hasn't overcome it either. James has. You remember that the next time you consider who you want fighting by your side, all right?" He stared at me. Hard. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward until his arms rested on the table in front of him. "Are you ready to hear the rest now?"

                No.

                Not even remotely.

                But I nodded anyway. He was right. There was no turning back now.

                "All right," he said. "Good."

                But it _wasn't_ good and it _wasn't_ all right and I didn't know why the whole thing had suddenly turned on me, but it _had_ and I was so conflicted and so distraught and all I could do was sit there and breathe and hope that whatever it was that Sirius was about to tell me wouldn't be as terrible and as horrible as I was imagining.

                But it was.

                Of _course_ it was.

                "Mrs. Rosier died a couple of days after term ended fifth-year," Sirius continued, either ignoring my rather obviously distraught disposition or being so lost in the memory that he genuinely didn't notice. "She was old— _really_ old. It wasn't a shock, but Mrs. Potter took it pretty hard. She and Mr. Potter were set to go on some important mission, but Mrs. Potter said she wanted to go to France to see to her mother's funeral instead. She insisted her husband lead the mission, anyway. She said he could meet James and her for the service, but the team needed him. That was the plan until James refused to go with her. He..." Sirius scratched absently at the back of his neck for a moment. "We were fighting," he went on, stating this fact very quickly for some reason. "All four of us. We...it doesn't matter. But we weren't talking. I guess James was cross, so he took it out on his mum. Said he was an adult and that he could decide what he wanted to do and he wanted to meet her down there with his dad. Mrs. Potter doesn't usually let him get away with that sort of shit, but I suppose she was upset enough that she didn't have it in her to put up a fight. So she went down there the next day to deal with her mum's stuff and James and Mr. Potter were going to follow later in the week for the funeral."

                The room was quiet for a good, few, heavy moments. I didn't dare say anything as Sirius continued to scratch at the back of his head, his gaze fixed rather blankly on the table in front of him. My pulse was beating loudly in my head, but I tried to tune out the sound. As it progressively got harder for Sirius to talk, it got harder for me to hear. But neither one of us stopped.

                "Mrs. Potter left for France, Mr. Potter for his mission," he continued quietly, his voice taking on a new, almost impersonal tone, as if he didn't want to get too close to the story. "James was home alone. It wasn't anything new. I don't know how long he'd been alone for this time. I think they left on Monday. The funeral was on Saturday. James and Mr. Potter were going to go to Paris then. It was Wednesday the night I came to see him. At first he wouldn't let me in."

                "Why not?" I asked.

                Sirius smirked grimly. "Still cross," he answered, but didn’t elaborate any more on why. "But I wasn't exactly taking no for an answer. He let me in eventually and we had it out—were still yelling each other hoarse when Mr. Potter's head popped into the fire. He told James he was leaving his mission and going to France early. He didn't say much more than that. James started to ask questions, but his dad just said he'd explain later. He was gone before James could say anything else. Truth be told," Sirius muttered, shaking his head, "neither one of us thought much of it at the time. We went right back to yelling at each other. Didn't stop, either. Went right on until nearly midnight before we passed out. We didn't wonder why we hadn't heard from the Potters until the next morning."

                Sirius's face had turned ominous and I knew that we had reached the crux of the story. My hands clenched and unclenched unsteadily against my thighs, but nothing seemed to calm down my thudding heart rate. Sirius didn't appear to be fairing any better. He was looking paler, and the tick in his jaw had started up again. I took a deep breath, waiting for him to go on.

                "It was afternoon before James really started to worry," he explained, his voice quiet once more. "He tried to get in touch with his mum first, but she wasn't answering and James wasn't sure where his dad was if he wasn't with her. It reached the point where James was ready to pack up and go to France himself. He probably would have done it too if Jack Casely hadn't shown up."

                "Who's Jack Casely?" I asked.

                "Mr. Potter's partner," Sirius said. "Jack came around midnight. Didn't say much. Only told James that he needed to go to St. Mungo's. Immediately."

                "Oh." 

                That was all I could get out. This pathetic sort of breath that resembled the word 'oh'. I couldn't manage anything more than that. The name 'St. Mungo's' rang in my ears.

                St. Mungo's.

                Right.

                _Right._

                Sirius didn't appear to be paying any attention to me anymore. He all but ignored my sad attempt at a reaction and seemed to relay the rest of the story on autopilot. If he hadn't blinked or breathed, I wouldn't have been surprised. He was detached. That probably said something remarkably significant about Sirius Black as a person, but once he began, I found myself forgetting about all that. 

                My mind was on other things.

                "James didn't say a word," came the monotonous start. "Not when Jack came to the house, not on the way to St. Mungo's, not even when we were shoved in this crackpot waiting room for an hour without a single explanation as to why we were even there. He just sat there. But he's no good at keeping things in for long—or he never used to be, anyway. That hour built him up. By the time Mr. Potter found us around one, James was furious. He went mad. Didn't even care that his dad looked like he'd battled death and just barely came out the winner. The Healers had to stow us away in an empty examination room, James was yelling so much. It didn't even stop then—took us twenty minutes just to get him calm enough to listen to anything. Mr. Potter sat us down then, told us all the shit about Mrs. Potter and her family. James was even more livid that he hadn't been told any of it before, but Mr. Potter wouldn't let him throw any more tantrums. He kept telling him to sit down and listen, because they didn't have time to fight. Then he told us what happened."

                He was quiet. I held my breath, afraid to make a sound. When Sirius spoke next, he asked a question, but I don't think he was expecting an answer. I'm not even sure he consciously knew he asked. 

                "Have you ever been inside St. Mungo's?" was what he said, staring blankly over at a point to his left. "It's a fucking _mad_ place. All white walls and silent. You'd think they'd make a place like that a bit more comfortable considering the shit people are there for." He shook his head with derision. Then he looked over at me, the first time he'd done so since he began describing the day. "Mrs. Potter was hurt," he said bluntly, without preamble. "More than hurt. She was lucky to be alive."

                I let out the breath I was holding, his words promptly propelling the wind out of me.

                Mrs. Potter had been hurt.

                "Mr. Potter said he knew almost the second he'd let her go alone that it was the wrong decision," Sirius started to explain, really not giving me any time at all to digest what had already been said before adding more to the already heavy load. "He wanted to leave straight away, but the team needed him. He was lucky—said someone must have been looking down on them—because the mission wrapped in two days and he was able to bring Jack and two other Aurors with him to France. It wasn't the first piece of dumb luck they had that day, thank Merlin. When they got to Paris, Mrs. Potter was missing. Then they found out that her father and brother were in France for the funeral. Mr. Potter was...frantic, I suppose. Said he knew—just _knew_ —that something was wrong."

                "She could have been anywhere," Sirius went on, letting out a long breath. "Mr. Potter knew that. It was their second stroke of dumb luck that she had her tracker with her."

                "What's a tracker?" I questioned quietly. 

                Sirius jerked his shoulder into a shrug. "Some mad devise they're trying to use in the Auror department." He grabbed another cigarette out of his pocket, quickly lighting it with his wand. This time, he offered me one. I shook my head quickly. "Usually they're shit," he said through long drags. "They're fucking child's play to tamper with if you know they're there. Aurors have been sent into more than one bloodbath trap following a lead off a tracker. Mrs. Potter had hers hidden behind a pendant on a necklace she always wore. I suppose the Rosiers couldn't find it, or didn't know where to look."

                "Ros...oh."

                Sirius gave a sharp nod, took another long drag. "Do you remember what I told you about wizarding law?" he asked suddenly, eyes flashing. "The only way a pureblood can be sent to Azkaban?"

                I opened and closed my mouth, barely managing to remember my own name at that point. "I...er, not..."

                Nothing that made any sense could come out. I sounded like an idiot—more than usual.

                "Standing over someone," Sirius reminded me. "Dark mark blazing, Unforgivable in process." His eyebrows rose. He flicked some ash from his cigarette to the floor. "Mr. Rosier has his own cell," he finally said, his implication obvious. "Got forty years, but they reckon he'll kick it way before then."

                Oh, god.

                Oh, _god_.

                "He...you mean, he—"

                "Cruciatus. Off and on for three hours." He stared coldly at me. His shortened cigarette was quickly replaced by another. I was tempted to ask for one myself now. "The tracker led the Aurors straight to her," he went on. "They were in some fucked up warehouse outside of the city. Mr. Potter said..." He stopped. Another drag. "If they'd gotten there any later, it would have been too late."

                OhMerlinohMerlinohMerlinohMerlin.

                "But she was..." I swallowed, forcing the words out. "I mean, she was...all right, right? She—"

                "No," Sirius suddenly snapped, glaring at me. "No, she wasn't _fucking_ all _right_."

                I bit my lower lip. "I didn't mean...of course she wasn't all right. I just meant—"

                "I know what you meant," Sirius interrupted, still looking hostile, though he didn't seem to be angry with _me_ anymore, just sort of bitter at the whole thing, which, who could blame him? "She's still alive, if that's what you're asking, but the answer's still no. She was touch-and-go the entire summer. They kept her in a sort of magical comatose eighteen hours a day. Someone half her age could have not recovered from three hours of torture. Mrs. Potter was...it was a miracle, basically. People have lost their fucking minds after being under Cruciatus for less time than she was. They were baffled and amazed that she managed to keep her wits. I mean, she'll forget things now, and she gets these headaches that keep her in bed for days, but that was it mentally. She was just broken physically. A miracle," he said again, shaking his head. "It was a fucking _miracle._ "

                I nodded my head, my mind still reeling too quickly for me to do anything else. I heard that word— _miracle_ —and wanted to laugh. Because really, how could something like that be a _miracle_? How can it be considered anything but a terrible, horrible tragedy? I didn't even know Mrs. Potter—had never seen her, had never talked to her. I didn't even know what she _looked_ like—but something in my chest still ached for her, for all of them. Suddenly, I couldn't condemn any of them for acting the way they did around MJ, especially James. I mean, of course it wasn't _MJ's_ fault, but he was a reminder. A reminder of something that—yes, I was now seeing what Sirius meant—couldn't be fixed or ignored. Something...oh, Merlin, something that was too horrid to even think too much about. 

                I thought about my own mum—my mad, silly, flighty mother, but my _mother_ nonetheless—and couldn't even imagine the sort of anguish I would feel if anything like that happened to her. It touched a nerve, that idea. I'm Muggleborn. Muggleborn in a time when even being associated with one can get you killed. If something happened to my family, it wouldn't be the first time that a witch or wizard's innocent family paid the price for what they had nothing to do with. And now I was being told that these threats could apparently come from anywhere...to anyone...

                To a pureblood Auror by her own bloody _family_ , for Merlin's sake.

                The thought was sickening. Infuriating.

                "Forty years?" I heard myself mutter, my voice hard. "It doesn't sound like enough."

                Sirius grunted in response. "It's better than what the others got," he said.

                I sat up. "Others? What others? There were others?"

                Sirius jerked his head into a nod. "Mrs. Potter's brother, for one."

                "Her—you mean MJ's dad?"

                Another sharp nod. "And yet he walks free," Sirius muttered flatly, his face dark. "Wizarding law strikes again. It was Mrs. Potter's word against his. Her father was the only one in the room when they found them at the warehouse. It was weeks before she was even coherent enough to give a statement about what happened. Considering her state, it was pitifully easy to get her testimony thrown out of court. Her brother and the two others she said were there were all let off."

                "That's...that's outrageous!" I cried, feeling myself grow red with anger. "How can they just get away with something like that? Merlin, no _wonder_ James acts that way towards MJ! I would disown the whole lot of them, as well!"

                Sirius let out a bitter snort. "Disowning his family was the least of James's problems, Evans."

                Least of his problems? What...

                "Oh." The truth came to me slowly. Naturally. "He...this is about 6th-year, isn't it? And the 'especially James' comment?"

                "Finally catching on, are you?" Sirius shook his head at me. It seemed as if the worst of the story was over though, for he once again began sorting through his supplies, dropping yet another cigarette to the floor before getting back to work. 

                But I guess that's where the objectivity of stories comes in. Because from there, things didn't much improve for me. 

                "Are you ready to hear the rest?" he asked, grabbing another jar. I bit my lip and looked at him, waiting. His eyebrow cocked. "Or did you honestly believe that James was just all _right_ after his mum nearly died?"

                "Of course he wasn't," I muttered, shifting uncomfortably under his accusing glare. "It must have been hard for him."

                Sirius snorted. "Hard doesn't even begin to describe it, Evans. James and his dad spent most of the summer inside St. Mungo's. Mrs. Potter was out for most of the day, but they rarely left her side. The Healers had them on edge. Mrs. Potter was unstable enough that they were still saying anything could happen, even after she began to recover. It messes with your head," Sirius told me pointedly, "being in a bloody hospital for eight weeks straight."

                I nodded my head, trying to wrap my mind around the way _I_ would feel if I'd been in James's position. I don't have much experience with hospitals. For all our defects, the Evans family has never really been one for disastrous ailments—well, except for _me_ , I guess, what with my Never Healing bits and my affinity for skin burning. But that was really it. There was this one time, though, when I was thirteen and my Uncle Davy needed some sort of liver surgery. Aunt Mae was too much of a mess to be by herself, so we all went to wait with her while Uncle Davy went under the knife.

                Merlin, that was a horrible night.

                And that was _one_ night.

                What must it have been like for James, night after night, his _mother_?

                "He didn't handle it too well," Sirius told me, as if reading the unspoken question on my face. I met his eyes with mine. "At first he managed to check his stupid impulses and just be there for his family, but then in the second week, Mrs. Potter coded while James was with her. They almost lost her. She pulled through, but James snapped. It struck some sort of nerve. He started..." Sirius paused, seeming to be searching for the proper word. It took him a few seconds to find it. "He just...didn't care," he finally said. 

                My eyebrows furrowed at that.

                Didn't care?

                What did that mean?

                "It was slow," Sirius started to explain, his voice low. "Didn't really notice at first. He'd come see the lot of us after being at the hospital and wouldn't say a word about his mum. We let it go, figuring he just wasn't ready. But then he started coming up with these cock-brained ideas—really dumb, dangerous things—that he'd try to pass off as some mad adventure. James was like that sometimes," he told me, shrugging his shoulders. "He'd come up with these sort of shit-stupid escapades and decide we had to do them. But this was different. This was all the time and he was serious about them. Before, we'd get halfway through planning a stunt before laughing it off and deciding we'd rather live a little while longer. But James refused to let these go. Then he'd get pissed at us when we tried to talk some sense into him. He..." Sirius trailed away for a second, scratching idly at the back of his neck. He looked uncomfortable. "I've had some pretty shit stupid ideas myself," he went on a moment later, sounding not exactly sheepish, but...I don't know. Something. "And yeah, I've pushed it to the edge a couple of times. But that's the thing—James was always the one to rein me in. If _James_ thought it was going too far, it probably was. It works both ways. But then...he wouldn't _listen_. It was as if he didn't care if he'd get hurt, be _killed_. And when we refused to let him forget it, he found someone who would."

                Someone who would? 

                Merlin, I didn't like the sound of that.

                "Who?" I asked, already dreading the answer. "Who would go along with something like that, when they knew what he was going through?"

                "Someone equally as fucked up," Sirius answered, his tone dry. He cocked an eyebrow at me, clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Come now, Evans," he said mockingly, when I glanced at him with confusion, "don't tell me that you've already forgotten the _one_ thing you remembered from sixth year. Does the name Liz Saunders ring a bell?"

                Liz.

                I was going to vomit.

                But of _course_ it was her, the stupid slag.

                Bloody hell.

                "Don't know how the fuck it started," Sirius went on, oblivious to or ignoring the fact that I was suddenly looking more than a little bit nauseated. "They were never really mates. Then, all of a sudden...something. Mrs. Potter and Liz's mum were in the same ward, so they saw each other often enough. It was bad luck, really. They were exactly what the other _didn't_ need, especially after Liz's mum died—"

                My head snapped up.

                "Her—" Something heavy settled inside of my stomach. It clawed at me from the inside. "Saunders...her mum _died_?"

                "August before last," Sirius said. He shot me a dirty look. "What sort of shit roommate are you, not even knowing when a girl's bloody mum dies?"

                "We're not exactly mates," I defended weakly, the sound of my stupid retort seeming pathetic, even to me. Sirius continued to look at me with a nasty stare. I withered under his judgmental gaze.

                It seemed so absurdly strange to think about Elisabeth Saunders with anything other than my normal derision. It seemed almost wrong, really. But even as I sat there, thinking about the endless amount of torture the girl had put me through, thinking about the part she undoubtedly played in whatever mess Sirius was saying James went through...it didn't matter. The pity and sympathy began building up a tower of uneasiness inside of me. It couldn't be stopped.

                It was stupid. It really was. Maybe it was just because I was particularly sensitive about mums at that point, or just because I was so shocked to learn that Saunders actually had a life outside of gossiping about and torturing people at Hogwarts, but for whatever reason, I got this achy, guilty feeling inside, like I had done the girl a grave injustice by returning her mean attitude. I knew it was silly—the fact that her mum had passed away perhaps _explained_ some of her hostility, but it didn't take it away. It didn't make it any less _wrong_. And her mum had only died last summer! What about the five years of torture before that, hm? Could I just forget about those?

                I told myself no, but my conscience said yes.

                It's a really stupid, shit conscience sometimes.

                This is probably why I lie all the time. To defy it and its stupidity.

                Hmph.

                "What did she do?" I found myself asking, trying to ignore the jumbled mess my mind was currently attempting to sort through. "What did she let him do?"

                "What _didn't_ she let him do?" Sirius countered, sounding cross. I stared at him, surprised—but oddly comforted—to find that I apparently wasn't the only one resenting _that_ little union, though I'm pretty positive our motives and reasons for doing so were entirely different. I listened with a more calmed attention, though, after that. "It was the worst sort of relationship for both of them," he went on, sighing. "As far as I could tell, the entire thing was based entirely off of alcohol, sex and pulling stupid stunts that could have killed them both. But if we even _mentioned_ that to James, he went mad—told us we wouldn't ever understand. I moved in with the Potters halfway through August. I thought me being there all the time, I might be able to talk some sense into him—figured that when James thought of how fucked up _my_ life was, he could come to peace with his. But nothing changed. And it didn't get better from there."

                He gave off a bit of another sigh, then shrugged. "We all thought that it would stop once we got to Hogwarts. How much damage could he do to himself there, with all the school shit to deal with, all the rules, the professors? But we should have known better. This is James, after all. He only showed up to class when he felt like it, but even when he did, he was mostly just hung-over and slept. His grades didn't slip—don't know why or how, but they didn't—so no one said anything. It became normal not to see him, to just figure he'd gone off to Hogsmeade with Liz to get drunk at the Hog's Head. And we usually weren't wrong. It went on for months."

                I listened with a heavy heart, hating the way the whole thing made me feel, but reluctantly admitting that it probably went along with the whole 'fancying' thing. But how could I not have _noticed_ any of this? It seemed so ridiculous that the story was new to me, that I didn't recognize any of these events as being part of _my_ sixth year, even if James and I weren't friends. I must be a whole lot bloody more self-absorbed than I thought, to not have realised any of this was going on around me.

                And for the first time, I felt really, ridiculously, uncontrollably _bad_ about it.

                I really, really did.

                I watched Sirius carefully, trying to keep the feelings that were burning inside of me off of my face, embarrassed that they were there—that they had a _reason_ to be there. I picked up my wand and finally began sorting through my box of supplies, just wanting to do something with my hands. When I asked my next question, I tried to keep my voice as causal as possible. 

                "How long did it go on for?"

                "Until Christmas," Sirius answered, his voice as cool as my own. He finished off his second box and zoomed over a third. His eyes flickered over to me. "He got a letter in November from his dad, one we thought would make things better. Mr. Potter said that James's mum had made incredible strides, was finally coming home. But it was like he didn't believe it, like he thought his dad was lying to him or something. But he was burning out and we knew all his stunts could only last so long. Something was going to go wrong sooner or later, and James was going to have to pay for it. It finally happened, a couple of days before winter hols."

                When Sirius pulled out another cigarette, I very nearly groaned. 

                For Merlin's sake, I thought we were _done_ with those sort of stories!

                "Can't really tell you what happened. I don't know all the details," he said, surprising me. "James doesn't like to talk about it—thinks he's protecting Liz by not letting the story get out. As it is, the pair of them were shit dumb lucky that it happened so close to hols. With everyone leaving anyway, no one noticed when they were both suspended."

                Suspended?

                They were _suspended?_

__

__ How the hell didn't I notice _that_??

                "It went down in Hogsmeade," Sirius went on, ignoring me and my extremely dumbfounded persona, which shouldn't have been the least bit surprising considering how much he's basically ignored me the entire time we've been talking. "It was bad—really bad. James's dad and Liz's grandparents had to come to the school and there was talk of expulsion. Dumbledore was the one who saved them. He could have easily thrown them both out, but he didn't. They were on permanent probation, though, and they weren't given any breaks. But for all the trouble it caused," Sirius stated, stopping to take another long puff on his cigarette, "it was the best goddamn thing that could have happened."

                Thank _god_.

                "It snapped him out of it," I blurted out, realising quite pathetically how much relief was in my voice, as if I didn't already _know_ that James was fine now. Psh. "Getting in that much trouble, it snapped him out of it, right?"

                "Partly," Sirius answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Personally, I think it was seeing his mum that really put the nail in the coffin. James hadn't even seen her out of a bloody _hospital bed_ , much less walking around giving him hell for the shit he pulled, as if nothing had ever happened. He finally realised what an arse he was being, that is mum was fine and he couldn't throw his bloody life away. So naturally he was a guilt-ridden idiot for a week, then when he snapped out of that, he decided he was going to make it up to everyone—by turning into a straight-laced sod," he finished drily, rolling his eyes. He pulled the shortened cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it on the floor with the rest of them. Then— _finally_ —he looked at me. _Really_ looked at me. Though not exactly with a friendly stare. "The end," he bit out.

                My shoulders drooped.

                The end.

                It was over.

                _Over_.

                Oh, thank bloody _god_.

                The words 'the end' filtered in and out of my head, but it was pretty hard to process them when I was relatively sure that my brain was still trying to sort out its thoughts somewhere near 'wizard family trees' about forty minutes back. It would catch up eventually, I figured. You know, in a few hundred years or so.

                Bloody _hell_.

                Bloody, _bloody_ hell.

                "A lot to take in, isn't it?" Sirius asked mockingly, his face still dark and his tone anything but cordial, obviously clueing in on my complete and utter helplessness at the whole thing and stupidly pressing his advantage. He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Believe it or not, Evans, James wasn't always the responsible, idiot prat panting after you. Shit happened before you deemed him suitable enough for your company."

                "Can you _stop_?" I snapped angrily, furious to find that his well-placed barbs were hitting just the right marks in my vulnerable state. My stomach rolled with guilt, my head still in a tizzy. "I know I was rubbish to him before, all right? I know I didn't care. But I do now. Isn't that enough?"

                "I don't know," he sneered. "Is it?"

                My eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

                "It means a whole hell of a lot!" he snapped loudly, glaring furiously at me now. "It means that before I send you off and you go all girl on him, feeling bad and wanting to make it better, you and I are going to hash something out. We are going to get this _all out_." 

                He pulled open another jar with more force than was necessary, sending the cap flying to the opposite side of the room. It clattered noisily against the stone floor. I winced slightly. Sirius didn't even give it a glance. 

                "Do you want to know what I think?" he asked with controlled fury.

                Er.

                No. Not really. 

                But I figured he'd say it anyway. 

                Plus, it was probably best not to antagonise him just then.

                I am sometimes very sensible like that.

                "What?" I made myself choke out, already dreading the words

                Sirius merely glared some more.

                "I think that whatever this is—this fucked up game you're playing—it actually has very little to do with James _or_ Diggory."

                Very little to do with James or Amos?

                Um...

                Yeah. 

                No.

                "What are you talking about?" I asked, throwing him a look. "How can this not have to do with them? And for the last time, it's _not_ a bloody game!"

                "Are you sure about that, Evans?" he shot back, eyebrows raised. "Are you sure this whole little tug-of-war you've got going isn't simply a little sadistic ploy you've created to make you feel good about yourself? You haven't had a bloke around since Davies awhile back, right? Feeling a bit lonely?" he asked, sending me a pointed look. "Reckon two are better than one?"

                Oh. my. god.

                Oh my _god_.

                Did he just...

                It felt like a punch in the gut.

                It really did.

                "Are you serious?" I demanded, my eyes narrowing dangerously, letting the anger roll over me because I knew my only other option was to cry—I could already feel the tears prickling annoyingly at the back of my eyelids—and I was _not_ about to give him _that_ sort of satisfaction. "Did you seriously just ask me that?"

                Sirius crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, refusing to bend. "Don't play that outrage card with me, Evans," he snapped, eyes flashing. "I can see how it is. Do you honestly expect me to believe that, all of a sudden, out of abso-bloody-lutely _nowhere_ , you go from spitting at the very _sight_ of James to snogging him happily in stairwells? Is that what you're saying I'm supposed to believe? That as soon as things turn a bit sour with Diggory—rumours flying left and right about the pair of you—you suddenly _conveniently_ discover that maybe you fancy James, as well? Well, I don't _buy it!_ " he snapped, slamming a fist down on the table. "I don't fucking _buy_ it!"

                "I don't bloody well _care_ if you don't _buy_ it!" I yelled back, the fury and humiliation at what he was implying—Merlin, how can he _say that?_ —practically choking me. "I don't _care_ if you _buy_ _it_ because it's the bloody _truth_ and if you think...if you think..."

                "If I think what? I just _told_ you what I think—what I _know_."

                "You don't know _anything_!" I hissed, glaring at him so hard now that my eyes began to burn. Or that could have just been the tears that I was _really_ having to hold back now. Stupid bodily reaction. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" I ranted on. "I would never— _never_ —toy around with people like that, you...arrogant arse! You don't know what's happening and you don't know my feelings and you certainly don't know _anything_ about _me_ or you would _never_ even _think_ about something so...so... _ugh_!"

                "See?" Sirius said, a smug smirk crossing his face. "You can't explain it either! So why don't you just bloody admit that it's just a game to you and leave James the hell alone!"

                "I _can't_!" I cried hysterically, the words falling out without any real consent from me. "Don't you bloody see that it's not bloody _like that_? That I've _tried_ to stop the whole thing from happening? Why in the hell would I want to put myself through this? Do you think it's _fun_ , being all torn up inside? If you had any idea— _any_ idea—you would never...you would never..."

                Words got away from me again, but this time when I stopped—panting very hard and still desperately trying to keep my tears in check—I...well, I actually really _thought_ about what he was saying. What _I_ was saying.

                He was wrong. He was _so_ wrong. There was no arguing that and even now, I'm _furious_ that he thought I would play around with James and Amos like that, deliberately setting them up against each other for my own, I don't know, _amusement_ or something. Sirius and I have certainly never been mates, but I thought...I mean, I've known the boy for _seven years_. He's Grace's cousin! I see him all the time! And he sees me! But clearly he doesn't _really_ see me—or perhaps he just completely misunderstand _what_ he sees—because if he _did_ know me, even a little bit, he would know that I would _never_ do something like that. Not deliberately. It's just not in me. It's _not_.

                And yet...

                It got me thinking. Not about what he was implying—bloody hell, that will _never_ be true!—but about what I said in response to it. Because, truth be told, I didn't really _try_ to stop it from happening. I just sort of...denied it. Which, you know, worked for a while, but after James kissed me...

                Yeah, the whole thing pretty much caved.

                I didn't so much as lift a _finger_ to stop it.

                And the thing is...I _could_. I really could if I wanted to. James isn't speaking to me right now. If I just let that go on, if I stopped trying to force him into confrontation with me, if I stopped letting him mess with my head and just for once keep my bloody _distance_ from him, I could stop it. I could go on my date with Amos and see where that goes and I could just...let James be my mate. But _only_ my mate. You know, in time.

                I just...didn't want to.

                But I was seriously starting to wonder if I even had another choice, anymore.

                I don't know what it was. Whether my fury at Sirius had finally dimmed away enough to make my upset side more pronounced or simply the fact that the thought of me just abandoning James in the hopes that things would work out in the end was so upsetting I couldn't help it anymore, but somehow, for some reason, I found myself fighting a losing battle with my stupid tear ducts. Any second now, I was going to be bawling like a baby and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

                Oh, god.

                How _embarrassing_.

                "Just...leave me _alone_ ," I spat bitterly, my voice cracking noticeably on the last word. I grabbed my chair and tugged it to the table behind me, giving Sirius my back as I quickly levitated my supplies and jars over towards my new spot. "Stupid, moronic, presumptuous _arsehole_. I don't want to _speak_ to you. I don't want to _look_ at you. I—"

                That was all I could get out. My voice cut off and I held back a sob, biting my lip to keep the noise in. I leaned forward in my seat, keeping my head down in hopes that he couldn't see the pathetic mess I was turning into. I don't know why I was crying—Merlin, I _never_ use to cry. What is _up_ with that?—but the fact of the matter was, I wasn't going to get away with holding it in this time. The prickling at the back of my eyelids soon became a wet moisture blurring my vision and before I knew it, the tears were crawling down my face.

                I was a sad, sad mess.

                Literally.

                In more than one way.

                It was only a few minutes that we sat there, me crying, Sirius...well, I don't know what Sirius was doing, seeing as I was doing my damn hardest to keep my face _away_ from any part of his, but Sirius doing whatever he was doing while I was sobbing to myself. I worked incredibly hard to keep any visible signs that I was crying in check, but I was relatively certain that my shoulders were shaking and he could probably hear the noises my fumbling, shaky fingers were making with the jars, too shaken up to hold them properly. But for some reason, Sirius didn't _really_ notice something was amiss until I finally couldn't hold back anymore and one, pathetic sob let loose from my lips.

                It was soft— _so_ soft—but distinctly unmistakable, too.

                Damn.

                "Fuck, Evans, are you...are you _crying_?"

                He sounded so shocked—so shocked and so _panicked_ —that I almost wanted to laugh. Was I crying? WAS I CRYING?

                Um, _yeah_.

                Stupid moron.

                "Leave me alone," I gasped pathetically, making it _that_ _much_ more obvious, really, but I didn't care. It’s not as if the secret wasn’t out. And I was already all red and blotchy. I didn’t see how this could get any worse. "I'm not crying. Shut up. Leave me alone."

                There was a strangled sound from behind me.

                "Fucking Merlin! Evans, you _are_. You're crying!"

                It would have been utterly stupid to lie again, so I didn't bother saying that I wasn't, even thought I was furiously cross that he'd found me out. I tried wiping at my eyes, hoping that maybe I could swipe all the evidence away, but with every old tear I got rid of, another new one filled its place.

                Oh, double bloody fucking hell.

                It was no _use_.

                Sirius was shifting behind me, but I was too much of a coward to turn my head and look to see what he was doing. I heard a lot of intakes of breath, but it took about a minute for him to actually say what he wanted, and even then it was a bit of a mess.

                "Oh, for fuck's sake, Evans," he muttered, sounding completely jittery. "Don't...I didn't mean...do you have _any_ idea what James will _do_ to me if he found out I made you cry? He'll _kill_ me."

                "Good," I huffed, still refusing to look behind me, but taking _complete and utter_ pleasure out of the fact that Sirius was apparently so completely uncomfortable around emotional girls. "I hope he _does_. And I won't even feel bad or come to your funeral or put flowers on your _grave_."

                "That's all right," Sirius instantly said, suddenly completely obliging. "Whatever you say. You don't have to. Just _please_ stop crying. I don't do crying. I don't..." He stopped for a second, made a few more strangled sounds. Then, "I believe you."

                "You do _not_ ," I snapped, finally turning to glare behind me, taking in Sirius's pale, panic-stricken look for the first time. If I hadn't been so cross, I _probably_ would have laughed. Probably. "You're just saying that because you want me to stop crying. And just so you know, I'm never going to forgive you for saying those things. You have no right to assume anything about me. _No right_."

                "I know," Sirius said, this time a bit slower. I shot him another furious look, but he stared at me with as much sincerity as could be shown on a face that was still so on edge that I paused briefly. I frowned dubiously. "I know," he repeated, and then sighed really heavily. He ran a tired hand across his face, then looked at me again. "Listen," he said, his voice low. "Maybe I...maybe I misjudged you, all right? But what did you _expect_ me to believe? That after three years, you suddenly up and decide that James is good for you? That he's suddenly worth your time? And conveniently just when you and Diggory were starting to shake up? Come _on_ , Evans. Cut me a break."

                "You're seeing what you want to see," I insisted, nibbling crossly on my lower lip. "First of all, now more than ever I think we can both say that James is certainly not the person he was two years ago. _That_ James was wrong for me. This James...is different. You _know_ that. And what with Head duties and tutoring...we've been thrown together. And Amos and I were only shaken up _because_ of James. Those rumors—"

                "Were not the only ones and you know it," Sirius said, but I really had no idea what in the hell he was talking about. He was talking again before I could object, though. "And I get it, all right? Maybe I was...I guess, I was wrong. But I'm just doing what any other decent mate would do if they were in my position. I don't want James trampled all over."

                "I'm not going to trample all over him," I muttered stubbornly, though I think in some ways, I already have. Sirius seemed to think so as well, because he shot me a "Come _on_ " sort of look.

                "You really don't get it," is what he said next, shaking his head at me. "You don't know what James is like. Once he gets you in his system, once he starts...you know, to care...that's it. You can't shake him off it. And maybe it's too late with you, I don't know, but don't you think it's only fair to him to keep some distance now? Can't you sort out this mess on your own, leaving him out of it for a while? Trust me," he added, rolling his eyes, "the stupid git's not going anywhere. He'll be right back at your side if you want him there. But if you don't—"

                "You're trying to protect him," I blurted out, suddenly realising this. I brushed a few more tears off my face—they had _finally_ stopped, thank Merlin—and stared at Sirius in surprise. "That's why you're doing this, saying this? You're trying to protect him from me?"

                "James can protect himself," Sirius instantly countered, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. His mouth twitched a bit. "But with you...yeah, he could use a little help. You're his weak point, Evans. He's not going to let go. So for the love of Merlin, _please_ just you do it. At least for now. Give the bloke a chance to salvage his pride while he still can."

                "I...that's..."

                I knew what he was asking. He asking me to do the same thing I had just recently admitted I didn't _want_ to do. He wanted me to let James go, to deal with Amos and see where it went and then figure out James in the picture later on. I could see in his face, in his voice, that he was already convinced that I would go off with Amos. Regardless of what he insisted, he _was_ trying to protect James—which I respected. I wanted to protect him, as well. I don't want to see him hurt any more than Sirius does, especially if it's _me_ to do the hurting, but I didn't...

                But I guess I knew what I had to do.

                I didn't like it—I _really_ didn't like it. But sometimes, when you fancy a bloke a little bit—or a lot. But you like to call it a little bit because it’s easier—you can't _not_ do the right thing. Even if it hurts _you_ , _you've_ got to make it better for _him_.

                So I would.

                I _would_.

                I really didn't have any choice.

                I felt myself nodding my head, though I don't know how I found the power to do it. I felt so useless, so utterly drained.

                _Damn_ it, how did it come down to this?

                "I understand," I whispered quietly, trying to keep all traces of the upset I was feeling inside out of my voice. I looked up at Sirius, surprised to find that he was looking at me with a new sort of glance. I knew that glance, though. It was pity. The fool was feeling _bad_ for me now. Great. How pathetic am I? "You're right," I went on, feeling myself flush a bit. "I can't...I can't keep doing this. I have to figure this out on my own. And I'll...I'll keep James out of it. I'll stay away from him. I will. I promise."

                It was the worst promise I ever had to make, but one I was determined to keep. I had lived seventeen years without James Potter, I could bloody well handle a couple of weeks until I sorted out just what in the hell I was doing. Sirius was right. It was only fair to James. I wasn't going to trample all over him anymore. Not if I can help it.

                "Evans..." Sirius started, the pity not completely gone from his look. I shot him a cool glance, wouldn't let him finish.

                "Stop," I said, shaking my head at him. "I'm fine. I just...I want to get this done and leave, all right? It's been a really long day."

                "Sorry," Sirius said.

                "This isn't _your_ fault," I said, somehow managing to spare him a grin, though I have no idea where it came from. "It's me and my mixed up emotions. It's got nothing to do with you."

                "No, I didn't mean that," Sirius said, now looking a bit uncomfortable. "I meant I'm sorry about...this afternoon."

                This afternoon?

                Oh.

                Acid.

                Right.

                "That wasn't—"

                "Yes, it _was_ ," Sirius said, running a hand through his hair and looking particularly stressed, as if he wanted to jump up and pace or something. "I shouldn't have...you were pouring fucking _acid_ , for Merlin's sake, and there I was, trying to get a rise out of you. I should have realised—"

                "It wasn't your fault," I tried to tell him again. "I should have been paying attention. It was my stupid hand that dropped it—"

                "Because like an _idiot_ I said—"

                "It doesn't matter what you said," I put in quickly, firmly. "It wasn't your fault. It really wasn't."

                Sirius looked like he wanted to say more about it, but I shut him up with a look that practically cried my desperation to get off the subject. I wasn't kidding when I said that I just wanted to get this done and leave. I was suddenly more exhausted than ever before and I really just couldn't take anything else. If one more thought, one more worry, attempted to enter my head, I was pretty sure that that was it. It would explode.

                And I'm sure Pomfrey would just _love_ dealing with that one.

                Psh.

                Time went sort of fast after that. Sirius actually listened to me—probably because he was still feeling guilty, but whatever. I wasn't going to be choosey, not then—and we actually did finish rather quickly. Abbott had left us with a distinct advantage, leaving us our wands, and without the distraction of long, intense stories, I found I was fortunately paired with a detention pro—shocking, right?—and Sirius knew just how to get things done. Which was more than a bit lucky for me, because I'm relatively certain that I was more or less useless to the entire operation. But how else was I supposed to be acting? I couldn't much concentrate when I was already so immersed in my own plans.

                Because I really, _really_ needed a plan.

                James would not make this easy. Eventually—though with the way he is, who _knows_ when that would be—he would decide he was talking to me again. And when this occurred, he was unfortunately going to be met with the fact that I am suddenly not speaking to _him_. He's probably going to be pretty confused. And because he's confused, he's probably going to try to ask me about it. But it's not as if I can just go and _explain_ everything—I mean, not without bringing up some _seriously_ dangerous conversations. And plus...

                Well...

                Merlin, I really don't think I have the will to lie to him, to make something up and hope he buys it. Because he probably won't, anyway. The stupid prat _knows_ when I lie, when I'm up to something.

                Very, very unfortunate, that.

                Psh.

                So I wouldn't give him the chance to break me down. I really wouldn't. If he tries to talk to me, I'll throw out some excuse and get away as fast as my legs can carry me. I will not think about what it is doing to me, what it is possibly doing to him, what it is doing to _anyone_ , because I am not stupid and such things can only end in tears (which I have plenty of, apparently). I am a stern, strong, determined woman and James will _not_ be trampled upon while I can stop it!

                Which I can.

                You know, because I'm sort of the one doing the trampling.

                But whatever.

                By about ten, Sirius and I had finished up with all the supplies and made quick work of all the messy cauldrons—well, _Sirius_ mostly finished up and made quick work of the cauldrons. I helped. Occasionally—and were ready to leave. As we were both getting up, Sirius shot me a sidelong glance, one that certainly wasn't as uneasy as Sirius-in-the-presence-of-sobbing was, but neither was it particularly calm.

                "You all right?" he asked.

                "Fine," I muttered, though I wasn't.

                He looked like he didn't believe me, but I didn't much care. I thought about something for a second, weighed my options, and then spoke.

                After all, I figured I was going to need all the help I could get.

                "You have to talk to him," I all but pleaded, trying to keep my voice from sounding as desperate as I was feeling inside. Sirius turned to look at me, his eyebrows furrowing. I rushed to explain. "You have to—I can't do it if he won't let me. You have to tell him to leave me alone, too. Make up whatever excuse you have to, but just...get him to understand. _Please_ get him to understand."

                "He might not listen," Sirius told me, shrugging his shoulders. "I told you, once he has you in his system...that's why I need _you_ to do it." He shrugged again. "I'll talk to him," he promised, "but it hasn't helped yet."

                I nodded, figuring that this was probably as good as I was going to get. Besides, this was problem. I couldn't expect other people to fix it for me.

                Sirius and I walked to the classroom door together, silent once again as we left the freshly cleaned remains of our detention behind us. Sirius got to the door first, opening it with little flourish and stepping through. But then—rather to my amazement, actually—he paused, keeping the door propped open so that I could cross through, as well. I shot him a startled glance.

                Sirius holding open doors? For _me_?

                What?

                "Thanks?" I said uneasily, wondering what was going on now. He shifted a bit on his feet and let the door swing closed behind me. He shoved his hands in his pockets and didn't look at me as we began to walk down the corridor.

                "I made you cry," he said simply, bluntly. "Truce."

                I didn't much know what to do with that. I mean, it was _true_ , of course. The stupid sod _had_ made me cry, and I knew he felt guilty about it now—which, I have to admit, I wasn't _really_ feeling too awful about—but still. It seemed very strange to realise that not an hour before, the very same bloke who was opening doors for me and walking calmly down the corridors along my side was the same bloke who had been all but screaming at me.

                But whatever.

                It's not like _stranger_ things hadn't happened to me before.

                Psh.

                The trip back to Gryffindor Tower was mostly uneventful, which was probably a rather good thing considering I wasn't exactly in the greatest states during our little trek and most definitely wouldn't have been able to handle anything more just then. I was still pretty much a jumbled mess. I told myself to stop stressing—things weren't _that_ bad, were they? I mean, I was going out with Amos—Amos, who I _loved_ , remember?—and I was in relatively good health—you know, minus the acid-burning—and I...well, there were a bunch of other good things, as well. And just because I couldn't remember them just then certainly did not mean that they didn't exist. I just need a good night's rest. Things would look better in the morning. Things _always_ look better in the morning. Wasn't that what little orphan Annie was always babbling on about? With the sun and all that?

                Things worked out for _her_ , didn't they? And she was dealing with a whole lot of mad rubbish.

                Because, I mean, so _what_ if I just learned a whole hell of a lot more about James Potter's life than I ever really wanted to? And so what if now that I knew these things, I could understand the bloke so much more than I ever have before? So what if I have to cut myself off from him, even though it's pretty much the last thing on earth I want to be doing right now?

                So what?

                So _what_?

                I'm strong. I've got convictions. I can _do_ this.

                Tomorrow, tomorrow and all that.

                I'm fine.

                I'm totally _fine_.

                You know...sort of.

                I felt a little bit better then, though I think it was mostly because I was singing songs inside of my head now instead of sorting through the mess that was already accumulating up there. I'm relatively sure that the only reasons I wasn't hyperventilating just then were because: 1) the singing thing, 2) Yeah, the Potter family story? My brain had just about caught up to the bit where Mrs. Rosier had croaked. It hadn't even _processed_ the bad stuff yet, and 3) Because I was positively certain that I would not have to face James until morning and by then I was _bound_ to be 100% resolved in my decision. Right?

                Wrong.

                So, _so_ wrong.

                I was very much relieved when we finally reached the tower, genuinely just wanting to run up to my room where I could sequester myself in my four-poster bed and _finally_ think things out completely, hopefully without making a spectacle of myself. It seemed like the perfect way to end my rather miserable day—with some thoughts and (yes, I admit it. It's inevitable) some tears. I truly just wanted nothing more than to simply crash. It was more than want really—it was _need_.

                But apparently the world didn't think it was all that needed.

                Apparently, as far as they're concerned, I hadn't suffered _enough_ today.

                Psh.

                Psh _psh_.

                I hate my life.

                "Lily, I have to talk to you."

                This is what I heard as Sirius and I crossed through the portrait hole. I looked up, my heart absolutely positively _sinking_ in my chest when I realised who had said it.

                Because of _course_ it was James.

                Have-until-tomorrow, my arse.

                _God_.

                I stood frozen just inside the common room as James jumped up from his chair and quickly strode over towards me. I blinked rapidly at him, trying to calm the mad pounding of my heart, trying to ignore the feelings that came rushing at me as James got closer and closer.

                Double bloody fucking shit.

                Shit shit fuck shit.

                _Ahh_.

                "Lily—"

                "No." The denial came out of my mouth before I had too much of a chance to think about it. It came easily, though. I'm not sure whether that was because Sirius was still standing behind me, watching my every move, or just because this was James—James, who I had just learned a whole lot of things about that I probably shouldn't know and that completely and utterly embarrassed me for some reason. But for whatever reason, the words just flowed. I didn't even have to stop to keep my anguish in check as I hastily rushed past James, blatantly refusing to look at him.

                You know, because a girl can only handle so much.

                So _looking_ at him...yeah, probably not such a good idea.

                "Not now, James," I muttered, already halfway to the staircase. He followed right behind me, not giving up in the least.

                "Lily, come _on_ —"

                "No!" I shouted, and then pounded up the stairs, not stopping even as I heard him call my name, even as I felt something catch in my throat, even as I stormed into the dormitory, slamming the door shut behind me, having four pairs of eyes swivel to me with equal looks of surprise.

                I found the two pairs that mattered and let out a harsh breath.

                "From this point forward," I told them gravely, striding quickly to my bed, "we are not to see, to talk about, to even _think_ about James Potter until I say we can. Is that understood?"

                Emma didn't say anything. Grace cocked an eyebrow. From out of the corner of my eye, I saw Saunders—Merlin, I hate her. I _hate_ her—take in my proclamation with the widest of eyes. I ignored them all and climbed into my bed, burying my face in my pillows and burrowing inside of my blankets. I breathed in harshly and tried to stop myself from—oh, jeez, here we go again—wailing like a pitiful child, even though I was feeling like one.

                A few seconds later, Grace and Emma climbed into bed with me, closing the bed hangings and casting what I think was a silencing charm around the bed, but I didn't really know because I wasn't paying much attention.

                Ugh.

                "What happened, Lil?" Emma asked me quietly, putting a comforting hand on my head. "Are you all right?"

                "I'm giving James up," I told them pathetically, not even bothering to hide the not-so-subtle despair in my voice. I didn't bother lifting my head up, either. It was happy where it was, plastered against my pillow. "I can't keep doing this. I can't trample all over him. So I'm giving him up. Even though he's trying to talk to me now. I'm giving him _up_."

                "Cold turkey?" Grace tried to tease. "Just like that?"

                I lifted my head for a second to shoot her a withering glare. She shrugged helplessly at me. "Come on, Lil," she went on. "You don't have to—"

                "But I _do_ ," I wailed, suddenly very much wanting to cry again. "I do because I'm a slag who can't choose between blokes and James is getting caught in the middle and once you're in, you're in, and I might already be in, but if I'm _not_ , then I'm going to stop it, all right? Get it?"

                They both stared at me as if I was absolutely mad.

                Which I am.

                Duh.

                "Oh, god," I moaned, dropping my face back down to my pillow. "I know I'm out of my mind, but I...and Sirius said..."

"How was he?" Emma asked when I trailed away, not ready to explain it all just then without the words mixing up in my mouth as they had before. Plus, I couldn’t even _tell_ them most of the madness that was currently running rampant in my head. I had promised Sirius. "Is that why you're like this? Because of him?"

                "No," I answered instantly. "It's not—I mean, he brought it _up_ , but I knew it before. And...and..." I sighed heavily, my head starting to pound again. "I don't want to talk about it," I heard myself mutter. "I just don't want to talk about right now. Can I just go to bed now? Please?"

                "All right," Emma said, sounding very sympathetic, or perhaps pitying, but I couldn't really tell, or maybe I just didn't care. "Good night, then."

                "Don't stress out, Lil," was Grace's parting remark. "It'll be all right. You'll see."

                I made some sort of sound of acknowledgement, but it wasn't much. I felt the bed shift under me and knew that Grace and Emma had understood my I'm-really-at-the-end-of-my-rope-here disposition and left me to my own thoughts. Which was, you know, dangerous, but also rather thoughtful of them. I do appreciate them. Occasionally.

                So now here I am.

                Here.

                Alone.

                In bed.

                Not asleep, even though I would really like to be.

                But apparently one isn't really able to do the whole sleeping thing when their mind is still trying to mentally manage and sort through the disastrous mess of thoughts that their inconsiderate human contacts have tossed upon them.

                Psh.

                Psh. Psh.

                I hate Sirius Black.

                I hate James Potter.

                I hate Lily Evans, as well, for that matter.

                I just hate _everything_.

                The sun _will not_ come out tomorrow, stupid, stupid, orphan Annie. In fact, it will probably hail. And hail _hurts_.

                So _there_.

______________________________________________

__

** Latest (Earliest?), 7th Year Girls' Dormitory **

** Observant Lily: Day 31(32?) **

** Total Observations: 195 **

****

****

** AN OFFICIAL DECREE **

** Dated as of OCTOBER 17, 1977 and effective IMMEDIATELY **

** Entitled: **

****

** THE JAMES POTTER DECREE **

****

                I, Lily Christine Evans, in accordance to this official decree, do hereby solemnly swear to follow the dictates of THE JAMES POTTER DECREE as are listed below:

                Dictate #1) I will not speak to or initiate conversation with the aforementioned James Potter unless speaking is of ABSOLUTE AND UTTER NECESSITY.

                Dictate #2) I will avoid spending time with the aforementioned James Potter unless time in his presence is of ABSOLUTE AND UTTER NECESSITY (or dictated by Professor McGonagall).

                Dictate #3) I will stop thinking about the aforementioned James Potter as much as is mentally possible and will instead focus on more important things in life (i.e.: schoolwork, world hunger, cleaning my dorm, Amos Diggory, etc.)

                Dictate #4) I will try very hard to squash these feelings of fancying I am presently feeling for the aforementioned James Potter as they are dangerous to the direct purpose of this decree, not to mention dangerous to my very fragile SANITY.

                Dictate #5) I will not let the above-listed dictates make me feel any of the following listed emotions: sad, lonely, depressed, repressed, angry, hostile, violent, and most especially, weepy (Other pertinent adjectives may be added as they are experienced).

                Dictate #6) I will not let the presence of the above-mentioned dictates have any effect whatsoever on my future relationship with one, Amos Diggory, and will in fact savor the time I have to spend with him, thinking of him and only him, all the time.

                With my signature upon this very paper, I hereby acknowledge and accept the terms set forth in THE JAMES POTTER DECREE and promise to follow each dictate to its very core.

                X:

                LILY CHRISTINE EVANS

                17/10/1977

______________________________________________


	17. October 17th: Time to Think (Think of Me)

**Author's Notes:** I am terribly sorry that this took about five weeks instead of the one that it probably should have. However, I think it benefited amazingly from that, so I have to plead with you not to take your frustrations out on this chapter--it has been through enough. =P  The largest bushel load of thanks go to my two betas, Ben and Andie, for their amazing help, their superhuman speed, and the painful abuse that I put them through. And also, to every single reader who has never stopped with their support, both here and on my LJ, because you are all wonderful. I hope this chapter makes you smile at least a little bit. It should (unless the writing makes you cringe). I'm actually ridiculously nervous about what you all are going to think about this chapter. So even if you hate it...let me down easily, all right? This chapter is already giving me hives. But let me know what you think! _-Bee_  
 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

"I wish I would have a real tragic love affair and get so bummed out that I'd just quit my job and become a bum for a few years, because I was thinking about doing that anyway."

-Jack Handey

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

______________________________________________

 **Friday, October 17th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 194**

 

So...all right.  

                It's really not a big deal.

                I mean, it's not as if I _wanted_ to sleep all that much, anyway. It's just a big waste of time if you ask me. And I know it's supposedly healthy and everything—that all those stupid "scientists" say it's necessary or whatnot—but really, how legitimate are those guys, anyway? I mean, honestly, I can muss up my hair, throw on a pair of glasses, and toss a few chemicals together and call myself a scientific genius, as well, but that certainly doesn't make me one. Who exactly is giving out certifications here? _I_ certainly don't know.

                Never thought about it _that_ way, did you?

                Exactly. 

______________________________________________

 **Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 194**

 

                And honestly, I can think of about a billion things worse than one night of not sleeping.

                Seriously. A billion. Maybe even more.

                Like what about world hunger? Global pollution? Social injustice? Burnt rice?

                One night of no sleep...that's not going to kill anyone. Those others will. Just think about that.

                So it really doesn't matter.

                It just doesn't.

______________________________________________ 

 **Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 194**

 

                And let's not forget about what actually _happens_ when you sleep.

                When you sleep, you dream.

                Yeah. _Dream_.

                And frankly, I've never exactly been known for my nice, normal dreams here. In fact, I can't even _remember_ the last nice, normal dream I've had. I am forever at ends with the things my mind conjures up during sleep. And believe it or not, even though it's YOUR life and YOUR mind and YOUR bed and YOUR...your OTHER THINGS, YOU actually have very little control over YOUR dreams. They're like rampant hippogriffs on stampede and you are the insignificant flobberworm, murderously trampled upon in their disastrous wake.

                Uh-huh.

                Just like that.

                So these dreams—or _my_ dreams, anyway—they really can't even be called dreams. They're nightmares. And even if an outside viewer may not perceive them as such—they probably would, in fact, believe these nightmares were _good_ dreams—they're wrong. They are very, very wrong. Trust me. And I don't even mean 'wrong' in the sense that my good, moral mother would not be too happy with my out-of-wedlock relations occurring in these dreams. I mean wrong in that...well, just wrong.

                So whatever. I like watching the sunrise as much as the next person. And at least I'm not lying in the dark anymore. These are some major improvements.

                Really, I don't know why people don't do this more often. 

 

______________________________________________ 

 **Minutes, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 194**

 

And do you know what else is good about the whole not-sleeping-a-wink thing? The fact that— _while_ not sleeping a wink—I get the chance to really _think_. You know, in _depth_.

                Because the way I see it, thinking is pretty underappreciated these days. It's actually quite tragic. It just seems less and less utilized as the years go on, which is pretty sad considering the consequences otherwise, don’t you think? I mean, I am seriously starting to fear that thoughtless stupidity is a raging epidemic in today's already corrupt society. So _maybe_ if people would just give up some of their precious beauty sleep–—which, really, I'm pretty skeptical about, anyway. There's only so much rejuvenation can do for a person, you know?—our world just might be a little bit better of a place. 

                So for Merlin's sake, stop being so bloody _selfish_.

                Psh.

______________________________________________

 **Minutes, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 194**  

 

                Besides...I had a lot to think about.

                Most of which—according to a certain decree signed all of seven hours ago—I wasn't technically supposed to be thinking about, actually. But that's really not the point here.

                Because I've found that if you think about... _certain things_...abstractly enough, in the end, you’re not really thinking about them at all, are you? You’re thinking about something entirely different. Something...er...abstract.

                So there.

                Zero violations.

                Mm-hm.

______________________________________________

 **Minutes, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 194**

 

                I mean...I _hope,_ anyway.

                ...

                Bugger.

______________________________________________ 

 **It Continues, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 194**  

                Because the thing is...how can I _not_ think about everything? 

                I'm not doing this to spite my decree and I'm not doing it because I'm a sick, masochistic sort of girl, it's just that...well, a lot of random tidbits just make so much more _sense_ now. And when I finally managed to stop crying like the ever-leaking faucet that goes drip, drip, drip incessantly inside your head, I actually got the chance to take stock of them.

                Like MJ, for example—who, by the by, I have decided cannot be condemned even the tiniest bit for any of this madness. At least not by me, anyway. Sins of the father are _so_ ancient history—because now I understand why he's so very adorably strange. I mean, how would _you_ turn out in a family like the Rosiers? How would you deal with that? Most would have succumbed to their terrible ways, turned out just like them, but MJ hasn't. And I think the boy deserves some rather extensive credit for that.

                And...all right, so what if instead of turning into an evil teenage death spawn, he sort of turned into an introverted teenage encyclopedia? Whatever works, I say. And I'm going to fix that, anyway. Soon he'll be an _extroverted_ teenage encyclopedia, one with bunches and bunches of mates who can tolerate the phrase 'did you know that?' more than the average folk and who are just ecstatic to take MJ on. Just wait. It'll happen.

                So see? Completely enlightening non-sleep.

______________________________________________

 **More, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 194**  

  
And what about Elisabeth Saunders, hm? I understand her a bit more now, as well.

                And, all right, maybe I didn't really _want_ to learn more about Elisabeth Saunders, seeing as she is the bane of my existence and the one person I'm pretty sure I could attach a stick of dynamite to, light it, and then walk away whistling, but still. There were some enlightening revelations to recognise. Like that night outside the portrait hole when—

                Er.

                Okay.

                Redirect and rephrase.

                Um...

                Like that night outside the portrait hole when _I—_ me, entirely by myself—had rounds, but _certain people—_ if we were acknowledging such people, or if they were _hypothetically_ _there—_ had been absolutely furious about finding her all drunk and a mess. Because up until then, the pair of them had apparently been on strict probation for stuff like that. Even though I don't exactly know why. But I don't even really care about that—well, not _much_ , anyway. I mean, maybe I care a _tiny_ bit. But only a very small amount. Like...er...

                Oh, all right.

                Of course, I care. I'm dying to know what that whole thing was about. But we pick our battles. I think I should probably concentrate on surviving the next few days first, right?

                Psh.

                _Right_.

                But apparently this whole thing is pretty complicated. Like remember when she sprung at me? Saunders, I mean? After we—and by we, I of course mean me and the omnipresent Fates of the World who are _always_ there—found her? I rather knew then that the whole thing was caused by Saunders's unnatural attachment to J— _certain people—_ but now I get that it was a bit more than your average don't-go-near-my-ex-you-hag jealousy. She believed I was having a secret rendezvous with her previous fellow-drunken-savior-sort-of-thing and that was just not all right. Which, you know, I _sort of_ get. Because I like certain people, as well. Though not because I want to drink with them. Or pull mad stunts with them. Or procreate—

                Hm.

                Er...let's move on.

                So...Saunders. Right. I understand her. She was going through a very difficult time and clung to someone who was _also_ having a very difficult time and now...you know, refuses to let go. Which is really just stupid of her because she _should_ let go. I mean, considering their relationship was completely and utterly fake and all. It was faker than fake, really. It was so fake that they haven't even come up with a word that _describes_ the kind of fake it was.

                So...there.

                Yeah.

______________________________________________

 **Seconds, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 195**  

  
Idiot, idiot.

                Who the hell says the word procreation this early in the morning?

                Idiot, idiot, _idiot_ Lily.

                _Bugger_.

                Observation #195) UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

______________________________________________

 **A Bit Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 195**  

 

                I'm all right.

                A bit of cold water was just the ticket.

                Where was I?

                So…thinking. Right. I did a lot of that.

                And the thing is—speaking with complete obscurity and without the slightest basis in reality, of course, because I don't know anyone like this–—if someone's mother happened to go through something completely traumatic that therefore led _them_ into something completely traumatic...well, that certainly does say a lot about that person, doesn't it?

                And I suppose while I should probably be judging this hypothetical person a lot more harshly than I presently am—he did, after all, apparently do some pretty bloody stupid things—somehow...I just can't. I really can't. Because like Sirius said, maybe it's a lot of baggage, but it's baggage that was overcome. And that's...I don't know. Something. Something special.

                Psh.

                What rubbish.

______________________________________________

 **More More Moments, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 195**  

  
                God, thinking is _exhausting_.

                Or maybe that's just the not-sleeping thing.

                Whatever.

                Technicality.

______________________________________________

 **A Few Minutes, Still in the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 195**

 

                I cannot stay in this room any longer. 

                It is suffocating me. Seriously. It's suffocating me with thoughts. Thoughts that—let's be frank here—are not as obscure as I am making them out to be. So I have to get out of here. I just have to.

                I'm going downstairs. I am. Maybe I'll just stay in the common room, or maybe I'll hang about like a creeper in the corridors, or maybe I'll actually manage to get up some backbone and take a _peek_ inside the Great Hall—you know, just to see if I'd be violating the decree by being there—or maybe I'll go to the kitchens or something.

                I don't know what I'll do, but I can't stay in here.

                This place is not healthy.

                I am _choking._

                I’m leaving.

  
______________________________________________

 **Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 195**

 

                Well, hell.

                Is he serious?

                Is he bloody _serious_?

                I can't believe this. I really can't take it. What sort of sick game is he playing at, hm? What sort of medieval torture is he determined to inflict upon me? I mean, I know I'm a wretched person and I've got a crap guardian angel and on a scale from one to ten, my karma's about a negative forty-seven, not to mention the fact that I haven't yet removed myself to Guam, regardless of the necessity of my isolation...but _this_ I don't deserve. I just don't.

                He's waiting down there.

                I'm not even bloody kidding you, he's _waiting down there_.

                Who _does_ that? Who? I mean, the idiot is actually sitting right there on the couch in the common room, _waiting_ for me to come down! And I'm not even being my usual ridiculously-selfish-the-world-revolves-around-me-Lily when I say that—I _know_ he's waiting for me! I know it for a fact! And that's so...so...well, it practically borders on stalking to be perfectly honest, and in case anyone was wondering, that's _illegal_ in this country. And if he thinks that I won't report him to the authorities just because...well, he can just wait and see, can't he? Just _see_ if I don't have his stupid bum thrown into Azkaban...er, if you can be thrown into Azkaban for stalking. Which I'm not sure you can. But he'll be thrown somewhere and it certainly won't be very comfortable and that's enough for me!

                _Merlin_.

                I can't handle this.

                I swear, one of these days, I really am just going to crack.

                I wasn't expecting it. I mean, there I was, slipping down the girls' staircase, walking rather slowly—not because I thought that he was there, of course. That thought hadn't even crossed my mind. I was simply exhausted. Exhausted means slow. Thank _Merlin—_ still thinking up all the places I could go that would be better (and non-decree violating) than lying up there in my hell-turned-dorm, thinking about things that were really better left unthought about. I had dawdled about halfway down the staircase when, echoing up through the stony walls, I heard this particular call in a familiar voice that made me pause.

                "Hey, what are you doing up here? Why aren't you downstairs?"

                My ears instantly perked up, quickly recognising the voice as Marley's, a sudden bright spot in my rather dull morning. I grinned, more than happy to have a distraction. In my muddle-brained-tired state, I didn't really put two and two together and realise just _who_ Marley could be talking to. In fact, I was about a half-second away from skipping on down the stairs, happily going to meet her, when the response she got to her loud questionings froze me cold.

                Because guess—just bloody _guess—_ who answered her?

                "Hey, Marley. I'm just waiting here for Lily. I have to talk to her."

                Because of _course,_ it was him. 

_And he was bloody waiting for me!!!_

                I didn't wait around to hear the rest. I turned right on my heel and sped as quickly—but as _quietly_. I did _not_ want to be caught—as I possibly could back up the stairs, straight into my dorm, straight into my bed, and did not look back. I could _not_ look back.

                What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with this stupid prat?

                I mean, honestly, the second—the very bleeding _second—_ that I decide—for his own _good_ , might I add!—to keep my distance from him, to keep him happy and safe and not so utterly and completely _miserable_ because I am an indecisive _tart_ , he decides to talk to me?!? To WAIT for me? Even though as of yesterday, he was NOT EVEN ACKNOWLEDGING ME??

                What the hell?

                WHAT the HELL?

                I hate him.

                I hate him _so much_. 

______________________________________________

 **Even Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 194**

 

                I have to get by him. I _have_ to. If I let him talk to me now, the entire plan will be shot. It will be worthless— _I’ll_ be worthless. My resolve will be gone—for Merlin's sake, it's practically gone _now_ what with the fact that he...he _waited_ for me. And he wants to talk to me. Even though I was an unfeeling brat about MJ and completely brushed him off last night. He still...he...

                See?

                DO YOU SEE?

                I should not be allowed in public. I should just be locked in a closet. Forever. The world would be a much safer place.

                What am I going to _do_? 

______________________________________________

 **A Bit Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 194**  

   
                Hm.

                Hm Hm.

                I...I _think_ I have a plan.

                Yes.

                Yes, indeed.

                Grace.

                I need Grace.

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 196**

    
                "Grace. _Gracie!_ "

                I crawled up on Grace's bed, politely attempting to stir her from the Land of the Dead with my quiet, yet forceful—one _must_ be forceful with these things, you know—callings as she snored away under her covers, completely unaware of the desperation with which I needed her. But instead of rising up all helpfully from the deep depths of sleep and kindly inquiring what it is that she can do for her very lovely, very best mate this fine morning, Grace simply muttered something incoherently, rolled over to her side, and effectively ignored me.

                Psh.

                Mates.

                Really, what use are they?

                Though mildly distressing, I did not let such terrible treatment damper my determination. Giving her a good glare (even though she couldn't see it), I simply decided that what Grace _really_ needed was a nice, gentle prodback into consciousness. You know, to _physically stimulate_ her wakefulness.

                And if the girl nearly toppled off her bed in the process...well, that's not my fault.

                I mean, it was barely a _tap_ , really.

                Hm.

                "Wha– _ahh!_ "

                Grace scrambled wildly on the end of her bed, flipping her body over in a mad attempt to keep herself from an unfortunate, impromptu trip to the dormitory floor, looking very much like a helpless fish squirming upon land. I sat silently on my side of her bed, patiently waiting for her to recover. When she finally did settle herself properly, her wild eyes instantly darted over to mine. She didn't look exactly happy. I expected that, however.

                "What _the fuck_ ," she growled, "do you _want_?"

                Merlin, _someone's_ a bit cranky.

                And she doesn't even have to follow a stupid decree.

                "Good morning, Gracie!" I greeted cheerfully, giving her my very best smile. "How are you?"

                Grace moaned very loudly, muttered some things that I cannot and will not repeat (but will, of course, stow away for future use, just in case), and then flipped herself onto her side, giving me her back again.

                Psh. So rude.

                "How much do you love me, Gracie?" I asked her, never put off from my ultimate goal, even in the face of blatant rejection. I jumped down from her bed, quickly going to her other side and crouching down on the floor beside her. I regarded her determinedly-squinted face with a sorrowful look that probably would have brought her to the brink of tears if she had bothered to open her eyes to see it. "You love me more than anyone in the world, right?"

                "No."

                "Well, I've got to be top _five,_ at least."

                "What do you _want_?" she snapped, eyes still clamped shut.

                "Nothing much," I answered innocently, shrugging my shoulders a bit. "Just...you know, a favor. A small one, really. Very, very small. Like microscopic, practically. If my favor were a physical object, it would be so tiny, you'd lose it. Seriously."

                "What do you _want_?" she asked again, not even a bit more friendly.

                I clicked my tongue softly and gave her a dirty look, even though she couldn't see it because she was still refusing to look at me. I pulled a bit on the ends of my hair, but got to the point. "Would you like to take a trip?" I asked.

                She didn't even pause to answer. She didn't even _think_ about it.

                "No."

                "No?" I tried not to whine. "Well, why not? Gracie, you need to pull yourself _together_. This is for you as much as it is for me. I'm simply trying—"

                " _No_."

                I frowned heavily at her. "Gracie, I'm _desperate_. You have to help me!"

                It might have been the fact that I sounded so miserable, or it might have been because Grace had finally found her compassion located somewhere back in the Land of Dreams, or maybe it was simply because Grace is an intelligent girl and knows when she's fighting a losing battle. But for whatever reason, she—very _reluctantly_ , I admit—cracked open one eye.

                Ah, sweet victory.

                I could practically _smell_ it.

                "What sort of trip?" she muttered.

                I instantly perked up, smiling my best smile at her once again. "A very short one," I promised, nodding my head in a very encouraging, oh-you-know-you-want-to-do-this-you-silly-girl sort of way. Grace only sighed heavily. The other eye popped open.

                "The loo is a short trip," she informed me, looking very suspicious. "Do you want me to go with you to the loo?"

                "Er, no."

                "The common room?"

                I grinned. "To start."

                Grace eyes narrowed fiercely. They stared at me dubiously.

                "To start?" she asked, not liking that answer. "What's the fuck that mean? And Lily—" Her eyes ceased their narrowing. In fact, they suddenly were doing quite the opposite, widening at an almost alarming rate. Their look changed from dubiousness to shock.

                Then they twinkled.  

                Uh-oh.

                "Lily," she said slowly, sitting up slightly. "Are you wearing what I _think_ you're wearing?"

                ...

                Er.

                Shit.

                Oops.

                "No?" I answered, wincing.

                Except, really, there was no use denying it—I don't know why I was even bothering to try. It's not as if it wasn't _lying_ there around my neck, screaming its presence. It's not as if Grace didn't know exactly what it was, exactly what it meant. It's not as if I could take it back.

                All right. _Fine_. I'd put James's lucky scarf back on.

                I'm weak and girlish.

                So sue me.

                "Shut up," I muttered crossly, when Grace began to laugh. "Just shut up, shut _up_. I know I'm pathetic, all right? I get it. Ha ha on Lily."

                "This is cold turkey?" Grace cackled, _really_ getting into it now. God, wasn't she just _asleep_ a second ago? "This is 'we are not to see, speak, or think of James Potter until I say so'? Sleeping with his scarf?"

                "I didn't _sleep_ with it," I snapped bitterly, wondering why I even bothered. I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't sleep much _at all_ , thank you very much! And I only put it on just now," I told her defensively, "because he's _waiting for me_."

                "Who's waiting for you?"

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

                "Who do you think?" I snapped, rolling my eyes. "James! He's waiting for me! Downstairs! He wants to _talk to me_."

                "All right," Grace answered slowly, clearly not getting it. "And the problem is...?"

                "Grace!" I cried, wanting to hit her. "I can't _talk_ to him! Cold turkey, remember? _Cold turkey!"_

                "But you haven't _gone_ cold turkey," Grace reminded me, nodding to the scarf, as if I needed a reminder. I glared at her some more.

                "I am!" I insisted, and really, I almost believed it. "I really am! This," I said, holding up the scarf, "was just a moment of weakness. But I am back on track. Really, I am. Which is why I need you."

                "To go down to the common room?" Grace asked. She shot me a look. "What am I supposed to do? Jump him while you run?"

                "No," I answered, suddenly much more placated now that she seemed plenty more amenable to my plan. "You see, _I_ was thinking that you might want to go down there and...perhaps take a walk."

                "Take a walk?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What sort of walk?"

                "A short one," I said, grinning. "And, you know, so you don't get _lonely_ ," I quickly added, nodding my head encouragingly, "you might want to take someone with you. Like James."

                Grace continued to stare at me blankly. "So you want me to go downstairs, convince James to go on a walk with me, and then take him...where, exactly?"

                "Away," I answered simply, helpfully. "Just...away. And then I can dash off to the Hospital Wing where I will convince the Sadist Pomfrey that I am too ill for visitors."

                "You're not even remotely ill," Grace muttered blandly. "Except in the _head_."

                Really, I don't have time for this.

                "Gracie," I pleaded, practically on my hands and knees. _"Please."_

                Grace seemed to think about it for a few moments, carefully looking me over as if to gauge just what level of madness I had reached and what her refusing to go along with my scheme would do to that level. It must have been something quite unfortunate, because she finally heaved a great sigh, looked at me with disdain, and said, "You're lucky I like you."

                Which, really, is all I was ever asking for.

                Just a little bit of like.

                And, you know, a walk.

                But whatever. It's almost the same thing.

Observation #196) My mates love me. Even if very few other people do.

______________________________________________

 **More Later, Hospital Wing  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 196**

                Grace took about a thousand years to get up and get dressed, taking her bloody sweet time about it while I paced and panicked in front of her bed. I knew my plan was brilliant—I, the creator of the Mac-Just-Write-Her-A-Bloody-Letter scheme, had come up with it, hadn't I?—and that it _could_ work if everyone just cooperated. And while I also knew that James wasn't usually one to listen to reason—or at least not when I _needed_ him to, anyway—I was confident in Grace's abilities of persuasion. She's very good when she sets her mind to things.

                But I figured a bit of a pep talk while she brushed her teeth wasn't such a bad idea.

                You know, to get the persuasive juices flowing and all.

                "Talk about Quidditch," I suggested helpfully, leaning on the doorjamb of our dormitory's loo, watching as Grace—really, she's so _slow—_ leisurely massaged her molars. "Just be all, 'Oh, hullo, James. Let us go chat about our...er...offensive strategies!'"

                "I'm a beater," Grace told me flatly. "That's defensive, Lil."

                "That's what I meant."

                "I'm sure."

                I scowled, not very happy with her flippancy. "Gracie, please. This is not the time to pick on Lily-the-Quidditch-Inept. This is _important_."

                Grace spit decidedly _un_ gracefully into the sink and then looked up at me, rolling her eyes. "How about this," she said, giving me a look. "I'll go down there, say 'Hullo, James. Let's take a walk.' He'll say yes. We go. You run. Yeah?"

                I scowled harder.

                Really, why do I put up with her?               

                "Don't make light of this, Gracie," I warned. "You have a difficult task ahead of you."

                "Yeah, right," Grace snorted. She stepped out of the loo, making her way back into the dormitory. I dogged her every step. "Very difficult."

                "Just don't be too obvious," I reminded, following behind her as she went to fetch her trainers from the closet, biting at my lip. "I mean, don't look like I told you to distract him. Be subtle. Really, really subtle. Like...like something that's subtle. Just like that."

                "Got it," Grace muttered, tugging on her shoe. "No 'Lily's hiding in the stairwell waiting for me to whisk you off''s."

                I sighed heavily. "That's all I ask."

                Grace stood, finally presentable enough to get to work. She took a quick look around the room before turning her gaze back at me. Her expression was little more than utterly sardonic.

                "So how long am I supposed to keep him wandering around for again?" She pulled her hair up and tied it quickly.

                I pursed my lips. "Well"—I tap at my chin—"if I run, I can probably make it down there in a few minutes, right? The tough part's going to be convincing Pomfrey to let me stay...seeing as we are currently in the midst of a love-hate relationship. With an emphasis on the hate part."

                A rather large emphasis.

                But I'm a firm believer in that fine line between love and hate.

                Grace sighed loudly, obviously not as firm a believer. "Why do you antagonise her?" she asked tiredly.

                I took instant offense at this sort of slander. "Excuse me, but _she_ started it!" I cross my arms over my chest. "I would just like to remind you that while I—an innocent, injured girl—did nothing at all to torment her, that woman threatened my life on several occasions! _And_ she stole from me! _And_ wouldn't give me rice!"

                "Oh, yes, that's just how it happened," Grace muttered, cracking a grin. She grabbed her bag off her bed and shrugged it over her shoulder. She turned back to me then, nodding her head. "All right. Let's get this show on the road, yeah?"

                "I love you, Gracie," I replied dutifully.

                Grace snorted. "You're doing my Charms homework for a month." But even as she said this, she began to make her way towards the door, which is exactly why my professed love was not a lie. "Are you following me down?" she asked.

                I nodded. "I'll wait in the stairwell."

                "Ah, yes," she laughed, shooting me a grin. "And if all else fails, stun him from the shadows and run while he's unconscious."

                "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

                "Indeed."

                I was silent as we finally got to the door, trying very hard to muffle my footsteps and any other sound that may have alerted certain people of my presence. I really shouldn't have worried about it, however, because Grace was—rather brilliantly, actually. _This_ is why I keep her around—making enough of a racket that I probably could have tumbled down the stairs with a gaggle of elephants and the common room _still_ wouldn't have been the wiser. As she thundered down the stairs, her bag sliding noisily against the stone walls, her loud humming echoing into the common room, I carefully sneaked down the stairs behind her, stopping when I was hidden just out of sight.

                Grace's loud greeting started the whole plan rolling.

                "Why, hullo, my good fellow. How are you this fine morning?"

                Oy, with the dramatics.

                I could really smack her sometimes.

                 "Hey, Grace," I heard James say (which did _not_ , by the way, make my heart jump. I simply stumbled a bit on the stairs. Heart jump was entirely stair-related) not sounding all that enthusiastic to see her, which I wasn't really all that surprised about. "What are you doing up?"

                "I thought I'd greet this bright morning a bit early today," Grace replied, sounding very casual—or as casual as she _could_ sound while talking like such a dolt, anyway. "But I am very glad I ran into you. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

                "Can't," James answered. "Is Lily up there?"

                Grace paused for a moment. "Up there in what _sense_?" she finally asked.

                Oh, for goodness _sake_.

                "Grace," James said, and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Come on. Can you get her? I need to talk to her."

                "That is a bad idea."

                "Why?"

                "Trust me."

                There was another pause, one in which I couldn't be sure what exactly was happening. Was James debating whether to barrel up the staircase, damn it all? Was Grace giving him her don't-even-go-there-buddy look? Had hexes already flown? Had he given up? Had she abandoned the plan?

                WHAT WAS GOING ON?

                "Come along," Grace finally said, and I almost sighed in relief, but realised quickly that that would be rather foolish considering people-who-aren't-supposed-to-be-present can't exactly just go sighing loudly in echoing stairwells and all. "We'll have ourselves a bit of a chat. I'm the closest thing you'll be getting to Lily this morning."

                "What's that supposed to mean?"

                "Let's just walk."

                I heard James grumble something that I couldn't quite make out, but there was also the unmistakable sound of footsteps and then the telltale opening and closing of the portrait hole, which let me know that Grace had succeeded in her task.

                Thank _Merlin_!

                That girl is getting a bloody good Christmas present.

                I stayed in the stairwell for a few minutes, giving Grace a bit of time to get James as far away from the Tower and the predetermined path I'd momentarily be sprinting along in order to get myself to the Hospital Wing unnoticed as she could. I tried not to think about all the madness that could—and, knowing me, undoubtedly _would—_ erupt. But I had faith in Grace and faith in—well, perhaps not in its ability to _heal_ , but certainly in my feet's ability to run.

                I was a good runner.

                I could do this.

                I didn't much consider the sort of spectacle I was about to turn myself into as I unceremoniously shot off from the stairwell, taking the remaining steps three at a time and dashing across the common room, making it through the portrait hole in record time. I didn't stop then. My feet moved instinctively, running at a pace that I do believe was as near to a sprint as I could manage while still being able to navigate successfully through the corridors. Things got a bit messy when I reached the stairwells—I couldn't be sure just where Grace might have shuffled James off to and one must be very careful in the universal location that are the Hogwarts moving staircases—but someone or something must have been on my side, because before I knew it, I was pushing through the doors of the Hospital Wing, my mission more than halfway complete.

                The place was mostly empty, with one decidedly purplish-tinted fellow lying in a bed on the right (I wasn't even going to ask) and the occasional house elf shuffling along silently. I spotted the bed I had been confined to yesterday covered partially by a curtain towards the back of the room and suddenly, the dreaded cot didn't look so terrible anymore. In fact, it looked pretty damn near wonderful. I took a few steps further into the wing, my hiding place in sight, when a familiar questioning _tut_ reached my ears. I very nearly cringed.

                Because this was my hurdle.

                In the form of sadist nurse.

                Bugger.

                "Miss Evans. Still alive, I see?"

                I pivoted slowly on my heel, looking over to my left and catching sight of Madam Pomfrey. She was standing before one of the medicine cabinets, a clipboard in hand, her eyebrow cocked mockingly at me.

                Oh, dear. 

                "Just barely," I answered slowly, forcing on my most innocent of expressions as I took a few steps towards her. "However, I fear things are getting blurry—just as I predicted they would. I do believe that I should lie down."

                I put a hand—the injured one (more of an effect)—to my forehead and wobbled.

                Pomfrey clearly has no appreciation for the dramatic arts.

                "Lie down?" she repeated dubiously, ignoring my wobbling, her eyebrow now reaching catastrophic heights. "And you thought to get out of bed and come all the way down here to do so? Interesting."

                Bugger, _bugger_.

                "Madam—"

                "This is a Hospital Wing, Miss Evans." She wouldn’t even give me the opportunity to spew my ever-so-convincing lies. "I would think that as Head Girl, you would be mature enough to respect that."

                "I am, but—"

                "There are many truly sick and injured people in this castle."

                I nearly snorted at that one.

                What, Purple Boy?

                Oh, yeah. The place is just _overflowing_ with the sickly.

                "Yes, I know, Madam, but—"

                "Do you really?"

                "Of course. I—"

                "Well, I think we both know where you should be, then, don't we?"

                Oh, no.

                No, no, no, no, _no_.

                "Madam Pomfrey!" I cried suddenly, quite without any intention of doing so, the words just falling out when I saw my plan beginning to fall into shambles. "You have to listen! This _transcends_ illness and injury. This transcends _everything_." All I got was the eyebrow, but I blubbered on anyway, my voice rising to hysterics. "There is a _boy_ , Madam," I said slowly, pointing out the Hospital Wing doors. "There is a boy who is, as we speak, being cleverly detained somewhere in this castle. But that won't stop him—it really, really won't. And you are my only savior now. You're the only one who can keep him away. I am sicker than you can ever imagine— _internally_. The very precarious balance of my mental state hinges on whether or not I can keep this boy away. So I'm begging you— _pleading_ with you—let me stay. _Please_ let me stay, Madam."

                I was practically panting at the end of that little tirade, ignoring the looks I was getting from the elves and Purple Boy—honestly, he's _purple_. Who is he to judge me?—and focusing instead entirely on Pomfrey, who was looking quite a bit startled at my outburst. Her face soon went back to its normally pinched expression, however, and my heart practically drooped at what I figured that meant. I was already frantically trying to think of other places I could hide (the dungeons? The Astronomy Tower? Was snorkeling allowed in the Great Lake?) when Pomfrey finally spoke.

                "The bed at the back is free," she said, looking back down at her clipboard. "I want to look at your arm and change that bandage."

                The bed...

                I could stay?

                She was actually going to let me _stay_?

                That rant had _worked_?!

                "Oh, thank you, Madam!" I all but shouted, very much wanting to hug her, but one look at her stern face had me reverting back to utter professionalism. Sort of. "What I mean, of course," I quickly added, giving her a nod, all seriousness, "is that you're a very good medical professional. It's just lovely of you to take care of me this way. Hogwarts would be a sad place without you. A sad, sad place, indeed."

                Pomfrey practically rolled her eyes.

                "In bed, Miss Evans," was what she said, and then walked away.

                And really, who was I to deny her such a thing?

                Because maybe she's not all that bad. You know, like perhaps she's not all tyrannical despot.

                I mean, don't get me wrong—that's _part_ of her, certainly. But now I'm thinking that perhaps she has _another_ side to her, one that isn't so horrifically wretched. Like maybe, deep down inside, she just might actually have a spot of humanity in her. You just have to push past all the bitter hostility to get to it. And I suppose that taunting her with quills and informing her of the quiet riots going on amidst her ranks isn't really the best way to do that. However, I think I've finally discovered a way that _does—_ or it certainly seems that way to me.

                Because, apparently, Pomfrey has a soft spot for girls in the midst of romantic woes.

                Really, who knew?

                What a fab woman, that Pomfrey.

                A fab, fab woman.

______________________________________________ 

 **Later, Still in the Hospital Wing  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 197**  

Observation #197) In the future, it will perhaps not be best to get acid poured on me. The end result is just not pretty.  
   
                I totally don't blame Katie Frost anymore. I think I'm about to pass out, as well.

                Merlin, that burn is _gross_.

                Seriously. It's about the grossest thing I've ever seen. And it's _on my body_.

                Purple Boy (who, by the by, is actually a third-year Hufflepuff called Roy. And the purple tint is actually an allergic reaction to some sort of Zonko's product that his mates sneaked into his bed. I told him he should sue. He just wants to hurt his mates) thinks it's pretty gross, as well. He is also, however, completely and utterly captivated by it—he rushed all the way from his bed to mine just to see and stare—but I'm pretty sure that that's just a thirteen-year-old boy thing. He keeps asking me to take the bandage off again, begging and begging to get another look. Pomfrey told him that she'd bandage _him_ if he didn't stay where he was put. Roy found that quite hilarious. I might have found it a bit funny, as well, if I wasn't—oh, yes, that's right— _on the verge of vomiting_.

                As if I wasn't unattractive _enough_.

                How long do acid burns last?

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, Still Still in the Hospital Wing  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

 

                Oh, dear.

                Look what's just arrived for me:

 

                _Dear Lily,_  
  
_Well, that was certainly an interesting note, wasn't it? You're quite lucky that Auntie Mae and I had that fudge making session—_ _and that your father prefers biscuits and that Petunia has decided fudge is bad for her complexion—_ _because I still had plenty to go round. I've attached along an extra-large portion and hope that it reaches you fine. Will Winnie be all right with all this extra weight, do you think? I do so feel bad for the poor dear, having to fly all across England and now with a heavy parcel! But Lily..._

_What is this really about?_

_I know I teased you in my last letter, but is this truly about a boy? I'm not saying that I'm not very glad you've found someone to fancy—_ _sometimes I don't think you let yourself be enough of a teenage girl, worrying over everything as you do!—_ _but if you need to seduce the poor fellow with fudge...well, what does that tell you? Not that I'm sure this James isn't perfectly lovely—_ _he would have to be, to catch your attention—_ _but I do worry about you sometimes. You do occasionally have the tendency to make a mountain out of a molehill. I wouldn't want you to let this sort of thing overwhelm you. Just think about it, won't you, love? And you know you can talk to me about anything, don't you? I'm always here to listen._

_Well, I must be off now—_ _the ladies from the Women's Club are coming round for cards. They've got this new game, something about jacks and aces. I'm going to try to get Tuney to play. Wish me luck!_

_I love you, Lily._

_Mum_

               

                Oh, Mum.

                She's so very lucky that I am particularly appreciative of mothers right now.

                What the bloody hell am I going to do with all this fudge?

                _Bugger_.

______________________________________________

 **Later, Hospital Wing (Still)  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

    
                I was munching on a muffin that my new best mate—seriously, why did I ever dislike her? I mean, so what if she's a bit of a sadistic kleptomaniac? Who cares? I'm a compulsive liar with an avaricious streak. We've all got our problems—had had her elves fetch for me, when, lo and behold, who would walk into the Hospital Wing but my _other_ best mate, fresh off her recent mission. Grace waltzed in through the double doors, munching on her own bit of toast and tossing a smile at Roy—who, we were quite happy to find, had recently dimmed to a pleasant sort of magenta—looking quite content with herself.

                She stopped in the middle of the room, craning her neck, trying to spot me.

                "Gracie!" I called, popping my head out from behind my curtain. "Over here!"

                Grace turned, then snorted when she saw me.

                "Very nice," she said, walking over, nodding appreciatively. "You've got your own curtain-shield and everything. Plan a success, eh?"

                "I don't know, you tell me." I moved over so that she could plop herself down on the bed next to me. She dropped her books on the floor and did just that, but didn't say anything else. I looked at her expectantly, but she didn't take the hint. I scowled. She was taking too bloody long. "Well?" I prodded. "How did it go?"

                Grace bit into her toast. "You got away, didn't you?"

                Why in the world would she think that that's even the point?

                "Come on, Gracie," I whined, looking very pathetic, I suppose, but if you can't be pathetic in front of your best mates, who _can_ you be pathetic in front of? "What did you do? What did you say? What did _he_ say?"

                "I thought you were going cold turkey?" Grace asked flatly, sending a smirk my way. Her eyes twinkled at me. "Or should I go fetch your scarf?"

                Oh, ha. Just _so_ clever, isn't she?

                And she wouldn't have to go _fetch it_ , anyway, because it just so happens that it's back in my bag. Which is on the floor. Right here next to me.

                But that's not the point.

                Or even important.

                I hope.

                "Oh, what a laugh you are," I muttered darkly, shooting her a nasty look as she cracked herself up, so hysterically that I sincerely hoped that she also managed to crack a few ribs. "Just _so_ funny. I hope you just choke yourself with laughter one day. What a way to go."

                "Oh, quit being so bitter," Grace cackled, throwing her arm around my shoulders. "It's not my fault you're horrendously obsessed with the bloke."

                "I am not horrendously obsessed," I insisted testily, though it was a big fat lie and we both knew it. "I am simply...involved. But that's all. There are vastly more important things in my life right now."

                "Like Darling Amos?" Grace asked, eyebrows wiggling.

                Umm.

                Hm.

                "Yes," I answered slowly, my tongue for some reason not seeming to work properly anymore. It felt like it was stuck on the roof of my mouth. "Yes, exactly like Amos."

                Grace stared at me.

                "That was hesitation," she accused, sounding completely dumbfounded. Her eyes were wide as she looked at me. "Lily...that was _hesitation_! You hesitated and didn't even call him the light and love of your life! Do you realise that?"

                "So?" I snapped, wanting to explain about the tongue-roof thing, but suddenly finding that it was happening again. "I...so?"

                "So?" Grace repeated, grinning devilishly. " _So?_ I'd say that's rather telling, isn't it?"

                "No."

                "No?"

                " _No_."

                Or perhaps I just didn't want it to be telling.

                Merlin, I'm a _mess_.

                Grace seemed to realise that this conversation was officially off the discussable list, but she was grinning rather largely to herself, anyway. As for me, I didn't much feel like thinking about any of that. At all. Not now. Maybe not ever.

                I could do that, couldn't I?

                "We talked about you," Grace suddenly said, her voice low, but deliberate. My gaze snapped over to hers, my heart pounding against my chest.

                "What?" I asked stupidly. Grace gave me a bit of a smirk.

                "I did try the whole Quidditch thing," she insisted, shrugging her shoulders, "but he wasn't really going for it. The bloke's got a bit of a one-track mind."

                Oh.

                Right.

                "What did you...I mean, what did you talk about? Exactly?"

                Grace shrugged again. "A lot of things," she answered vaguely. She turned her head and looked at me, a slightly more sympathetic expression on her face. "He really wants to talk to you."

                I practically withered.

                "I can't, Grace," I mumbled, shaking my head. "I just...I can't, all right? I'm not going to drag him even further into this. I won't trample upon him anymore."

                "Don't you think it's a bit late for that, Lil?" There was a slight wince in her voice. "I mean, any more involved and the pair of you would _be_ involved, don't you think?"

                "But we're not," I insisted stubbornly, boosting up the determination that I _know_ was in there sometime last night. "We're not and we're not going to be…well, we're not going to be _anything_ until I go on this date with Amos tomorrow and figure the whole thing out. That's my decision. And if he doesn't like it...well, it's for his own good. So he better get used to it."

                "Are you sure?" Grace asked.

                No.

                Not even remotely.

                But I nodded anyway.

                "Yes," I answered. "Yes, I'm sure."

                Things were a bit silent after that, both of us sitting on the cot, taking the moment to nibble at our respective edibles. I knew Grace was probably thinking that I'm being a complete ninny about the whole thing, but...I'm not. This is just how it has to be for now. Besides, she is completely and utterly pro-James—of _course_ she'd think the plan is faulty. But she's biased. So she's wrong.

                It's a _good_ plan...just not exactly an _easy_ one.

                "Oh, and just to let you know," Grace added a few moments later, after we had both had a bit of time to nibble and think, "you're sort of a choice topic right now."

                "I'm a what?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

                "Everyone's talking about you," Grace reiterated, shrugging her shoulders. 

                Er...

                What? 

                "Why?" I asked, trying not to groan. For Merlin's sake, what the hell did I do _now_?

                "What do you mean, 'why'?" Grace shot me a look. "Do _you_ know many people who get acid burns?"

                Oh.

                That.

                Right.

                "Oh, bloody hell." I actually groan this time. "That's going to be annoying."

                "You bet," Grace said, cracking a grin. "I've already had two first-years come and ask me how long you've got left."

                "Days," I muttered crossly, sulking. "Hours. Minutes. I haven't quite decided when I'm going to off myself yet." I sighed heavily. "Hand me that container, would you? I think I'm going to need some comfort today."

                Grace grabbed the container of fudge that I had put on the bedside table along with the envelope my mother's letter had come in (the actual correspondence _may_ have been accidentally spit upon and stashed in my bag). She looked at it curiously.

                "What is it?" she asked, handing over the container, but keeping the envelope herself. She glanced at it, flipping it over in her hands.

                "Fudge," I answered, the word coming out on a sigh. I popped open the top and instantly reached in. "And I know that perhaps fudge isn't part of your usual balanced breakfast, but I really think—"

                "Oh," Grace interrupted suddenly, "my _god_. I have an idea."

                My head snapped over. Grace was staring down at my mum's envelope, her eyes sparkling.

                "Give me a quill!" she cried.

                "What?" I asked dumbly.

                "Give me a quill!" she cried again, holding out her hand now and jostling it up and down expectantly. It took me a moment to move—what the bloody hell did she mean, 'I have an idea'?—but Grace's bobbing hand soon had me lunging quickly for the desired writing utensil. I grabbed the one that I had stowed away in here and placed it in her hand. Grace was instantly in motion, bringing her knees up onto the bed and balancing the envelope—what was she _doing_?—against them. She popped open the flap on the back and leaned over. She began hastily scribbling something onto it.

                What?

                "Um, Grace," I started slowly, watching her write, "what are you...?"

                Grace sprang up suddenly, dropping the quill onto the bed and closing the envelope flap back up. She finally turned to look at me, her smile almost manic.

                Oh, dear. 

                "I am," she declared, "the most brilliant beyond brilliant beyond _brilliant_ woman to ever live! Take a look at _that_!"

                She thrust the envelope at me, the manic smile practically taking over now. I took the envelope slowly, bringing it towards me and warily flickering my eyes between Grace and the object of her lunacy. Quite a bit frightened, I carefully flipped the envelope over and warily lifted the flap.

                In Grace's familiar handwriting, there were six words written in dark, black ink.

                **Well, that was easy, wasn't it?**

                Er...

                Hm.

                Am I...missing something?

                "Er...brilliant?" I said, eyeing Grace warily. "Very, very, er...genius?"

                "You don't get it," Grace said flatly, as if it were my fault.

                Well, _obviously_.

                "Um, no," I answered, not knowing what else to say.

                Grace rolled her eyes.

                " _Think_ about it, Lily," she said, the wicked gleam in her eyes positively radiating. "We can make tons and tons of them—just envelope after envelope—and they can all say something brilliant. In fact, I think the next one should say, 'All great love letters start with an open flap' and—"

                Oh my god.

                Oh my _god_!

                She _is_ brilliant!!

                "Gracie," I said, smiling just as madly as she. "You _are_ brilliant!"

                Oh, she's going to kill us.

                She's going to kill us _so badly_.

                I can't _wait_.

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, On the Way to Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

                 
**THE EVANS-REYNOLDS ENVELOPE FACTORY WORKER'S GUIDE  
(also known as MEDDLING IN EMMELINE'S LOVE LIFE VIA PROJECTILES)**

 

 **STEP ONE** : _Create Your Envelope._

                Creating your envelope/projectile is fun! First, halve your square parchment into one big triangle. Then, fold the two side angles into the middle, tucking one into the other in order to build a strong, envelopish hold. Thirdly, fold your tucked edges up, forming the bottom of your envelope. Lastly, fold down your flap and— _voila!_ —projectile completed!

(Please note: spellotape can be necessary and avoid paper cuts at all costs. Ouch)

 

 **STEP TWO:** _Inscribe Your Taunting Message._

Now is not the time to hold back! Flip open your flaps (Please note: _Envelope_ flaps. All other flaps—especially those on clothes—should remain closed at all times) and write your most taunting message! Go on! MAKE HER CRINGE.

 

 **STEP THREE** : _Find Your Target._

Now is the time to locate your target. Make sure that this target is out of professor range and cannot easily escape. It is your task as a Devoted Factory Worker to make sure your target is as accessible as possible. So do your job. (Please note: moving by force can be necessary)

 

 **STEP FOUR:** _Attack!_

Using whatever means necessary (spell, charm, arm strength, messenger pigeon, gravity, etc.) zone in on your target and... _attack!_ Launch your envelope projectile at him/her/it and make an impact! Don't let him/her/it forget that there are OTHER ENVELOPES JUST LIKE THE ONES THEY ARE BEING HIT WITH IN THIS CASTLE.

 

 **STEP FIVE:** _Look Innocent_.

                Devoted Factory Workers must appear to know nothing of anything while ALSO letting the target know THEY ARE WATCHING.

 

 **STEP SIX:** _Repeat._

______________________________________________

 **Still Later, Just Before Charms, Charms Classroom  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 197**  

 

**Ready? -GR**

You know I am. What does your first one say? -LE

**I thought I'd stick with a classic: 'That was easy, wasn't it?'. And you?**

Flippant fun: "Practice makes perfect. Go again!"

**I like it.**

Thank you.

**Where do you think Emma is?**

I don't know. But when she _does_ get here, she won't know what hit her.

**Literally.**

Mwa-haha.

**You're getting a bit too into this, Lil. I am slightly worried.**

My meddling instincts are on overdrive. Blame them.

**Well, this is sure to damper them—** **look who just walked in.**

Oh, _bugger_.

Wait...WHY IS HE COMING OVER HERE?!?!

**I told you he wanted to talk to you.**

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Well, that was exceptionally mature, Lil. Hiding under the desk. That's new.**

I wasn't _hiding_. I was getting my quill. Which I dropped.

**On purpose.**

_Accidentally_ -on-purpose. There is a world of a difference.

**I'm sure.**

There is! And thank you for not letting him climb under the desk after me. You're a very good mate.

**He _was_ rather insistent on it, wasn't he?**

He _did_ threaten to forcefully move you. I'm glad you stood your ground, though. You're a very tough bird.

**I know. I just couldn't have him turning you into a pile of mush-mess. I need you as a Devoted Factory Worker.**

...I wouldn't turn into mush-mess.

**Uh-huh.**

Shut up.

**You know, I just might turn on you next. If anyone needs romantic help, it really is you.**

Oh, be quiet. I'll have you know—OH!!! EMMA!!!

**Projectile at the ready. Over and out?**

Over and out.

______________________________________________ 

 **Even Later, Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

 

                Grace and I were sitting at our desk, envelopes at the ready—though cleverly hidden, of course—when Emma finally decided to stumble into the classroom, carrying her books and looking a bit hassled. This normally may have made me feel slightly bad for her—especially considering what we were about to do—but my meddlesome instincts wouldn't quite let that happen. She has only herself to blame, after all.

                "Hi," she said, sounding slightly breathless. She dropped her books on the empty chair next to Grace. "Where have the pair of you been? I was looking all over and—"

                "I'm sorry, Em, but you can't sit there."

                Emma stopped speaking. She looked at Grace in confusion. "What?" she asked.

                Grace slipped her envelope out from beneath her books and held it out to Emma while I watched with barely-contained glee. My meddling side was practically singing in happiness. "I think this will explain everything," she said.

                Emma glanced down at the envelope, then back at Grace, then down to the envelope again, the befuddlement all over her face. Slowly, she reached out for it, taking the folded parchment from Grace's hand and examining the blank outside curiously. After about a billion years, she finally managed to flip the envelope over and pop open the flap. She looked inside first, found nothing, and then finally seemed to notice our clever note. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read.

                "What?" was her response.

               Not the brightest bulb in the lot, is she?

                "Well, was it?" I asked, prodding her along.

                Emma only stared at me.

                Oh, bother.

                "Was it what?" she asked, and I really wanted to strangle her in exasperation. I mean, honestly, do I have to spell it out?

                "Opening the envelope," I answered, deciding now was simply not the time to be subtle—we'd be here all bloody _morning—_ as I looked at her imploringly. I put an exceptionally large amount of emphasis in my voice as I went on. "It wasn't very difficult, was it? _Opening_ the envelope, _reading its contents_...?"

                Emma still stared. At first I thought we were actually going to have to explain it to her—and that _really_ would have taken half the fun out of everything—but then, quite suddenly (but about bloody _time_ ),Emma's face darkened.

                Er...a lot.

                I suppose she finally caught on.

                "This," Grace said, before Emma could get anything out, "is an intervention, Emmeline. Prepare to be intervened upon."

                Emma did not appear to want to be intervened upon. In fact, as her face darkened and her eyes grew a nasty amount of fire in them, she looked downright hostile about it.

                But those who truly need it always are.

                "An intervention?" she all but choked, her eyes narrowing on the pair of us, her face turning an ugly shade of red. "How can you...I thought we agreed you were both going to let this alone?"

                I looked at Grace. "I did not agree to let this alone. Did you agree to let this alone?"

                "I did not."

                I looked at Emma. "We did not."

                Oh, she was _furious_.

                "You are both ridiculous!" she snapped, now out and out glaring, not even bothering to hide her fury. "What do you expected me to do? What—"

                "Not much!" I instantly declared, nodding my head convincingly, cutting off her tirade. "It's really not all that much!"

                I looked towards Grace for assistance, knowing that she could set down our requests—or, you know, requests which Emma really doesn't have any options for refusing—more...eloquently than I could.

                Or maybe I just didn't want the rage centered on me.

                But whatever. Same thing.

                "All we are asking," Grace explained, sounding quite nice and just as if we _were_ actually asking instead of demanding and conniving and planning a rebellion based off envelopes, "is for you to reconsider this letter business. Is that so very much to ask?"

                Emma opened and closed her mouth, looking like she thought this was quite a bit to ask, but not able to put that into the proper words. She floundered for a few more seconds, then seemed to collect her thoughts as she took aim at a new target.

                Namely, me.

                Really, how rude?

                "What about her?" she cried to Grace, pointing her finger in my direction. I sat up in affront, throwing Emma a dirty look. She ignored me. "Why doesn't she get an intervention? She needs it more than I do!"

                Hmph.

                I don't know _why_ everyone seems to bloody _think_ that.

                "She's next," was Grace's answer. She ignored my offended gasp and shot me a wicked grin. "We have to get her to stop hiding under desks first, however."

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

                I dropped my quill!

                I did!

                (Sort of.)

                "Excuse me," I said, glaring at Grace, "but you are breaking Devoted Factory Worker Rule Number One: Never turn your back on a fellow Devoted Factory Worker...or mention incidents which are better left unmentioned...or take the mickey for things that are out of her control...or speak of them...ever...etcetera, etcetera."

                "Etcetera, etcetera?" Grace asked.

                "Factory _what_?" Emma snapped.

                Sometimes, I hate them both.

                Really, I do.

                "This is how it's going to work," I said, ignoring both of _them_ now—Emma's glaring, Grace's silent cackling—deciding that I was just going to have to do this myself if I wanted it done properly. I turned to Emma. "This is our ultimatum," I told her. "Either you seriously reconsider this letter business—and by seriously, I mean quickly, and by reconsider, I mean _open it—_ or I'm afraid that our relationship is going to take a turn for the worse. And when I say turn for the worse, I mean that we are going to boycott you."

                " _Boycott_ me?" Emma sputtered. "What does that mean?"

                "It _means_ that there is a nice seat over there next to Timmy Ricks that I do believe is calling your name," I replied, giving her a little—all right, I admit it— _rather_ devilish grin. "And watch out," I felt it necessary to add. "I sit next to him in Runes— _really_ knobbish elbows."

                And a laugh like a hyena.

                I think I'll let her find that one out by herself, though.

                I watched as Emma glanced over to where I was nodding—the seat next to the Human Hyena was indeed open, but the moron was laughing himself up a storm, wobbling around on his chair, those knobby elbows I was talking about flailing this way and that.

                Really, I almost felt bad.

                But then I remembered the whole 'she's the one who really needs it' comment and couldn't quite muster it up.

                Psh.

                Serves her _right_.

                "I can't believe the two of you," Emma fumed, giving us both the nastiest look you've ever seen (if looks could _kill_...). "Are you really serious about this?"

                "Extremely," I replied stubbornly.

                "Undoubtedly," Grace affirmed.

                Emma made a decidedly angry noise.

                Merlin, she really _was_ cross, wasn't she?

                Hm.

                "Fine," she suddenly snapped, glaring daggers at both of us. In a flurry of movements, she grabbed her books off the chair and shrugged her bag up her shoulder. "Just _fine_."

                Grace and I watched as she stomped off, angry footsteps making loud noises in the rather noisy classroom. But instead of heading in the direction of Timmy Ricks slightly to our left—which, okay, I don't really blame her for avoiding—Emma stomped off instead to our right, furiously weaving through desks at a rapid pace. I watched her move curiously. There were a few seats open over there, but where was she...?

                Oh.

                Oh my god.

                Foul play.

                _Foul play!!_

                "Excuse me, James," she said loudly, so loudly in fact that even casually covering one ear with my hand and looking in an entirely different direction as I instantly did as soon as I discovered what the bloody hell she was planning, I could still hear her loud and clear. "Would you mind if I sat next to you?"

                He was looking at me. I could totally feel it. He was looking at me.

                I can't believe her.

                I can't _believe_ her!

                "Er, yeah, I s'pose," I heard him mutter. There was the sound of a chair scraping on the floor as Emma took her seat.

                She's dead.

                Seriously. She is _so_ dead.

                "Ouch," Grace muttered, wincing slightly. "Talk about your low blows."

                "That girl just dug her own grave," I seethed, glaring at Grace because I couldn't glare at Emma because she was now sitting next to the person who I wasn't supposed to be looking at, much less glaring-in-the-vicinity of. "Give me some more parchment, would you? I suddenly feel inspired."

                She was going to get it.

                And I wasn't even going to feel badly about it anymore.

                I was a bit of a woman possessed after that, turning from Devoted Factory Worker to Slightly-More-Than-Hostile-Violently-Determined Worker, but I couldn't help it. I mean, seriously, who does that? Who goes and interferes...well, I mean...but _my_ interference was _necessary_! Hers was so not. It was worse than not. It was deliberately and rudely and horribly and terribly cruel and malicious and...and...other things! Other very bad things!

                Hmph!

                By the time Flitwick got to class, I had already created myself an arsenal of envelope ammo, all set and ready for launch with messages ranging from, "Traitor" (the decided first projectile which, all right, was not exactly Mac-related, but still completely and utterly necessary, wouldn't you agree?) to "Love is in the air (and in envelopes!)" (Grace's) to "Do it!"(to the point, no?). My fingers were positively itching to start tossing, but these things are all about timing, so the opportune moment had to be waited for.

                As Flitwick began going on and on about medical charms, I nudged Grace lightly, leaning over so that I could speak to her without being noticed.

                "I'm going first, all right?" I whispered, lifting the "Traitor" envelope from our desk. Grace gave me the thumbs-up.

                "Gotcha," she whispered back.

                I waited until I knew Flitwick was too involved in his lecturing to notice—and adorably Charm-ish man that he is, it really didn't take all that long—before glancing casually over to where Emma was sitting. I purposely kept my gaze completely and unmovingly on the left side of the desk (refusing to look towards the other side for obvious decree-driven reasons) and silently took aim. Lifting my wand, I carefully set a Zooming Spell on the envelope and three...two...one...

                Ha.

                Bull's eye.

                Emma jolted up in her seat as my envelope not-so-gently rapped her in the back of the head before deliberately settling in front of her. I immediately looked away, hiding my amusement in my hand while Grace not-as-subtly grinned beside me. I envisioned what Emmeline must be doing and started cracking up even more. It soon became too much for me, though, and I had to sneak a peek. However, when I finally shifted my eyes towards my target zone, instead of meeting Emma's undoubtedly furious gaze, an entirely different one caught my eye. 

                Damn, damn, damn.

                Look away! _Look away_ , _you idiot!!_

                Before I could properly pull my eyes away—I really am such a pathetically weak mess—James's suspicious gaze locked with mine as he quickly mouthed, "What are you doing?"

                What am I doing? What am I _doing_?

                Trying to avoid _you_ , you stupid prat.

                _Merlin_.

                I quickly averted my eyes just as soon as I caught his words, turning an uncomfortable shade of red as I ducked my head and avoided Grace's now entirely-unsubtle laughter. I shot a glare at her.

                "Looks like your Factory Working may have hit a snag," she muttered quietly, nudging me in the side. "You know, considering you can't even look at your target."

                I hate her.

                Really, I do.

                "That is where you're wrong," I insisted stubbornly. "I will prevail. You just wait and see."

                Grace gave me one of those 'Oh-yeah-sure-prevail-my-arse' looks, but I ignored her, going about my business a bit more carefully this time.

                And really, it just goes to show how much _she_ knows because, by my tally count, the score is officially, Number of Envelopes Lily Has Massacred Emma With: 5, Number of Envelopes Grace Has Massacred Emma With: 3.

                And I haven't even had to look at the right side of the desk.

                ...much.

                ...sort of.

                I think it's time for another envelope.

                Yeah, definitely. 

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, End of Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

 

Number of Envelopes Lily Has Massacred Emma With: 8

Number of Envelopes Grace Has Massacred Emma With: 6

 

                Merlin, she's pathetic.

                I mean, I wasn't even _looking_ half the time. What does that tell you, hm? Clearly that perhaps the wrong girl is on the Quidditch team, eh?

                Oh, I'm going to tell that one to Gracie—she'll go _livid_.

                Almost as livid as Emma presently is.

                _Priceless_.

______________________________________________

 **Later, Before Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

 

                Was gloating to Grace about my obvious expertise/skill/talent/etc. in all things envelope/Devoted Worker related as we were waltzing along the corridors towards Transfiguration when, quite out of nowhere, an unfamiliar boy walked straight up to me, stopped right in my path, and went: 

                "It doesn't _look_ charred. Let me see it."

                Seriously?

                What is with today's youth?

                We are all doomed.

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, After Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 197**

 

Number of Envelopes Lily Has Massacred Emma With: 12

Number of Envelopes Grace Has Massacred Emma With: 11

Number of People Asking to See My Charred-Arm/Missing-Limb/Acidic-Skin/Supernatural-Powers (Yeah)/Other Assorted Lies: 14

Number of Times Considered Killing Hogwarts Population: 14

Number of Encounters With Certain People Avoided By Once More Hiding Under A Desk (Even Though This Time He Didn't Threaten To Come After Me, Only Went "Christ, Lily," and Walked Away Which Is Really Just A Subtle Form Of Threatening Someone When You Think About It): 1

Number of Times Considered Guam: 1

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, Potions  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 198**

 

Number of Envelopes Lily Has Massacred Emma With: 14

Number of Envelopes Grace Has Massacred Emma With: 14

(Damn Abbott and her shifty eyes)

Number of Not-So-Furtive-Glances Received/Not-So-Whispered Conversations Heard About Accident/Incident/Notoriously-Lied-About-Event Since Walking Into Potions Classroom: 27

Number of Glares Shot at Stupid Seventh-Year Students Who Should Keep to Their Stupid Selves: 27

Stupidest Comment Received: "Hey, Lily— _acid!"_ -Jervis Rennet

("Hey, Jervis— _bite me!"_ -Me)

Number of Times Certain People Have Sent Pointed Looks in My Direction Which I Have Ignored Because I Must: 4

Number Of Times Grace Has Gone "He's Doing It Again. He's _Doing It_ Again," In That Really Knowing-Annoying Way of Hers When These Looks Occur: 4

Number of Times Grace Has Gotten an Elbow-to-the-Ribs: 4

Number of Times Considered Guam: 8

______________________________________________

 **Later, Lunch in the Great Hall  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

                Merlin, being a Devoted Factory Worker/Public Spectacle is _exhausting_.

                Seriously. I'm practically falling into my soup. Any second now, I'll probably collapse and by the end of lunch, the whole of Hogwarts will undoubtedly have me presumed dead with some sort of fatal disease—which will actually go along just splendidly with my charred limbs/supernatural-acidic powers/mechanical arm—even though, personally, I'm pretty sure it's just the whole not-sleeping thing. But who am I to tell Hogwarts they're wrong?

                No one, apparently, judging by what I’ve attempted so far. Even though it's my life. But I suppose that just doesn't count the way it used to.

                Psh.

                And I'm pretty sure—

                Oh, _bugger_.

                Merlin, when is this idiot going to just leave me _alone_?

______________________________________________

 **Later, Hiding Behind Greenhouse Four  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

                When I saw a very-certain-someone walk into the Great Hall and begin to stride straight for me, I didn't really wait around to finish my soup (or droop into it, which really seemed more likely) or chug down my drink (which would have been far too much effort in the first place) or see if perhaps he _wasn't_ heading for me, just walking purposefully towards my general direction (yeah, _sure_ ). In fact, I didn't wait around for much of anything except the few seconds that it took to grab my books off the floor and the couple of moments I could spare to give my excuses to Grace, who was sitting beside me, happily nibbling on her sandwich.

                "Gracie," I said, rising to my feet and picking up my bag in—quite impressively—the same movement. "I think I'm going to head to Herbology early. And by that, I mean hide behind a greenhouse. Meet me?"

                Grace glanced up at me, then almost instantly swiveled her head around, catching sight of the rapidly approaching person-who-I'm-not-supposed-to-talk-about heading our way. She turned back to me and rolled her eyes.

                "You," she said flatly, "are _so_ next."

                Yeah, yeah.

                Stupid, moronic, messed-up Lily. I get it.

                I would have liked to say a couple of things in response to that—'You are a worthless prat' was quickly topping the list—but I simply did not have the time to dillydally about. With little more than a slight glare and a quick wave at the Worthless Prat, I turned on my heel and all but ran out of there, ignoring the strange looks I was getting and the oh-so-hilarious shouted comments ("Where's the fire, Evans?" "On her arm!" Oh, hardy har _har_ ) sent my way as I headed straight for the main doors. I didn't even take a moment to look back until I had successfully made it outside and had secured more than a good hundred meters between myself and the castle. Thankfully, no one was following behind, which was a bit perplexing actually, but certainly not something I was about to question.

                Phew.   

                A girl working on zero hours of sleep should _not_ be dealing with this.

                I slowed down, but didn't stop moving until I got to the greenhouses, all but collapsing behind Greenhouse 4—the only greenhouse presently unoccupied by a class or random Herbology loon, most probably because the damn place is cursed, which I really should have considered before crashing down behind it—leaning my back against the hard glass, tucking my knees against my chest, and dropping my head down on top of them.

                Merlin, I was _knackered_.

                Seriously. I was completely and utterly drained. And it was more than just physically exhausted—though I'd seriously like to chat with anyone who could make that sprint and _not_ be winded, hours of sleep be damned—I was _emotionally_ done in, as well. And I know this probably should have been because I was feeling so guilty about torturing Emma all morning and sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, or perhaps because tomorrow I would be going out for the very first time with the man of my dreams and the magnificence of it all should have been overwhelming...but it wasn't. At all. Because Emma totally needed this slightly-more-forceful-than-normal prod in the right direction. And as for Amos...well, let's just say that it's clear the oh-my-goodness-dream-a-little-dream overwhelming-ness hasn't quite hit me yet. Not now. Not...well, not while I was dealing with bigger things.

                Like how bloody sodding _hard_ it is to follow a decree twelve hours in.

                Psh.

                You'd think I'd manage even _twenty-four_.

                But the stupid prat was making it _impossible_! He was all but stalking me—and it was _more_ than just waiting on a couch this time. Everywhere I go, there he is! Even though, as of yesterday, he wasn't even _speaking_ to me, much less dogging my every movement. It's honestly just the maddest of the mad to go from one entire extreme to the next in this short a period of time. How can I be expected to deal with this?

                He was going to crawl under a _desk_ after me, for Merlin's sake!

                Who _does_ that? Who?

                Idiots.

                That's who does that. Big, stupid, ugly, annoying, idiots who I can't for the life of me shake off, even when it's for HIS OWN BLOODY GOOD.

                Talk about _frustrating_.

                God.

                I was sitting there, moaning and groaning to myself for quite some time before Grace finally bothered showing up to make sure I hadn't thrown myself at the nearest strangling plant or something. She looked not the least bit worried as she ambled on across the lawns, eating an apple and dropping down next to me, shooting me a grin as she nudged my shoulder with hers.

                "So, I talked to James," she said.

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                Delicate, much?

                "We are not talking about him," I interrupted quickly, giving her a dirty look. "No seeing, no thinking, no talking, remember? Cold turkey?"

                "Hm-hm," Grace muttered, taking another bite of her apple. "That's lovely. Really. But anyway, he wants me to tell yo—"

                Is she deaf?

                Seriously, am I talking to a wall?

                "I don't want to hear it!" I cried, throwing my hands up over my ears. "I don't want to know what he has to say!"

                "He's just worried," Grace said, which I naturally heard even through my muffled-ears. "Seriously, Lil. He's hearing all the rumours about your mutant acidic spawn and just wants to make sure you're all right. How can you fault him for that?"

                "Quite easily," I answered, even though my heart did that sort of _thump-thump_ thing in my chest that might as well have been saying _liar-liar_. I refused to give in to that, however, latching onto anything else that might push all those thoughts away. "Besides," I sniffed, finally finding something, "he's just a giant, contrary git-and-a-half, anyway. I mean, where was he yesterday, hm? Did he care at all then? While you were kicking people and Emma was crying and whatnot? Where was my mate James _then_? Snoozing in the back of the dungeons, having a bit of a nap? It's just now— _now,_  that all these stupid people are saying all these _insanely_ stupid things—that he's all, 'Hm, you know, that Lily, she's been through a bit, hasn't she? Perhaps I should see how that's going'. I mean, how prattish? How utterly and completely _prattish_?"

                I expected some sort of agreement to that—I mean, even James-fan-Gracie had to admit that this was _true—_ but instead all I got was silence. I glanced over at her, preparing to question what that was about, when something on her face gave me pause.

                She looked...

                She looked rather _guilty_ , actually.

                What?

                "Gracie," I started slowly, my eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you looking like that?"

                "Looking like what?" she asked quickly, averting her eyes from mine.

                Oh, bugger.

                Bugger, bugger, _bugger_.

                This was not going to be good. Not good at _all_.

                "Grace." A wisp of threat slipped into my voice now. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

                Grace winced.

                Oh, bloody hell, a wince.

                _So_ not good.

                "Look," Grace started, grabbing a bit of her hair and twirling it in her fingers. She looked quite as if she'd rather be having teeth pulled. "It's not like...like I _lied_ to you or anything yesterday, all right? I just sort of...left some things out."

                "What _sort_ of things?" I asked, trying not to groan. I suppose I already knew what sort of things she had "left out", though, just my bloody luck.

                "I think you will happy to hear," she announced flatly, "that James was not napping in the back of the classroom yesterday."

                Happy.

                You know, not _quite_ the word I would have used.

                "Well, if he wasn't napping," I said through clenched teeth, "where exactly _was_ he?"

                It took a few seconds for Grace to answer. I watched as she scratched idly at the back of her head, her face scrunched up into a half-wince.

                "Well, you know," she finally answered, though I _didn't_ know. "He was...er...he was doing much like everyone else. Yelling."

                "Yelling?"

                "Yeah, a bit."

                Why is it that I didn't believe that for even a second?

                "How much is 'a bit', exactly?" I asked. "Like, on a scale of one to ten?"

                Grace grimaced.

                "Er..." She seemed to be thinking about it. "It's...he was...er...twelve?"

                ...

                Twelve.

                _TWELVE_?!?!?

                "Grace!" I shouted, dropping my head into my hands. _"Twelve?"_

                "I'm sorry!" she cried quickly, wincing again, her voice heavy. She was a flurry of movements as she turned to face me, looking rather desperate. "I would've told you before, but then Emma was all, 'She's going to be scrambled enough' and then you had detention, and then you came back and were going cold turkey or whatnot...I was waiting for a good moment!"

                "What exactly did he do?" I asked, already dreading the answer. My mouth suddenly felt dry, like sandpaper. "What exactly does yelling at twelve mean?"

                "Not...not too bad," Grace insisted, sounding very matter-of-fact about it all, even as I was practically on the verge of bloody _tears_. "I mean, after you fell and Sirius was yelling and Abbott was yelling and...James was concerned—we were _all_ concerned, but James was a bit more than the average folk, I suppose. Everyone was crowding around you and he wanted to see what was going on so he...well, I guess he sort of _catapulted_ over a couple of desks, actually—"

                _"CATAPULTED?"_

                "More or less—you were far away, Lil! He was just trying to get to you!—but anyway, after, you know, the catapulting, he sort of shoved everyone out of the way and was kind of...propping you up while Abbott was making sure the burn wasn't spreading. Everyone else was yelling at each other and making a fuss, but he was really only yelling at you—trying to get you up and everything. He was...upset."

                Oh, _god._

                "How upset?" I whispered hoarsely.

                "Er." Grace scratched behind her ear. "Are we doing one to ten again?"

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

                "Sure," I muttered. "Fine. Sure. One to ten."

                Grace nodded. "All right, then." She paused for a moment, seeming to be thinking about it again. Then: "Forty-five."

                " _FORTY-FIVE?!?!"_

                "You were unconscious!" Grace cried, throwing up her hands in defense as if she thought I'd do her physical harm (not a bad idea, actually). "You were on the ground _bleeding_ , for Merlin's sake! You had just been burned by spreading _acid_! Of _course_ , the bloke blew his fuse. He wouldn't even leave your bloody side—he carried you all the way to the Hospital Wing! He wouldn’t even leave until we threatened to do him bodily harm. We figured he was one more thing you really didn’t need just then."

                Oh my _God_.

                Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, _fuck_.

                !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                "Grace!" I cried, practically choking on the words. "How...what...how could you not _tell_ me this? How?!"

                "I'm sorry!" she apologised again, shrinking down with guilt. "I know I should have told you sooner, but you weren't exactly ready to take it in yet and I just thought...I'd give you awhile. It's not that big a deal, Lily. Really, it's not."

                Not that big a deal?

                NOT THAT BIG A DEAL?

                The boy, he...he...he _catapults_ over desks and doesn't leave my _side_ and _carries_ me to the Hospital Wing and that's NOT A BIG DEAL?

                WHEN I THOUGHT HE WAS TAKING A NAP???

                I...

                I can't even talk about this.

                Major decree violations.

_Major!_

                "I can't talk about this right now," I muttered, burying my head back in my knees because I was pretty sure that I was about to vomit. "I can't... _think_ about this right now, all right?"

                I thought I'd made myself perfectly clear—I mean, hello? HEAD HANGING BETWEEN THE KNEES HERE—but apparently Grace must have run into some sort of wall recently because instead of realising that, yes, I wasn't _kidding_ about the whole no-talking-right-now thing, she went on and kept talking, completely ignoring me.

                I was going to kill her. I seriously was.

                "Look, Lily." She sighed, placing an arm around my shoulders which I suppose was supposed to be comforting, but which I only found infuriating. "I know you're very anti-James right now and would really only like to focus on Amos—"

                "This isn't about Amos!" I snapped, raising my head only long enough to shoot her a glare. "This has nothing do with Amos."

                "Then what _is_ it about?" Grace demanded, confused.

                I don't know.

                I don't bloody _know_ anymore.

                I didn't say anything in response to that, mostly because I didn't know _what_ to say. It was baffling, but I hadn't been lying when I said this wasn't about Amos—it _wasn't_. It really had nothing to do with him anymore. And I know that sounded ridiculous—how could this not be about him? Wasn't the whole problem choosing between the pair of them?—but...it was just...

                Was it even _about_ that now?

                Grace sat beside me in silence for a while, but after a few minutes, she seemed unable to keep quiet. She'd been shifting around restlessly next to me and I could feel her twitching. It wasn't exactly a shock when she finally spoke.

                "I wasn't going to say anything before," she told me slowly, seeming to be thinking about her words very carefully. I lifted my head from my knees and looked at her. She stared very seriously back at me. "I know this whole thing has been a very touchy subject with you lately and so I've tried not to bring it up, but Lil...honestly, when was the last time you even mentioned Amos? When? I mean, for a girl who's supposed to be going out with her future husband tomorrow, you're certainly acting rather strangely—"

                "I don't want to go."

                I jolted up straight.

                I don’t...

                I don't _what_?

                "Excuse me?" Grace blinked at me, sounding almost as shocked as I was feeling. "What did you say? You don't want to _go_?"

                I know.

                It was news to me, as well.

                I floundered for a moment, my mouth opening and closing, my head attempting to do a mental recap of just where in the hell that had come from. But even as I was utterly flabbergasted by it—didn't want to go? _What?_ —I couldn't for the life of me contradict it. I couldn't.

                Because I didn't.

                I didn't want to go.

                "I don't," I choked out a second time, looking up at Grace with what I'm assuming was probably a fair amount of horror. "I don't want to go, Grace. I really, really don't."

                Oh, _god_.

                Ohgodohgodohgodoh _god_.

                "Lily." Grace had shifted onto her knees, looking at me as if she thought I might implode at any moment. "Do you realise what you're saying? Does this mean—"

                "It means I don't want to go!" I snapped, my head spinning. "That's what it means and that's _all_ it means, Grace. That's _all_."

                Or I sincerely _hoped_ that's all it meant.

                Grace didn't seem to agree, however. She stared at me as if I'd gone mad, shaking her head at me. "How can you say that? If you don't want to go on your date tomorrow, Lily, there's a reason. Maybe James—"

                "It _isn't_ him!"

                "Then what _is_ it?"

                "It's...it's..."

                "It's _what_ , Lily?"

                "Maybe I just don't fancy Amos the way I thought I did, all right?"

                The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. I didn't even let myself think about them, didn't even consider what I had just admitted. I was practically panting, the shock mixed with the anger boiling inside of me making a not-so-friendly combination. I stared at Grace, watching as her eyes widened in disbelief. I glared at her with fire burning in my gut.

                "What?" I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "You don't believe me?"

                "Oh, no, I believe you," Grace answered instantly, her voice heavy. "I just can't believe you'd admit it."

                Well, that makes two of us.

                _Merlin._  

                I'm in trouble. So much trouble.

                "I'm tired," was my only sad and pathetic defense, one which I made accompanied with a sad and pathetic scowl. The anger and madness of the whole thing was beginning to fade, leaving only a sort of numbness in its wake. I would have been more than happy to drown myself in that, letting it all disappear, but Grace wasn't of the same mind. She continued to poke and prod the thing to death.

                "Physically tired?" was what she asked, her eyebrow lifting. "Or sick-of-living-in-denial tired?"

                "Can't we just leave it at 'I don't want to go' for today?" I begged wearily, too overwhelmed. I sighed heavily, letting my shoulders droop and my head drop back against the greenhouse wall. "I'm done with confessions today, all right? No more."

                "Yeah, all right," Grace conceded, though she sounded very reluctant about the whole thing. I closed my eyes and ignored her, sincerely wishing the world away.

                _Maybe I just don't fancy Amos the way I thought I did._

                Shit.

                Shit, shit, _shit_.

                Is it...is it true?

                Do I not fancy Amos the way I thought I did?

                I mean, I know things have been somewhat mad lately, but I just figured...well, I just figured that perhaps it was just me adjusting to new feelings, you know? I thought that with the whole certain—oh, for fuck's sake, this is no time for bloody decrees!—that with the whole _James_ thing, Amos was just being politely pushed aside while I straightened that out. I didn't think that I was actually beginning to...starting to...

                Oh, god. It is true, isn't it?

                But there was that kiss! That kiss just yesterday! I _know_ I'd been feeling the Amos-feeling then! I know it! So how can it be that my affections are starting to diminish when I'm so sure it was there just yesterday? How?

                Merlin, I'm so confused.

                And I'm not even going to _begin_ to think about the James factor in this. I'm really not. Because to be perfectly honest, I'd rather like to live to see my eighteenth birthday. And thinking about James Potter, that really jeopardizes that.

                It's all just...disastrous.

                Messy, mad, utter and complete disastrousness.

                I hate my life.

                _Hate_ it.

                I'm done with this. I'm done with _all_ of it.

                I'll think about this when I have more energy. That's what I need. Energy.

                Right.

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, Still Hiding Behind Greenhouse 4  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

                Maybe I...

                No.

                _No_.

                Why am I thinking about this? Why??

                This is just depressing. 

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, Herbology  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

You know, if I was just a little less depressed and significantly more awake, I would probably be pretty ecstatic right now.

                Seriously. I would be _thrilled_. Mac is in this class. He can totally clue in on the envelope-attacking plan. He can absolutely see that we're fighting for him and know not to give up—well, actually, he can see that _Grace_ is fighting for him, seeing as she is presently the only one tossing any envelopes because I am far too much of a mess to do so. But it's the thought that counts, right? Regardless, I should be _bursting_ with meddling pride.

                But I'm not.

                I'm _so_ not.

                And I can't decide which factor is stopping me more: the exhaustion or the depression.

                It's an interesting question, isn't it?

______________________________________________

 **Still Later, Still in Herbology  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 199**  

 

                It's the exhaustion.

                It's _definitely_ the exhaustion.

                Bleh. 

______________________________________________

 **Still Later, Still in Herbology  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

                What's it take for a girl to get a pillow or something around here, hm?

                Psh.

                Bugger-ickness ew ew ew.

                Tired.

                Just...eh.

______________________________________________

 **Even Even Later, Still Still in Herbology  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

                When's this class _end_???

______________________________________________

 **Later, After Herbology  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

Oh, Merlin, now I have to walk to History. 

                _Damn it_. 

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, History  
****Observant Lily: Day 32  
****Total Observations: 199**  

 

                I don't know how I made it here.

                I think I'm going to die.

______________________________________________

 **Later Later Later, Still History  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 199**

 

**Hey. I'm like forty-four envelopes ahead of you right now. What gives? -GR**

Too knackered to toss. Sorry. -LE 

**Too knackered? What?**

Hm.

**Why?**

Didn't sleep. Emotional drain. Bad karma. Take your pick.

**You _do_ look a bit out of it, actually. Your eyes are all red-rimmed.**

Thanks.

**So you're not still cross with me? For keeping the James-side of yesterday under wraps? And the...well, the other bits?**

Too much effort. Maybe tomorrow.

**Are you going to pass out?**

Merlin, I hope not.

**Look, Lil, I think you've filled your medical-drama quota for the week. Let's just take a break, all right?**

Mm-hm.

**Lil?**

Hm?

**Seriously. Don't pass out.**

Trying.

 **Thanks**.

______________________________________________

 **Later, Still History  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 200**

 

Observation #200) Am too tired to care that I've reached 200.

_Ughhhhhhhhh._

______________________________________________

 **Later Later, Room of Requirement  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32  
** **Total Observations: 200**

    
                I didn't pass out in History, though to be perfectly honest, I'm relatively sure that that was just a matter of simple abuse rather than any sort of strong will on my part. Grace kept knocking her shoulder into mine every time she thought I looked particularly out of it (meaning about every 45 seconds or so) because she thought I had a concussion—though what the hell acid burns have to do with concussions, I’ll never know—and feared for my life. Normally I would have hit her, but her stupidity was keeping me at least semi-awake, so I tolerated it. I have no idea why the not-sleeping thing had suddenly caught up with me so quickly, but it really was just ridiculously inconvenient. It was what it was, however, and I was forced to bear the consequences, sitting mostly out-of-it while Binns rambled on and Grace continued alone with our Factory Worker ways, with me acting like little more than a throw pillow as I slumped in my chair, wishing it were a bed.

                Psh.

                When the bell rang at the end of class, I jolted awake like it was an alarm clock—which it sort of was, the way I was then—my bleary mind actually managing to register that it was finally all right to leave. I would've liked to hightail it out of there, running from the first floor all the way up to the Tower where I knew I could just crash in my bed and be done with it all, but my saggy, dead limbs didn't exactly cooperate. I sort of slipped up out of my seat, moving a bit like I was underwater or perhaps like I was ridiculously intoxicated, all wobblish and stumbling. Grace caught me under the elbow, stopping me from completely humiliating myself by actually falling to the floor (which was, pathetically enough, not exactly out of the question then). She looked at me, concerned.

                "Whoah." She kept a firm grip on my elbow as I swayed unsteadily on my feet. "All right?"

                "Mm-hm." Merlin, my head hurt. "Fine."

                But I _wasn't_ fine, not even remotely. I went to grab my books, bending down to swoop up my bag, haphazardly throwing my desk's contents inside of it. Grace—wisely sensing the impending disaster of it all—remained by my side, keeping her hand at my elbow and leading me along with the rest of the class as we shuffled—or rather, _they_ shuffled. I sort of...swayed—out into the corridor.

                "Try not to fall, all right?" she muttered to me as we cleared through the doorway, my body still doing the whole jelly-like business. She led me off to the side of the corridor, pushing my back against the nearest wall and propping me up there—which was very thoughtful of her, I thought—before sighing heavily. I leaned against the hard, cool surface, letting my head fall back against the stones, and closed my eyes. Grace let out a slightly distressed noise.

                "Merlin, Lil," she breathed, and I opened my eyes for a bit to see her standing in front of me, shaking her head. "I think you should go back to the Hospital Wing. This isn't normal."

                "I'm _fine_ ," I told her again, even though...well, you know, a _wall_ was the reason I was still standing. "I'm just tired, Grace. Really. Just...need to sleep."

                Grace looked like she didn't believe that for a second, but I really _was_ telling the truth. I mean, I wasn't sick or anything. This had nothing to do with my arm—what sort of acid burn caused drowsiness, anyway?—regardless of what others might have been thinking. I couldn't quite miss the looks I was receiving and the whispers I was hearing that let me know that there certainly _were_ a few stupid busybodies speculating on my present condition, but I really couldn't have cared less. What do they know, anyway? I just wanted to rest. That's all that mattered.

                I had just closed my eyes again, pretty much content to fall asleep right then and there if everyone would have just stopped walking and talking and making so much bloody noise— _so_ inconsiderate—when a familiar expletive broke through my hazy consciousness.

                For Merlin's sake, why wouldn't everyone just let me _be_?

                "Fuck, Evans." The voice rattled in my ears, coming from just in front of me. My eyes opened reluctantly to find Sirius standing just behind Grace's shoulder, staring at me with unreserved curiosity. "You dying, then?"

                I hate him.

                HATE HIM.

                "Go _away_ ," I moaned, closing my eyes again because I really couldn't stand to look at him. "I'm doing what you asked, you stupid arse. Now leave me _alone_."

                "What did you ask her to do?" Grace questioned, a certain warning tone in her voice. Sirius made this little annoyed sound, but didn't get the chance to say anything more than that before yet _another_ voice entered into our little tête-à-tête.

                A voice that, quite frankly, I was getting really, _really_ sick of.

                Where's a damned desk when you need one?

                "What the hell's going on?" James demanded, stepping out of the classroom and coming instantly to Sirius's side. His eyes fell onto me and widened. He automatically took a few steps closer, alarmed. "What are you...what's the matter?"

                It wasn't exactly a catapult, but it was close enough.

                My heart slammed against my chest.

                _Bugger_.

                "Go _away_!" I moaned again, already pushing off the wall, ignoring the slight splotches of black that dotted my vision at the quick motion. Grace moved instantly, putting her hand on my elbow again, but I shrugged it away. "I'm going to the Hospital Wing, all right? Everyone just leave me alone."

                I began staggering off, hoping to avoid just about everything and everyone—was it so much to ask?—but Grace was still dogging my every step and from behind me, I heard James following along, as well.

                "Lily, wait—" he started.

                "Mate, let her go," I heard Sirius say, and he must have taken hold of James or something because his footsteps suddenly stopped.

                "Oh, so she'll talk to you, but she won't talk to me?" he snapped. I winced slightly. Why did he have to make it _sound_ like that? "I'm not going to just _leave_ her like that—"

                "Get me out of here," I whispered to Grace, shooting her a desperate look as I wobbled along as fast as my feet could carry me. "I'm not kidding. Just get me away from here."

                Grace nodded, quickly clueing in on my panic. When she grabbed hold of my arm this time, I didn't pull away, just leaned into her, letting her take some of my worthless weight. I couldn't be sure how exactly, but somehow Sirius must have managed to keep James from following, because as Grace and I quickly cleared the corridor, no one was trailing behind us.

                I was...relieved.

                I didn't want him to follow.

                I didn't.

                I'm not certain precisely how long it took for us to walk/sway our way to the staircases, but though it couldn't possibly have taken that long, it felt like _ages_ to me. When we finally did manage to reach them, Grace tried to steer me along, still determined to get me to the Hospital Wing. I used the last bit of my energy to dig my heels into the ground, stopping us from moving. Grace paused and turned, giving me a questioning stare.

                "What are you doing?" she asked.

                "I'm not going to the Hospital Wing," I told her. Grace didn't seem to like that answer.

                "What do you mean, you're not going?" She shot me a dirty look. "You're dead on your feet, Lily. That's not all right. Just go to the Hospital Wing and Pomfrey—"

                "I don't _need_ Pomfrey," I insisted again, wondering just why in the hell the stupid girl didn't believe me. It wasn't that hard of a concept, was it? "I told you before, I'm just tired. All I want to do is sleep, not be poked and prodded like some science experiment. So can you just help me upstairs? Please?"

                I was all but begging her, sounding so completely exhausted and pathetic that I'm really not sure how she could even stand the sight of me, let alone deny me what I was asking. But Grace has always had a sort of resistance to my madness and she didn't seem too keen on letting go of the Hospital Wing idea. She was almost as determined as I was.

                "Come on, Lily," is what she said, completely and utterly stubbornly. "Just go and lie down in there. You won't get poked and prodded. And Pomfrey's your new best mate now, right? I'm sure she'll—"

                "Grace. _Please_."

                I thought she was going to say no at first. She had that sort of look in her eyes that was warning me she was about three seconds away from pulling out her wand and hexing me into compliancy. But there must have been something on my face that convinced her that I was serious about not going, because instead of stunning me and dragging me off to Pomfrey, she gave me a good hard glare and sighed very loudly.

                " _Fine_." She threw her hands up in defeat, still glaring. "But I swear, if you die, I'm never going to forgive you. Just remember that."

                I sagged in relief. "Thank you, Gracie."

                "Yeah, yeah, yeah." She grabbed hold of my arm again, tossing me a look as we both began up the steps. "Just so you know, I might end up tossing you down the stairs. I really haven't decided yet."

                "That's all right," I replied, just thankful to be moving towards a bed. "There are worse ways to go."

                Grace snorted, but was otherwise silent as we made our way up the seven flights of stairs that some sadist founder had decided it would take to get to Gryffindor Tower. The normally not-exactly-pleasant trek transformed into a practically Herculean effort when dealing with feet that had quite suddenly gained aspirations to be octopus tentacles. By the time we finally reached the seventh floor, I was panting with exertion, feeling more than a bit bad about the way I was abusing Grace, using her as a human walking stick, but I suppose that's what best mates are for—to keep you up when you'd otherwise fall down. You know, physically and beyond.

                I think I'm starting to understand the whole human mate vs. rock mate thing now. 

                As we reached the last steps, Grace began to turn to the right, heading in the direction of the Tower. Completely depleted of strength, I let out a pathetic sort of whimper to get her attention, shaking my head when she turned to look at me, stopping where we were.

                "What?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

                "I'm not going to the Tower," I told her, still shaking my head. Grace's eyebrows lifted. I sighed heavily. "It's too mad in there," I explained quickly, shrugging my shoulders. "I don't want to deal with...everyone. I'm going to the Room of Requirement."

                "Do you think that's such a good idea?" Grace questioned, looking rather skeptical about the whole thing. "I mean, what if someone's in there?"

                "Then I will sleep in the corridor," I answered, not altogether kidding.

                I mean, I could transfigure a pillow or something. Even I'm not _that_ bad.

                Grace was still looking at me as if she were entirely suspicious of the whole plan—like she thought I was actually going to go off and do something utterly stupid instead of going to the Room of Requirement. Psh. Please. Who has the _energy_ for something like that?—which was just very annoying. As she narrowed her eyes on me, I rolled mine and turned, too exhausted to deal with all of this accusation. I started to walk off, my feet still squirming underneath me, when Grace sighed loudly behind me.

                "Do you need my help?" she asked, sounding rather put off, but also reluctantly concerned as I continued to wander away. I turned my head to look back at her, shaking it slightly as I shot her a weary grin.

                "I'm fine." My feet protested underneath me, but I knew it would be utterly worthless to have Grace tagging along behind me for the few minutes it would take to get to the Room of Requirement. I waved her along, giving her a grateful smile as I began to walk on my own. "I'll see you later, all right? And thank you for putting up with me. You are a saint among sinners, Grace Reynolds."

                Grace snorted. "Oh, sure. Saint among sinners. That's me." She started to walk off as well, but then seemed to think better of it as she turned around again, calling over to me, "If you get worse, I'm dragging you to the Hospital Wing tomorrow, Evans. Just see if I don't."

                "I have a date tomorrow," I reminded her flatly, then rather wished I hadn't, because the thought of that only gave me a bigger headache than the one I was already battling.

                Grace must have caught onto that, but instead of being a good mate and allowing me my time to deal with my troubles alone, she happily decided to make things _worse_ by going, "Date? You mean the one you don't want to go on?"

                A devil with a halo, that’s what she is.

                Psh.

                "I could respond to that," I replied haughtily, sticking my nose in the air and turning away, "but instead I think I will just leave you with the fact that the joke is on _you_ , dear mate, because look who's going back to the Tower to deal with furious Emma and look who is going to sleep in peace by herself?"

                Grace laughed, chuckling to herself as she went, "Oh, _sneaky_."

                I rolled my eyes at her antics and began to walk away, ignoring the fact that I was still rather wobblish and choosing instead to grab onto the nearest wall and use it as my anchor. That worked relatively well, though I still felt as if I could drop down to the ground at any moment. Thankfully, the Room of Requirement was not very far away, so even though it took me far longer than it ought have, I was still able to make it there before my body completely gave up. I nearly sobbed with relief when I caught sight of Barnabas the Barmy up ahead, but managed to keep those emotions inside because I was relatively sure that any sudden movement might push me entirely over the edge.

                In my desperate state, I didn't even really stop to think about what I was doing as I quickly—or as quickly as I went at that point—paced three times in front of where I remembered the door appeared. Things could have gotten rather ugly had it not managed to work the first time, but thank _Merlin_ that it did, and I soon found myself rushing through the door, straight into the 7th year boys' dormitory.

                Oh.

                Bugger.

                Probably should have changed that, shouldn't I've?

                I knew that it was probably the worst sort of unhealthy to hole myself up in one of the few places that would serve as a constant reminder to my never-ending problems, but at that point, I would have happily slept in the middle of the Great Hall with James and Amos on either side if it just meant that I could rest. And I suppose it was even _more_ unhealthy that straight after entering, I went directly for James's bed, dropping my books next to his bedside table and climbing right in, not even considering the million different ways that this was completely and utterly telling.

                I grabbed the blankets and crawled underneath, slipping off my shoes somewhere beside the bed, but not really caring as I was instantly enveloped in...well, in _James_ , really, his scent all around me.

                And I know I wasn't supposed to like it.

                I know that, really, this is about as anti-decree as a girl gets.

                But I couldn't help it. I was too tired to fight it—I'm _still_ too tired to fight it.

                Hmm.

                So here I am now, still burrowed underneath James's blankets, my head on his pillows, my...well, a lot of things him. But I'm not going to think about it. I'm not going to think about _any_ of it, in fact, because I think I've done quite enough thinking for one day. And if I'm feeding the stupidity epidemic by doing so...well, fellow sufferers will understand. Because the fact of the matter is, if I sit here too long and think, I will eventually have to come to terms with the fact that:

  1. I have a date tomorrow that I _don't_ want to go on.
  2. I have a date tomorrow that I don't want to go on _because_ of the person I'm supposed to be going on the date with.
  3. Even though I have loved this person for almost forever, I apparently don't love him as much anymore, or else I would _want_ to go on this date tomorrow.
  4. There is an additional factor in this reason-I-don't-love-my-date-as-much-anymore dilemma that I would rather not acknowledge.
  5. I am presently not supposed to be even thinking about that additional factor.
  6. I'm presently lying in that additional factor's bed. 



                So, you know what?

                I'm just not going to think at all.

                I'm going to go to bed.

                And really, I don't think anyone can blame me.

______________________________________________

 **VERY VERY LATE, Room of Requirement  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32 (33?)  
** **Total Observations: 201**

 

Oh, god.

                Oh, _god_.

                I...

                _Oh, god_. 

______________________________________________

 **I don't know, R.o.R.  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32 (33?)  
** **Total Observations: 201**

 

                It's...I... 

                No.

                No, I can't yet. I just _can't_.

______________________________________________

 **Still Not Sure, SAME  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32 (33?)  
** **Total Observations: 201**

 

I... 

                I don't...

                Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!

______________________________________________

 **Extremely Late/Early, Room of Requirement  
** **Observant Lily: Day 32 (33?)  
** **Total Observations: 201**

   
                I don't...

                I don't know how long I was out for, sleeping in James's fake bed, breathing in his too-real scent, catching up on the sleep that had so eluded me last night and tortured me all afternoon. I was groggy and mostly incoherent and it hadn't taken very long for me to completely crash, all but knocking myself out as soon as I'd finished writing in here, exhausted beyond definition. I can't say if it was the lack of sleep or the mad day or maybe the mad night before or maybe even the stress of the morning to come—most likely a combination of all four—that made me so tired. All I know is that my quill was drooping in my hand and my brain was yelling at me to stop all this 'awake' nonsense and I had wrapped myself completely in James's blankets, pathetically comforted by their warm, familiar scent, relishing in a closeness that I was, for some reason I couldn't quite remember at that point, avoiding, and then...nothing.

                Deep, blissful nothing.

                Hmm.

                I woke up eventually, of course, as was to be expected. Consciousness came very slowly, though. I was dimly aware of something prodding me into waking, but I fought ridiculously hard against it and the annoying impulse to open my eyes. I somehow managed to keep myself teetering rather precariously on the edge of sleep and awake for some amount of time.

                But all the while—even as I clamped my eyes shut, willing the World of the Living away—something...there was _something_...

                I opened my eyes.

                And really, it was far less shocking to me than it really ought to have been to find James lying there in the bed next to mine.

                In fact, it wasn't a shock at all.

                It was just rather...'Oh, yes. Of course.'

                Oh, yes, of course, he was there.

                I blinked furiously, staring at him through my fluttering eyelashes, waiting to see if he was actually real or just a figment of my imagination. When he didn't disappear, something funny seemed to occur inside my chest and for the life of me, I couldn't look away from him. I had seen him more times than I cared to remember throughout the day, but for some reason...something tingling shot through me. I kept remembering the way he'd been looking at me in the History corridor, the way he'd snapped at Sirius. I shivered, watching him propped up against the bed's headboard, his head bent over as he silently skimmed through a book. It was the first time that I was _allowing_ myself to look at him, and even though it hadn't even been twenty-four hours since I'd written that stupid decree, he was—pathetically—still a sight for sore eyes.

                It was maddening really, how loud my heart pounded just looking at him.

                But no sort of pounding can explain away what I did next.

                I can't explain _that_ at all.

                Except to say that I am out of my mind. Clearly.

                But it somehow seemed the most natural thing in the world after lying there in his bed, silently watching as his tired eyes skimmed through page after page, my own eyes skimming up and down his profile, to finally get up. It seemed not in the least bit mad or stupid as I slowly dragged myself out of his bed—bringing the cocoon I had created for myself out of his blankets with me—groggily stumbling over to the bed in which he was presently residing. It seemed not in the least bit strange when I unceremoniously plopped myself down on that bed right next to him, bringing his attention to me for the first time, his suddenly very bright gaze drifting over my less-than-fully-conscious one. And it most certainly didn't seem the least bit telling or utterly masochistic when instead of remaining on my side of the bed, wrapped in my cocoon and watching him read like any normal, sane person would have done, I chose instead to shuffle myself right up against his person ("C'mere," I thought in my head, and perhaps grinned a bit like a loon), tucked my head neatly into the crook of his neck, unapologetically tangled my feet with his, and snuggled silently against his chest.

                Yeah.

                I _know_.

                And while there isn't exactly a decree #8 stating that I was under no circumstance to make a tart of myself, smashing myself up against James's person and pretty much leaving very few secrets between us...well, I'm pretty sure that one was sort of implied.

                But to be perfectly honest, I didn't find myself caring in the least.

                Fuck Sirius Black. Fuck my decree.

                I—pathetically. Horribly. Sickeningly. Completely selfishly and unapologetically—wanted James.

                And _Merlin_ , it felt so good to think it—oh, who am I kidding?—to _admit_ it.

                So bloody _good_.

                But even though I was feeling pretty content with myself just then—stupidly content, of course, but content nonetheless—the utter and complete madness of the whole thing was not lost upon me. The fact of the matter was, the only thing _more_ insane than the idea that I had just thrown every precaution and care in the world to the wind and accosted James as I had, was the simple fact that after I did it—after I crawled out of bed and into his and tossed my limbs all over him and such—the boy basically pretended like I _hadn't_. Seriously. He just laid right there and totally acted as if it didn't even matter. Like I wasn't practically _on top_ of him. Like I hadn't been determinedly _ignoring_ him for the last twenty-four hours and then suddenly decided to _molest_ him. When he spoke, it was as casually as if we were sitting in the Great Hall, munching on our breakfasts and greeting the morning from opposite sides of the table.

                Which made me feel better, I guess.

                You know, knowing that I wasn't the only crazy person in the bed and all.

                Psh.

                "Hey," he said, his voice low, but light.

                "Hey," I muttered back, the greeting slightly muffled against his chest. I closed my eyes, feeling the blood rushing to my face, willing it away even as I acknowledged that this belated embarrassment was the only proper emotion that I had had the decency to feel since waking up. I felt James shift slightly beneath me, the arm that he'd had casually lying at his side move from under my body. It traced a light path across my skin as he moved it to drape around me, his fingers settling gently on my upper back.

                I shivered involuntarily.

                Oh, dear Merlin, what was I _doing_?

                "All right?" he asked in the same casual tone.

                I bit at my lower lip uneasily. "I don't...know."

                I slowly opened my eyes, meeting his bright gaze for the first time. Our faces were pathetically close, so near that I could see almost every detail, even the ones I didn't want to. From behind his glasses, I could see his eyes filling with any number of emotions, though he appeared to be trying to remain impassive, perhaps for my obviously skittish sake. I silently took in the familiar mop of hair, the sharp angles of his face, the subtle shift of his jaw. If I lifted my head just a bit more, I was sure I would be able to feel his breath against my face.

                Thinking of that, something inside of me jumped. I prayed to every Higher Power that he wouldn't be able to feel it, though wantonly tangled up with him as I had so delicately placed myself, I couldn't see how that was possible.

                Merlin, _why_ did I think this was a good idea?

                Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

                "Are we going to talk about it?" James asked me, not even bothering to explain what 'it' was, though I guess he didn't have to, once again seeing as I had planted myself firmly against his person.

                But I was feeling weird and I was tired of being honest—even though, really, PLASTERED UP AGAINST HIM, how much more honest can you _get_?—and was starting to feel just plain tired in general despite my however-long nap, so instead of nodding and agreeing to discuss what really could no longer be denied, I just looked up at him with as much innocence as I could muster and quietly inquired, "It?"

                Moron, thy name is Lily Evans.

                Oh, bother.

                "Lily," James said, the warning clear in his voice. "Come _on_."

                "Wha—oh, _fine_ ," I muttered bitterly, hating that I really hadn't given myself much of a choice here—you know, because I was still forming a PERMANENT RESIDENCE ON TOP OF HIM. (This fact it rather hard to get over. Though I had about zero intention of actually moving, of course.)

                And maybe it was my body's own sort of defense mechanism, or maybe I really was just more exhausted than I had previously realised, but for whatever reason, I was suddenly yawning, feeling my eyes drooping again. I knew I wasn't going to last very long, and for the first time all day, I was quite happy about it.

                Because maybe he'd like... _forget_ about the whole thing after a nap or something?

                Hey. It could happen.

                "Can we just...in a few minutes?" I all but begged, shooting him my most pleading of looks. "I just need to rest my eyes. I didn't sleep at all last night and I'm positively exhausted."

                James made a sound of displeasure, one I could feel rumble from his chest where one of my hands still laid. But he seemed to clue in on the fact that I wasn't kidding (I'm thinking perhaps it was the flickering eyelids that did the trick. That one _does_ tend to hold certain connotations. And James is a smart bloke—I reckon he probably picked up on it). It didn't much matter, though, because I wasn't exactly waiting around for an answer. I admit, I had already sort of snuggled myself closer to him, closing my eyes and getting ready for an easy trip back to the Land of Dreams. But I listened for his sigh anyway, felt his fingers skim across my hair and waited for his approval...or, you know, as much approval as you can give when you have no choice in the matter.

                But whatever. Technicality.

                "Fine," he finally consented, sounding none-too-happy about it. He gave my arm a bit of a painless pinch. "Don't think you're getting out of this, though, Infallible. You can't hide forever."

                "Not hiding," I muttered into his chest.

                He snorted.

                Yeah, all right. I get it.

                Stupid, cowardly Lily.

                 Woe is me.

                That was the last thing that I heard for quite awhile. It took me a ridiculously short amount of time to fall back asleep, not even the least bit uncomfortable using James as a mattress/pillow. I drifted off quite effortlessly. And even though I really did have every intention of simply resting my eyes for a bit, perhaps taking another small, quick, power-nap to knock some energy back into me, I have a feeling that it didn't quite work out like that. Because even though I didn't have a watch or anything to gauge the time, when I found myself drifting once more out of my slumber—still nestled up against James, my fingers clenching and unclenching in his comfortable shirt (oh, yeah. Another one of those. _Just_ my luck)—I had the distinct impression that more time had passed than really should have.

                James didn't immediately notice when I finally bothered opening my eyes, feeling not-quite-awake, but not like I was about to succumb to narcolepsy, either, which was a vast improvement over my previous disposition. I tried to keep my breathing even, hoping he wouldn't realise that I was up yet. He was still reading that same old book, his eyes scanning quickly through the pages. It was held propped up on the right side of his chest (I was presently taking up much of the left) by one hand, while his other rested lightly on my head, his fingers skimming softly through my hair. I tried to ignore the comforting feeling of that, but it wasn't exactly easy.

                I don't know how much time passed—me, pretending to sleep; James, reading and skimming—before I finally felt in control enough to speak.

                Because even though I sincerely _hoped_ he'd forgotten what we had to speak about...well, I'm thinking he didn't.

                You know, all things considered.

                "What are you reading?" I asked quietly, though my voice sounded unnaturally loud in comparison to the usual din of soft breathing and turning pages. James's eyes darted over to mine, his fingers stopping their movements in my hair. He looked at me with surprise.

                "You're up," he said, smiling. He stared at me for a bit before his eyes flickered back down to his book. "Very boring Arithmancy," he told me with a sigh. "More distracting than interesting, really, but I wasn't paying much attention anyway."

                I got a pointed look at that comment and felt the heat radiate up to my face. I let my gaze fall, but knew it was rather hopeless. Before long, my eyes were right back on his.

                "Feeling better?" he asked, once I finally managed to look at him again.

                "Yeah," I muttered, though I honestly couldn't imagine feeling much _worse_. "Yeah, I'm all right."

                James stared at me, something in his face changing. He shifted, closing his book with one hand and placing it on the bedside table next to him. I watched all of this without moving, stubbornly refusing to remove myself from his side. When he settled back into the bed, he didn't say much of anything. Because I didn't know what else to do, I closed my eyes again, taking in a long breath as I pressed my face further into his shirt. James's hand went back to my hair and I very nearly sighed.

                Merlin, a little bit of a hair stroke and I'm mush.

                That's sad.

                So very, very, sad.

                We stayed like that for awhile, neither of us speaking, both of us just lying there in the bed. I knew it was stupid—honestly, what did I think I was doing? What could possibly come of this?—but I couldn't make myself move. For most of the day I had been avoiding James and for most of the day, he'd somehow ended up showing up, anyway. I wasn't going to think about what was going to happen after this, what would happen later tonight, or tomorrow—oh god, _tomorrow—_ I wouldn't think about any of it. For now, I was happy to remain completely without thought, forgetting for just a moment that what I was doing was completely and utterly wrong.

                Or at least, I _think_ it was completely and utterly wrong. Things were quickly growing rather hazy in that respect.

                I was still debating internally about the insanity of all of this when a movement from James startled me out of my thoughts. My gaze snapped over to his as he silently lifted my bandaged wrist from his chest, bringing it closer to his face and appearing to examine it carefully. My breath hitched slightly.

                "You nearly killed me with this one, Evans," he told me quietly, his eyes flickering from my wrist to my face as he spoke. "Do you realise that?"

                "I heard," I muttered dryly, rather wanting to beat Grace with a stick just about then, but figuring that those impulses should probably be placed away for a better time. "I'm all right," I felt like I should add, biting a bit at my lip. "Really. I mean, it's about the grossest looking thing you've ever seen, but it doesn't hurt. I'm okay."

                "I wish I could believe you, Infallible," James replied, throwing me a look, "but then again, I did see you nearly pass out in a corridor. It's a slight cause for concern, isn't it?"

                "That was not injury related," I insisted, lifting the shoulder that wasn't squished against him and the bed into a shrug. "I didn't...I didn't sleep much last night, that's all."

                James's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Ah. Last night." His voice took on a slightly sardonic edge. "So this was _after_ your detention when you ran away and refused to speak to me, then?"

                Oh, bother.

                Must he _say it_ like that?

                "Er..." I muttered uselessly, trying to find the proper response. "You know, that's not quite...well, what I was _trying_ to do was...er..."

                "Drive me mad?" James suggested, looking at me pointedly. "Worry me? Get me underneath a desk with you?"

                " _That_ ," I interrupted quickly, shooting him a glare, "was utterly unnecessary, by the way. The first _and_ the second time."

                "I didn't say I'd come after you the second time."

                "You said, 'Christ, Lily'."

                "You were pissing me off."

                "I was getting my quill!"

                "That," James mocked, "is a big, fat lie, Lily Evans."

                "You can't prove that," I insisted stubbornly, then closed my eyes once again and buried my face back into his chest.

                James laughed, the sound of it sending a new set of chills down my spine and another bright spot of red to my cheeks. I was quickly getting rather tired of these completely ridiculous bodily reactions.

                "You're a special sort of something, you know that, Infallible?" James chuckled, shaking his head at me. "A special sort of something."

                "If that's an insult—"

                "It's not," he insisted, his voice suddenly rather serious. "It really isn't."

                I looked up at him, finding his face as sober as his voice had been. I gulped lightly, not even beginning to delude myself to what that look meant.

                I mean, the nap theory was never exactly a solid one, was it?

                I knew what was coming.

                But that didn't mean I was any more ready to hear it.

                "So," James said finally, his voice still low and heavy. "Are we done dancing around this? Can we talk now?"

                I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn't quite get anything out. I struggled for a few seconds before forcing out what I'm sure was just a fabulous imitation of a mouse squeaking, "Yes."

                Really, sometimes I wonder about me.

                Psh.

                Man _up_ , Evans.

                James must have realised how utterly panicked I had just becom—really, it wasn't very hard to see—because he sighed a bit heavily and began the comforting movements through my hair again.

                "Lily—" he began.

                "No," I interrupted, deciding right then and there to stop being such a bloody coward. "Don't say anything."

                I stared at him, watching the shadows creep along his face, trying not to let my thumping heart pop straight out of my chest. I took a deep breath.

                This was it. I _knew_ this was it. For better or for worse, we were going to talk about all this madness and get it—well, if not sorted out, then at least _acknowledged_. He was right—we had danced around this thing long enough. And while the mere thought of actually discussing everything made my stomach clench in tight, uncomfortable knots, I was going to ignore that. Because we were going to do this. We _had_ to. If not for the better of mankind, then at least for the better of my waning sanity. Which is just as crucial as mankind, when you really think on it.

                We were going to do this.

                We _were_.

                "No," I said again, suddenly feeling so much more determined than I had been just moments before. I raised a bit off his chest, lifting my body from his for the first time, a decisive plan forming in my head. I started to get off the bed. "I have to—"

                "Don't go," James blurted out instantly. He sat up with me, watching as I swung my—albeit, rather shaky—legs over the side of the bed, rising to my feet for the first time in a while. He let out a sound of frustration. "Come _on_ , Lil. Don't—"

                "I'm not leaving," I told him. And I wasn't. In fact, I was moving barely three meters away, back over to James's bed. I quickly scrambled off, spotting my rucksack right where I had tossed it earlier this afternoon, stashed beside James's bedside table. I grabbed it from the floor and held it loosely in my hand, making my way back over to James with stubborn purpose. He watched me with a large amount of confusion as I climbed back into the bed, propping myself up against the headboard beside him, our shoulders brushing together. I plopped my rucksack on my lap and instantly began digging through it.

                "Lily, what are you..." I could practically hear his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I ignored it for the moment, though, continuing with my search. It didn't take very long to find what I was looking for.

                Slowly, carefully, I grabbed one end of wool and without hesitation, pulled the scarlet and gold scarf from my bag.

                James's scarf.

                Right.

                Here we go.

                I tossed my rucksack back to the ground, not really caring what happened to it. I was far more concerned with looking at James, watching as his gaze focused on the offending object, seeing his eyes widen as I carefully held the scarf out to him. He took it without a word, slowly scanning the scrap of fabric rather than the person who was handing it to him. My stomach did some more uncomfortable clenching, but I once again tried to ignore it. I couldn't be bothered. As pathetic as it was, I knew exactly what I was waiting for—what I was _hoping_ for, really—as James took his scarf. If it came, I didn't want to miss it.

                Recognition.

                Realisation.

                I wanted him to remember.

                I really, _really_ wanted him to remember.

                Which was probably about as telling as anything else that I had already done, but apparently none of that mattered anymore.

                James didn't say anything for a few seconds. I continued to watch him, absolutely dying of frustration when I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he was thinking. His face was completely blank as he carefully fingered the scarf. I took a breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

                When James finally looked at me—after ages and _ages_ , it seemed—a small smile quirked at the side of his mouth.

                "I actually forgot you had this," he said, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe he'd forgotten such a thing. I stared at him blankly, thinking that considering the _other_ things he'd forgotten from that night, it wasn't all that shocking to find that I didn't exactly share in his disbelief.

                In fact, I was pretty annoyed.

                Psh.

                Like forgetting a stupid _scarf_ mattered.

                "You forgot a couple of things that night," I muttered dryly, mostly to myself.

                I didn't exactly intend for James to hear that, but he must have caught it anyway, because he turned and looked at me with a decidedly cocked eyebrow. That questioning look had me gulping.

                This was it.

                There was no turning back now.

                I was going to tell him. I was going to tell him everything. I would tell him about how he'd kissed me, and then forgot about it. I would tell him about how I'd pretended that he hadn't done it because I was too much of a bloody coward to do otherwise. I was going to tell him that I knew he fancied me and that I perhaps fancied him a little bit, as well. I was going to tell him about this stupid date tomorrow and about how he was single-handedly sending the entire thing straight to hell without even knowing it and how I really wasn't all that sure how I was feeling about that.

                I was going to tell him...well, I was going to tell him all of it.

                Bugger.

                Bugger, bugger, _bugger_.

                I felt rather like vomiting, but decided that that was probably not the best of options. I forced myself to breathe, trying to calm down enough to speak. I searched for the determination that I had been all but radiating a few minutes ago, but could only manage to find a small sliver of it left.

                I grabbed for that sliver and held on for dear life.

                I could do this.

                I _could_.

                "James—" I started breathlessly.

                "No," he interrupted, shaking his head. "No, Lily, listen—"

                But I couldn't listen. I couldn't listen because if I stopped for even a second, I wouldn't go through with it. I wouldn't tell him. So I shook my head forcefully and interrupted him, as well. "No, _you_ listen. I have to—"

                " _Lily_."

                I don't know what made me stop. I was so determined to get it out, so determined to make him remember, that I couldn't even fathom stopping. But for some reason, the way he said my name had the words stumbling in my mouth. Catching. Stopping.

                I looked at him— _really_ looked at him—for the first time.

                And then...it hit me.

                Oh, god.

                Oh, double bloody fucking _hell_.

                He knew.

                _He knew_.

                I don't know how _I_ knew that he knew. I can't say what it was exactly that tipped me off, that brought the reality of it crashing in. But just looking at him...it was there. It was written all over his face, shining unavoidably in his eyes as he stared helplessly at me. His entire demeanor practically screamed "I _know_. I remember," and I was so completely shocked by that—he _knew_? He actually _knew_? Without me having to tell him?—that I sat there for a few important moments, gaping stupidly like a fish, trying to get my mind to wrap around it.

                Because he _couldn't_ know. He _didn't_. He'd _told_ me that he didn't.

                So...what?

                I found my words somehow. I can't for the life of me say how—and it's not as if they were very _stunning_ , anyway—but I did find them.

                My voice was broken and hoarse. All the blood had drained from my face.

                Oh, _Merlin_.

                "You know," I whispered, my voice cracking distinctly. I stared at him. Hard. Floundering. "But...but you said...how..."

                "Sometimes, Infallible," he started calmly, giving me the smallest of smiles, "it's easier to lie to you than it is to tell you the truth."

                Easier...to lie to me?

                He'd _lied_ to me?

                _What?_

                I couldn't sit anymore. I was up in a flash, suddenly breathing as if I'd just competed in a triathlon. My head spun, everything running together and making a mess of my already utterly messy mind. I turned on James, staring at him with fury.

                Because I was _cross_.

                Really, _really_ cross.

                Naturally.

                (It was the easier emotion to deal with.)

                "You _lied_ to me?" I advanced towards the bed—towards him—with utter rage boiling through my veins. "You _lied_? But...it's...how long? How _long_ , James? How _could_ you—" I stopped, cutting myself off abruptly as something suddenly occurred to me. I glared even harder at him. "Did Sirius tell you?" I demanded. "Is that what happened? Did that arse tell you?"

                "Sirius?" James jumped up from the bed, as well. "No, Sirius didn't...how do _you_ know Sirius knows?"

                "He bloody told me!" I shouted, throwing my hands up in frustration. "Unlike _some_ people I could mention—"

                "When did he tell you?" James asked, seemingly completely unconcerned with how _furious_ I was at him, and rather stupidly concerned about the going-ons of his mate. If I could have glared harder, I would have.

                "About two seconds," I spat scathingly, raising my wrist, "before _this_."

                It took a few seconds for James to register what I was implying with that. At first he just stared at me, the confusion evident on his face, but the realisation of it quickly dawned on him as his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. I tried not to take too much satisfaction out of that.

                Tried, anyway.

                "Do you mean... _that's_ why you dropped the beaker?" he asked. I fought back the urge to roll my eyes.

                "I'm a lot of things," I replied dryly, crossing my arms over my chest, "but I _know_ you can't possibly think I'm that careless on my own."

                James continued to look dumbfounded as he attempted to take that in. I watched him silently, letting the anger roll over me, waiting for a response so that I could rip him even further to shreds. But instead of mumbling out an apology or an explanation or _anything_ that I might have expected, James face suddenly darkened.

                "I'm going to kill him," he fumed, already starting to walk towards the door as if he actually _meant_ it. "I'm going to _kill—_ "

                "Oh, no you don't!" I cried, stepping in front of him and pushing my hands against his chest, stopping him in his path. I glared fiercely up at him and received an equally scathing look in return. "You're staying right here!"

                "But he—" James couldn't seem to get the words out, furiously waving his hand between the door and me. "He fucking—when you were pouring _acid_! I'm going—"

                "No!" I shouted, and shoved even harder against his chest when he began walking again. " _No_. You don't get to play concerned beau, not now! Not when you..." I trailed away, suddenly realising something in my utter and complete stupidity. My hands dropped from James's chest, falling to my sides as I began to laugh humourlessly. "Merlin," I said, not able to keep the bitterness from my voice. "Merlin, how _stupid_ of me. Of _course_ he didn't tell you— _you_ told _him_. Oh, god...this whole time? You knew this _whole time_? And yet you let me...you _let me—_ "     

                "It wasn't like that!" James instantly defended, all but entirely forgetting his anger at Sirius as he stepped closer to me, a desperate sort of look on his face. "Listen to me, all right? It wasn't like that. Yes, I remembered kissing you—for fuck's sake, it's not something a bloke's likely to _forget—_ "

                "But you _did_!" I cried hysterically, wanting to absolutely pound him. I clenched my fists at my side, just in case the idiot came closer and gave me the opportunity. "You _did!_ You told me all you remembered was...was...blurs! That's what you said! Blurs!"

                "And then I asked _you_ what I did," James pointed out, his eyes narrowing on me. "If you wanted to tell me, you could have. You _could_ have, Lily."

                "Me? You wanted _me_ to tell you?"

                "You were there, as well!"

                "Yes, but I didn't...I didn't..."

                I clamped my mouth shut, not really able to say that I didn't do anything because I'm relatively certain that we both knew I was a rather active participant in the whole thing. I could have said that I didn't start it, but that sounded childish and petty and I didn't want that. I turned away from him, all of a sudden feeling the fury draining from me. I closed my eyes and breathed, trying to think rationally. But it was just...just...

                He _knew_.

                I still couldn't even fathom that. He knew. This entire time, he'd known everything. That morning after it all, he'd only been pretending to be a surly, hungover boor so that I wouldn't think that he'd remembered. And then later—all my complete awkwardness and the mental breakdowns—he _knew_ what had caused that! He knew that I was panicking over the fact that he kissed me, what it meant! And when I had yelled at him, told him that the whole thing was his fault that afternoon in the Great Hall...he'd known then, as well! And yet he had just gone on and pretended as if he had no idea! But why?

                _Why?_

                "Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, rubbing at my eyes tiredly, just wanting to understand. I looked at him—at his familiar face—and just _couldn't_. "You knew I knew. So why did you...didn't you even think about what you were doing? To me?"

                " _Yes_ ," he answered emphatically, and it was a good thing that I had finally cooled my urge to pummel him because now he was taking a few quick steps closer, only stopping when he stood right in front of me. Not only that, but then his hand reached out, slowly lifting to my face, catching me under the chin so that he could lift it slightly. He brought my eyes to his. The brown in them practically _smoldered_ at me.

                Ohgodohgodohgod.

                "Lily," he whispered, and I swear I've never heard my name sound like that before. So soft and so full and so...oh Merlin, there's no word for it. "It _was_ for you. It's _all_ for you. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

                Oh.

                _Oh_.

                My heart stopped in my chest, already pausing at the look he was giving me, completely giving out at his words. I stared at him—just stared—because I didn't know what else to do. There was something caught in my throat. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.

                I couldn't do _anything_.

                "I'm sorry," he said before my mouth had begun working again. He took a step back from me, suddenly restless, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry I lied. Maybe it wasn't what I should have done...I don't know. It seemed right at the time. I just didn't want to...we had come so far and I didn't want—"

                "You didn't want to ruin things," I finished quietly, hugging myself as a sad attempt at comfort. I bit at my lower lip. "I get it."

                "Do you?" James questioned instantly, gazing at me suddenly with a decidedly searing look. I opened my mouth to answer, but James cut me off. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, don't say anything. Because I don't think you _do_ get it, Lily. I don't think..." He trailed away, suddenly giving off a strange sort of half-laugh. "Fuck, I don't know how you _could_ get it."

                I didn't know what to say to that. I wasn't even really sure what he was talking about. But it didn't much matter because James still wasn't giving me much of an opportunity to speak. Just as I was about to question him on what he meant, he interrupted me again, cutting off my question with one of his own.

                And his, I soon discovered, was not even remotely as simple as mine.

                _Bugger_.

                "Do you have any idea," he started slowly, staring at me almost ruefully, "how I feel about you?"

                Oh.

                Shit.

                Feelings.

                I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it. Then closed it.

                Shit _shit_.

                I _hate_ feelings.

                James laughed— _really_ laughed—as he watched me open and close my mouth like some sort of faulty drawbridge. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what was so funny, but then again, it's not like me not understanding James and his random outbursts was anything new. I couldn't do anything but stare at him, watching the smile slip across his previously serious face as my mind tried to process what exactly it was supposed to do. Inside my head, all I kept hearing was the word 'feelings' over and over again.

                I hate, _hate_ feelings.

                "Well, I guess that answers that," James said with a humorless sort of chuckle. He threw me a look. "That bad?"

                "No!" I blurted out, shaking my head frantically, finally managing to get something out of my worthless mouth. I took an impulsive step closer to him. "I didn't...I didn't mean that. I just...I don't..."

                _I don't want to talk about this!_

                Why in the hell did I think I could do it?

                James sighed heavily, his fingers coming up to gently rub at his closed eyes beneath his glasses. The other hand was propped against his hip, then dropped down to his side with the other. He stared at me with a decidedly tired look. "Maybe you should sit down," he said.

                Er.

                No.

                You can't run from the room while sitting, thanks.

                "I think I'd like to stand," I answered slowly.

                James shook his head. "I'm not holding back," he warned, looking quite like he meant it. "I'm not holding back anymore, Lily."

                Dear Merlin, that sounded ominous.

                "That's...good," I stuttered, sounding not the least bit convincing as I silently began searching for all the nearest exits (windows: three. doors: one). "I'm...I'm not holding back, either!"

                James grinned, cocking his eyebrow at me. "You've been holding back, Infallible?"

                Oh, bother.

                "Er." I scratched idly at the back of my head, feeling those stupid redheaded-blush genes kick in once more. "Yes. No. Maybe."

                "Well, in that case," James said, shooting me a small smile. "Why don't I start?"

                How about...not?

                I really didn't like the sound of him starting, but I rather disliked the sound of _me_ starting even more, so even though on the tip of my tongue was the rather panic-filled suggestion that we not speak at all, that we perhaps opt out of all this "feelings" business in lieu of a nice game of Exploding Snap...well, I'm pretty sure that that wouldn't have gone over too well. So I didn't say it, even though I was thinking it. Which is why I found myself somehow nodding to this mad plan even as the alarms began to go off inside my head.

                But he couldn't be holding back _that_ much...could he?

                _Damn_ it.

                "All right," James said, the words coming out on a long breath. His hand went once more to his hair, but instead of running his fingers through it, he just sort of pulled. I watched as his fingers clenched and unclenched in the messy strands. "All right," he said again. He looked over at me, his eyes running up and down my face. "Are you sure you don't want to sit?"

                "Er." I hesitated. "Should I?"

                James grimaced. "Probably."

                "I know most of it," I found myself saying, mostly because he looked so stressed over the whole thing and I pathetically wanted to make him feel better. He glanced at me, his eyes narrowing. I nodded stupidly. "Really," I said. "I mean, I...well, you...you weren't exactly _subtle_ that night...and...and then there was Sirius. And Grace tells me—well, actually Grace doesn't tell me much of anything, crap mate that she is, but she occasionally let's things slip—"

                "Lily," James interrupted, shaking his head. "Trust me. You don't know most of it."

                "But—"

                " _Lily._ " He was laughing at me now. " _Trust_ me. Will you just listen for a second?"

                I nodded.

                He sighed.

                I sat.

                He smiled.

                "Smart girl," he said.

                "I try," I muttered weakly.

                Things were silent after that. I sat upon—Peter's?—bed, shifting uncomfortably, trying not to let my mind wander to places that are better left unwandered. James would stare at me, start to pace, then stop to stare at me again. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing of any merit ever came out.

                But he managed it eventually. Naturally.

                "Look," he finally said, the word coming out loudly. I jumped, startled. He shot me an apologetic look. "Sorry," he said. He sighed, reverting to his old ways and running his hand through his hair. "You've got to understand," he started slowly, the words coming out gruffly. "This year..." He stopped suddenly. "No," he muttered, though I think it was mostly to himself. "No, I shouldn't start there. It didn't _start_ there. I—"

                "When did it start?" I blurted out, then blushed ridiculously when I realised just how telling that was. James didn't seem to mind the question, however, because he just smiled at me.

                "Hard to say," he confessed, as casually as if we were discussing the weather. "You sort of sneak up on a bloke."

                "Sorry," I muttered.

                James smiled again.

                "Don't be sorry," he said quietly. “I'm not."

                "How can you say that?" I whispered, not able to hold back. "After everything I've done to you? How can you say that?"

                James let out a sound of frustration. "You haven't _done_ anything to me, Lily. You—"

                "But I have!" I cut him off, rising up from the bed. "James, I _have_. These past few weeks...I've been so blind and—"

                "I _wanted_ you blind," James countered, taking a step closer. He shook his head at me, letting off a soft sigh. "Don't blame yourself for that. It's more my fault than it could ever be yours. From the very start of this I didn’t want you to know how I felt. Then that night of the Quidditch match...I don’t know. It might have been a mistake. But I knew what I was doing when I started playing these games with you. I knew that you had no idea how I felt until that night. And I fucked it up about half a billion times, anyway."

                "I should have known," I insisted still, hugging myself in a failed attempt at comfort. "Before that night, I should have known. I think...I think I did, sort of. Not at the very beginning, but...you were never subtle. And...well, for Merlin's sake, _everyone else_ seemed to know."

                James managed to crack a grin. "Can't argue with that one," he said.

                We were quiet again.

                There were so many things in my head, on my mind, waiting to come out. I wanted at the same time to know absolutely everything and absolutely nothing, fighting an inner battle between what I wanted and what I knew I _should_ want. But things were growing murky—things were _always_ murky with James—and I was somehow left with a mouth filled with words and lips that wouldn't quite let them out. So I stood there. And he stood there. We both stood there.

                He broke the silence first. I suppose that says something remarkably sad about his strength over mine.

                "Fifth-year," was what he said, very quietly. I looked up at him, confused. He shrugged. "You asked when it started," he explained, eyeing me carefully. "The beginning of fifth year. It wasn't the same as now, of course. I didn't even really know you then—not outside of class or you yelling at me for whatever shit I was pulling, anyway—but that is when it started."

                I nodded, trying not to show how panicked I had suddenly become.

                Breathe, Lily. _Breathe_.

                "All right," I whispered.

                But James wasn't quite done.

                "That's when it started," he told me again, still eyeing me very carefully, "but to be perfectly honest, it never really stopped. Not fully."

                I knew I should have stayed quiet—for Merlin's sake, even a traitorous mouth should understand when a girl should just let a bloke speak!—but I couldn't keep my mouth from blurting out its thoughts. It happened before I had any control over it.

                Because I am a moron.

                A big, stupid moron.

                "You dated other people," I heard myself say, and it took me a moment to even realise that it was me who said it, so completely inappropriate was _that_ comment. And really, it took just about everything I had not to slap myself in the head after that. Stupid, _stupid_. "That is...I mean..."

                James stared at me.

                I turned ridiculously redder.

                Oh, god, why do I speak?

                "You're talking about Liz?" James asked, his voice flat. I waited for a moment, then nodded before I could stop myself. James didn't say anything for a few seconds. Eventually, he let out a sigh and propped his arms on his hips. "You're right," he answered slowly, seeming to think very carefully about what he was saying. "But Lizzie and I...we weren't...it was complicated. Our relationship was very complicated."

                "How?"

                James looked stressed by the question and I felt like the worst sort of villain for pushing him on it. I mean, for god's sake, I _know_ why their relationship was complicated. I know all about it—I know _more_ than I wanted to know about it, really. So why was I being such a questioning cad? Why wouldn't I let it go? Why were these questions popping out of my mouth?

                It was stupid, but I knew why. I wanted to see...well, I had only gotten Sirius's side of the story. And what if...well, what if...

                What if there was more to it than he knew?

                What if it wasn't just alcohol, sex, and pulling stunts?

                The thought made me feel sick. It really did.

                I was about to take it back—it was on the tip of my tongue to say, "Never mind" and hope that I hadn't just ruined something important. The more I thought about it, the more I really didn't want to know if their relationship was more than Sirius had made it out to be. I was happier in my ignorance. I really was. But James didn't give me the chance. Before I had time to take it all back, he spoke.

                "There's a lot about Liz and me that I can't explain," he started slowly, looking at me straight in the eyes. I almost withered under all the things shining out of those eyes, but forced myself to swallow hard and not look away. "It...it wasn't a normal relationship. It was...well, like I said, there's a lot I can't explain. Not because I don't want you to know, but because...well, I'm not sure you'd understand. And some of it is not mine to say. Does that make any sense?"

                "Yeah," I nodded, even though it didn’t. "Yeah, it makes sense."

                James nodded back. "But you should know," he said, and all of a sudden, his voice took on a slightly strained tone. He sighed. "Just know," he said again, looking at me. "Well—and I'm not _proud_ of this, all right? It just is what it is—even when I was with Liz...you were always there. In one way or another, you were."

                "I was?" I asked, sounding completely and ridiculously eager.

                _Idiot_.

                James smiled at that. "You were," he said.

                I tried not to show it. I mean, I knew I had basically already blown it with my utterly stupid eagerness, but I really did try. I tried almost desperately to keep the relief off my face, to control the spurt of happiness that shot through me and not make it uncomfortably apparent that I was pathetically ecstatic to hear that. But I couldn't quite do it.

                Because damn it, I _knew_ he liked me more than her. I just _knew_ it!

                Ha!

                I suppose I went a little overboard with my was-supposed-to-be-surreptitious-but-clearly-was-anything-but haughty satisfaction because James's sudden laugh broke through the air and I found myself turning an even more uncomfortable shade of red. As he shook his head at me, I ducked mine down, embarrassed at being caught.

                "You know," he sighed, a pointed edge entering into his laughing voice, "you do things like that, Infallible, and you make a bloke hope."

                My head snapped back up.

                Er.

                Um.

                I...

                _Ahh_.

                I could have explained it all then. He was giving me the perfect opening. I could have jumped right on it, told him that there _was_ hope—that, for Merlin's sake, _of course_ I fancied him! Was he _blind_?—that this date with Amos tomorrow was not at all turning out as I had wanted it to and that _he_ was part of the reason why. It would have been so easy—that had been the plan, hadn't it? To tell him everything?—but despite all of that, nothing came out. I opened my mouth, and I couldn't say it. I couldn't tell him.

                Damn stupid _mouth_.

                "James..." I started, his name being the only thing I could force out of my mouth. But he interrupted, anyway, saving me from my serious mouth-brain dilemma.

                "Don't," he said, shaking his head. "You never let me finish. Just listen to me for a few minutes. Let me explain and then you can call me three times a fool or whatever you need to do, but just let me explain, all right?"

                "I won't call you a—"

                " _Lily_."

                I blushed. "Sorry. Shutting up. I promise. Go ahead." There was a brief pause, but then I couldn't quite help but add, "But just for the record, I won't call you a fool. There. I'm done. Go on."

                James was not convinced. "You haven't even heard what I have to say yet. You might change your mind."

                "I won't."

                He glared.

                I sagged down. "Sorry. Right. Truly shutting up now. Go ahead."

                "Thank you." He looked as if he didn't quite believe I was capable of it, which, really, I sort of don't blame him for. I mean, that tends to be the case with traitorous mouths. "Can you sit back down, please?" he asked. I threw him a look, beginning to argue, but he cut me off. “Just placate me, all right?"

                I would have objected, but people who aren't allowed to speak aren't generally allowed to object, so I just shot him another withering stare and sat down. He nodded in thanks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began to shift awkwardly on his feet. I watched him silently, wondering what exactly I was about to get myself into. I mean, I've had mental breakdowns simply on the _idea_ of this whole...whole... _fancying_ business. What would the actual _truth_ of it do to me?

                Perhaps it was time to revise that old will.

                "I didn't...I didn't go into this year _trying_ to drive you mad, all right?" is what he started with, which would have earned a snort from me if I had been allowed to speak/snort (actually, is snorting speaking?). As it was, I merely threw him a well- _that_ -failed sort of look, which he didn't even really see because he was too busy pacing around. "It wasn't like that," he went on. "But when I found out I got Head Boy...I mean, there was really no doubt you were going to be Head Girl, was there? So you can't blame a bloke for...for thinking."

                Perhaps not, but I _could_ blame him for the whole 'really no doubt' bit.

  
                Merlin, fancying me must really warp his mind.

                Poor boy.

                "We hadn't...spoken much sixth year," he continued, and something inside of me complained in protest—would _no one_ let that alone? "I reckoned you still despised me—hell, I didn't even blame you for it, really. I was always saying the stupidest things around you—but I just thought...maybe this year could be different. Maybe I could make it all right. Hell, maybe I could even get you to _like_ me—or at least not spit whenever you heard my name."

                "I didn't—"

                James shot me a glare.

                Oh. Right. No talking.

                Besides, that was pretty much a lie, anyway. He rather _did_ make me want to throw things then.

                "You did," he countered, staring at me pointedly. I would have agreed, but I wasn't allowed to. James seemed to think I was still disagreeing, though. "You can't deny it," he went on, shaking his head. "I mean, look how bloody long it took you to even talk to me civilly! That first time I spoke to you at the train station, you were bloody waiting for me to attack you or something. You thought it was a prank!"

                "Well, you can't _blame_ me," I shot back, even though James threw me another dirty look. I ignored it and kept going. "What was I supposed to think? You had been nothing but terrible to me for so long and I...well, you know me! I'm suspicious! I don't do change! And the second that I _did_ start to trust you, I got hit with green goop!"

                "That wasn't–"

                "I know," I interrupted, waving his objections off. "I know it wasn't you. But I didn't know it _then_. And by the time I finally figured out that perhaps you weren't forty shades of horrible, you were cross with me!"

                "Of course I was cross!" James snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "I had been working my bloody _arse_ off trying to make you hate me a little less and then one, little misunderstanding and you completely toss me over! You wouldn't talk to me, you wouldn't answer my notes–you poured _pumpkin juice_ over my head, for Merlin's sake! How would _you_ have felt?"

                "I didn't know that's what you were doing!" I cried. "I thought you were messing around with me!"

                "Which was exactly," James said, "why I _was_ cross. You wouldn't even give me a chance."

                I know I shouldn't have been feeling guilty–it wasn't _my_ fault that he had been such a git before that I hadn't trusted him now–but regardless, there was still an undeniable bubble of uneasiness sprouting up in my stomach. It was on the tip of my tongue to apologise for that, but James stopped me.

                "Don't," he said, shaking his head. "It's water under the bridge now. It's not important. You had every right not to trust me and I...well, I have a quick fuse and you're a particular sore spot for it. That's not your fault, it's mine. I got through to you eventually, I reckon."

                "Yeah," I muttered, really not thinking about what I was saying, "just in time for me to completely toss you under the bus with Amos. Just lovely, wasn't it?"

                The word 'Amos' was like that button that you're not supposed to press. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, a new sort of tension entering the air. I looked up quickly at James, watching as his face abruptly grew impassive, his eyes shaded. I very nearly groaned aloud. I knew he wouldn't possibly believe it, but I was pretty sure that I dreaded hearing Amos's name just as ardently as James did. Because as it turns out, Amos is apparently a rather sore subject for most of us these days. Really, who knew?

                Psh.

                How could I...how could I explain him? Amos, I mean? I didn't even understand what I was feeling _myself_. But I had to say something. I had to get that look off James's face. I searched for something, anything.

                "I didn't...I never meant to hurt you," I said softly, figuring that even if I couldn't explain my feelings, I _could_ make sure James knew at least that. I rose slowly from the bed, watching him carefully. "You know that I didn't know then, right? That I wouldn't have...I wouldn't have even brought him _up_ if I'd thought–"

                "I know," James interrupted, shaking his head. He let out a large sigh, running a hand through his hair again as he suddenly turned away from me. "I know you wouldn't have. But that's really not the point here, is it? I mean, it wouldn't have stopped you from fancying him. It wouldn't have stopped you from saying yes when he asked you to Hogsmeade. It wouldn't have...it wouldn't have made a difference."

                "That's not exactly–"

                "It _is_ exactly!" James snapped, suddenly turning to face me again. He took a few steps closer, closing most of the distance between us. He glowered. "You don't have to sugarcoat this for me, all right? I get it. I was there, remember? I saw you after the arsehole asked you. If you'd been shining any more brightly, you would have lit the entire bloody castle up."

                "That's not fair," I argued, narrowing my eyes. "That's not fair, James. Don't make it like that."

                James scowled. "Well, it _was_ like that. Do you want me to lie about it?"

                "Well, why not?" I snapped, glaring at him now. "It's what you did then, wasn't it? You lied to me then, just like you lied every time before and every time after that! It's all you've ever done with me–why stop now?"

                "Because I _can't_ lie to you anymore!" James cried, throwing up his hands in frustration. I stared at him, surprised to hear that his voice had taken on a new sort of desperation. He let out a huge sigh, his face softening as the crossness seemed to fade out of him. He looked at me imploringly. "Don't you get that?”� he asked quietly. “That's what this is all about, Lil. I can’t...I'm not going to sit back anymore and hope that one day you'll see what's right in front of your eyes! If someone has to step up to make this work, then damn it, I'm going to do it, and I don't care anymore if you don't want to hear it because eventually it’s going to be too late and then where will we be? I won’t...I can’t take all this anymore. It’s too much."

                "I'm sorry," I whispered.

                " _Don't_ ," James ordered, "be sorry. Didn't I tell you that already?"

                "Yes, but–"

                "Be angry," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Be angry or be confused or be bloody indifferent if you have to be, but _don't_ , for fuck's sake, be sorry. I can't take sorry, not from you. Sorry makes things final. Sorry means he wins and it's over, and whether or not you want to hear it, I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet!"

                My heart thumped frantically against my chest, an unsteady beat as I stared at James silently. I swallowed hard, trying to figure out how I could respond to that, but James didn't give me much of a chance. He came closer, leaving barely any space between us now. His eyes never left mine.

                "Tell me, Lily," he whispered harshly, his voice hard, but rather desperate now, as well. He grabbed hold of my arms, pulling me even closer. "Tell me I'm not mad. Tell me there's something here, that I'm not just grasping at air. Just tell me...tell me if there's any chance, all right? Tell me it's not over yet."

                _Tell me it's not over yet._

                I wanted to tell him.

                Oh, dear Merlin, I wanted to tell him _so badly_.

                He was looking at me so fiercely, the desperation of his request mixing with the anger and the madness of the moment and I swear, I'd never been so sure I fancied the stupid idiot as I was at that very moment. I'd never wanted to throw myself at him more. Because he...he...

                Because there _was_ a chance–a _huge_ chance, even–and damn it, could he really blame me if I was just sort of accepting it then?

                It wasn't over. Not even remotely.

                I could have said all of that to him. I could have said all of it and what more, I think I actually _would_ have said it, which was far more than my stupid mouth had allowed me to do thus far. It was on the tip of my tongue to do so. I was finally going to let it all out. But just as the first word–his name–escaped my lips, James cut me off, stopping my declarations before they'd even begun.

                "James–"

                "No," he said, shaking his head frantically at me. "No, don't say anything. I just want to... Merlin, why do you even _like_ that arse?" he demanded suddenly, reverting back to his angry frustration. He dropped his hands from me and began to pace. "I mean, honestly, what do you even have in common, Lily? What? It's stupid, is what it is– _he's_ stupid. He's not good enough for you. And I'm not saying that I am, but...but I'm better than _him_! And you can deny it all you want," he ranted on, completely ignoring my every attempt at speaking. "You can tell me all you want that there's nothing here, that it's all in my head, but do you know what? I don't _believe it_! I don't! Because I _know_ there's something between us, Lily, and even though you might not want to see it, that doesn't mean it's not there. And I don't care about stupid fucking Diggory and anything you might _think_ is going on there because...well, because I remember that night I kissed you and I damn well wasn't the only one feeling something!"

                "I–"

                "But then again..." James sighed, trailing off tiredly. I watched as right before my eyes, he seemed to deflate, all the feeling appearing to drain out of him rather suddenly. He took a step back, his hand coming up to run through his hair again. "But then again," he started once more, looking away from me for the first time, "you kissed him, as well, didn't you? Just yesterday, even. And it's not him you've been bloody avoiding all day. It's not him that you couldn't stand. So maybe...hell, maybe I _am_ deluding myself. Maybe I should just accept that it's all him for you and that whatever this is between us is just a sodding figment of my imagination. Maybe–"

                I don't know what happened then.

                I could've sworn that I was a good distance away. I could've sworn that as I listened to him go on and on–bloody _idiotically_ , I might add–that I was in full control of all my facilities. But something snapped, something I'm not even really sure I was fully aware of, and before I really had too much time to think about what the hell was going on, my lips were on his, efficiently catching the rest of his sorrowful speech with my mouth.

                Oh, god.

                Oh, shit.

                Was that...was that me?

                Almost as soon as they were there, my lips were gone from his, ripped away in a sudden frenzy of realisation, a complete and utter 'oh-bloody-hell-what-have-I- _done_?' moment. I looked up at James, his face still centimeters from mine, registering the unreserved shock that rested there. We stared silently at each other, breathing a bit harshly, neither of us moving an inch.

                And then, quite suddenly, James's expression shifted.

                The freezing shock morphed into a smile that positively _dazzled_.

                Oh, yeah.

                Definitely me.

                Oops.

                "I take it back!" I cried quickly, throwing my hands over his lips, stopping whatever it was that he was about to say ("Again?" seemed like the inevitable response), but also covering up that stupid grin that was sending some serious tingles into my stomach, and with my lips already tingling ridiculously, I had pretty much had _enough_ with the bloody tingles. "I didn't...I take it back!"

                "You can't take that back," James insisted, his hands lifting to mine, moving them away from his mouth so that he could speak. He kept them firmly intertwined with his own, however, and the smile was still there. "You can't take that back, Lily. You _kissed_ me."

                "It was _trying_ to get you to shut up!"

                "Why?"

                "Because...because you talk too much!"

                "Yeah?" he asked, and began to lean forward again, closing the already pathetically nonexistent space between us. "Sorry. Got it. No more talking."

                "James, _no_ –"

                But of course it was too late.

                And really, I had no one to blame but myself.

                I mean, I started it.

                And Merlin help us all, I couldn't for the life of me _stop_ once it started.

                James didn't take it very slow. To be perfectly honest, the bloke really rather launched himself at me, which normally I might have taken exception to–you know, because there was a _bed_ behind me, and being rather unceremoniously shoved down on it wasn't exactly all right, even if it was rather...well, _hot_ –but in about the second it took for me to register that James was actually kissing me–on _top_ of me, kissing me–all my other mental facilities just sort of...shut down. Like having _them_ on while having _him_ on was just a bit too much. Which I could totally understand. I mean, considering the uncontrollable amount of tingles erupting just about _everywhere_ as James's mouth practically ravished mine, I didn't really blame my body for giving in. I could understand its disorientation. I was having a bit of that myself.

                Oh, _god_.

                Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

                The hands that had just before been carefully intertwined with mine were suddenly at my face, cupping my cheeks and holding them in place as James pressed urgent kiss after urgent kiss against my all-too-willing mouth. I am mildly embarrassed to admit that it took very little time–as in, about 2.4 seconds–for me to react to him, throwing my own abandoned limbs tightly around his shoulders, my greedy fingers instantly threading through the back of his hair, skimming through the thick tufts with an inner sigh. I kissed him back, tasting him in my mouth, and it sounds so utterly stupid because I've only done this once before and it’s not like I was completely coherent at the time, but it just seemed so _familiar_ and...Merlin, I don't even know the word for it except, you know...

                Yum.

                And even though my facilities were still pretty much switched off and there wasn't much in my head except James and James's lips and James's hands and James's... _everything_ , there must have been some sort of spark of mental capability left because from out of almost nowhere–or, you know, as out of nowhere as you can get when talking about the bloke you're currently attached to–came the inkling of a rather disconcerting (for my sanity, anyway) realisation.

                Because James...he was pretty bloody brilliant at this whole snogging thing.

                Hogwarts Gossip Mill 1, Cold Hard Truth 0.

                I can't be sure how long the pair of us laid there, snogging like there was no tomorrow, me still completely sunken into the bed, James still completely sunken into _me_ , managing to forget entirely about the fact that this was about the LAST thing that should have been happening. In fact, it was about the very FIRST thing on the 'Things Lily SHOULD NOT BE DOING RIGHT NOW' list. I had clearly gone insane and that was all there was to it. I knew it would happen eventually, of course, and this must have been it. I had willingly accepted that–delighted in it, even–but soon came to the conclusion that some wisp of sanity must have managed to remain because somehow, from somewhere, I found the strength necessary to make a sound of disapproval and gently push James's lips away from mine, doing what I really should have done the second he'd kissed me again.

                I pushed him back, breathing heavily, our faces still appallingly close. We stared breathlessly at each other, sporting rather comically different facial expressions.

                James looked little more than euphoric.

                I was resembling a mad, panicked fish-out-of-water who had just been snogged thoroughly.

                A very attractive combination, I'm sure.

                "James–"

                 "I thought we weren't talking?" he teased softly, his face lit up boyishly as he grinned down at me. "I liked that plan. The no-talking plan."

                " _No_ ," I said sternly, pushing him away again when he looked quite happy to 'not talk' some more. I really have no idea where I found the strength of will, but I did manage to shove him off of me completely, instantly rising to my feet and taking a very intelligent step away from him. "We can't...we can't _do_ this right now, all right?"

                "Sure, we can," James instantly insisted, proving that my intelligent step was actually about two steps away from actual intelligence as he easily reached out and snagged me around the waist. He pulled me back to him as he continued to sit on the bed, his smile positively rampant. "And we can do it pretty bloody well, if I do say so myself."

                I shot him a dirty look and tried to wrestle away, not even _thinking_ about that because of course he was _right_ , but that was absolutely not the point here.

                I think.

                "No, we can't–"

                But he didn't seem to understand the word 'no' or perhaps he just didn't much care because before I could do anything about it, he had pulled me back down on top of him, his lips instantly on mine, swallowing up any protest I may have had.

                Stupid, snogging idiot.

                " _James_ ," I whined pathetically, surprising even myself with how I was actually able to push him away again. It is completely sad how much a couple of heated snogs have managed to completely trash all of my self-control, but that's apparently what this had come down to. I swear, even after I managed to tear my mouth from his, it only wanted to be back there again.

                Merlin.

                Rook Whore much, Lily?

                Psh.

                I was ready to do battle, preparing myself to fight off whatever forms of persuasion James might throw at me–three guesses as to what _those_ dirty tricks might be–but it was all for naught because James actually heeded my protests, stopping with his drugging kisses. He naturally didn't move very far away, though, efficiently giving me barely enough space between us to breathe. His hand came up, carefully beginning to run through my hair–Merlin, when did _that_ come loose?–looking at me with that same dazzling grin.

                Oh, bother.

                "You have no idea," he told me slowly, his voice tinted with happy amusement, "how bloody _fantastic_ it is to hear you say my name. For three years I had to put up with derision-filled 'Potter''s and I swear, you could make a bloke start to hate his own name, Infallible. You really could."

                He sealed that last statement with another kiss, this one light and short, barely even a brush of lips. I sighed into his mouth, my head already beginning to pound.

                What the hell have I started?

                "James," I said again. He grinned foolishly. I threw him a sharp look. "Stop it."

                "Stop what?"

                "You know what!" I cried, motioning helplessly between the two of us. I sighed heavily, closing my eyes for a moment as my head continued to pound. Slowly, carefully, I extracted myself from his iron-like grip, this time taking at least _four_ steps away from the bed, making sure that there would be no waist-snatching this time around. "We shouldn't–no, we _can't_ –do this. I didn't mean to–"

                "Doesn't matter if you didn't mean to," James interrupted, suddenly coming to his feet, as well. His bright smile faded slightly for the first time. "What matters is that you _meant_ _it_ when you did."

                "It's not that simple!" I cried, wondering why I was the only one who seemed to get this. "You _know_ it's not that simple!"

                "Well, why the hell not?" James shot back, glaring a bit. He let out a long breath, wasting no time in–really, just how far away did I have to _go_?–coming to my side once more, grabbing hold of me and pulling my body back to his. He closed his eyes for a moment, dropping his forehead down against mine. "Lily," he sighed, opening his eyes and staring at me imploringly. "Just listen to me–"

                "No," I interrupted tiredly, desperately. "No, I can't. Please just stop for a second, all right? Go stand over there. I need...I need to think and I can't do that when you're touching me."

                The dazzling grin crept back up to James's face at that admission, but it soon disappeared again when I carefully broke away from his embrace, taking a great many purposeful–if unsteady–steps away from him. I knew that probably wouldn't stop him, but hoped he might stay away, anyway. Because damn it, I didn't know how many more times I could walk away.

                Bloody hell.

                Double bloody fucking _hell_.

                Think, Lily.

                Think, think, _think_.

                My head was spinning. I didn't know what to do. What the hell was wrong with me? How did I let this happen? The more I thought about what I had just done, the more I wanted to thrash my head against the nearest wall...or do it again.

                Bugger.

                Bugger, bugger, why couldn't my stupid bloody feelings just make _sense_?

                These things were supposed to be simple, weren't they? I should know instantly what I wanted–who _would_ know if I didn't?–but it just seemed like there was no right answer. Because maybe I didn't fancy Amos as much as I thought I did, and maybe I did fancy James more than I thought I did, but that didn't mean that I didn't _not_ fancy either of them. It didn't mean that I could just toss one over and be fine with it. It _wasn't_ fine. It _couldn't_ be fine. And I didn't know how to fix that.

                I mean, could it even _be_ fixed?

                The whole Avoid-James-So-As-Not-To-Hurt-Anyone plan...yeah, that had pretty much blown up in my face. And for the life of me, I couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly I'd gone wrong. How exactly did I go from carefully avoiding the stupid boy this morning to downright molesting him now? Where did all of my resolve go? Where did all of my _common sense_ go? In what way, shape, or form did I for one second believe that SNOGGING James was the answer to my problems? Because I'm pretty sure that it's not. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it actually just makes things about a million times worse.

                A _billion_ times worse.

                A _trillion_ times worse.

                So how was _that_ for fixing it?

                I suppose that I was sort of a mess just about then, trying to figure out just what in the hell I was supposed to do, wondering when the solution came into play. Everything jumbled about in my head, none of it making any sense, and because there was no immediate answer–or any answer at _all_ , really–I guess it wasn't that big of a shock when I started hyperventilating a bit.

                Or by a bit, you know, I mean a lot.

                But whatever.

                It was to be expected.

                "Hey," James said, quickly coming up behind me. He placed his arms around my shoulders, pulling me back until I leaned against his chest and dropped a light kiss against my temple. "Just calm down, all right? It's going to be fine."

                Fine?

                He thought it was going to be _fine_?

                Was he kidding?

                "No, it's not going to be _fine_!" I cried shrilly, wrenching myself away from his grasp, turning quickly on him. "It's not! You can't just...you can't just _kiss me_ and then wish everything else all away, James! That's not the way this works! And I can't...I _can't_..."

                I couldn't even get the words out, I was so hysterical. James eyed me warily, taking a few slow steps towards me. I watched him silently, still gasping slightly for breath.

                "All right," he said calmly, holding up his hands in gentle precaution. He took a few more small steps forward. "All right, just calm down. I understand. I–"

                "But you _don't_!" I wailed, surprised to find that there were all of a sudden _tears_ swimming on the ends of my eyelids, precariously close to falling down my face. I tried to do as he asked, tried to calm myself down like a rational person, but everywhere I looked, things just appeared more and more terrible. I moaned miserably, pressing my hands to my eyes in a lame attempt to stop the moisture there from showing. I swiped furiously, but it didn't help. The attempt was appearing to be as futile as the entire situation.

                When I looked back up, James was right there, thankfully not touching me, but close enough for me to see the solemn expression etched across his previously shining face. I sighed again, trying to keep the guilt for that from eating away at me, but that like so much else seemed useless, as well. My stomach twisted painfully.

                "I'm sorry," I said pathetically, my voice wobbling. "I'm so sorry. I-I don't know what to _do_. I don't want to h-hurt anyone, but everything...there's no _answer_. And I can't–"

                "Stop it," James interrupted, sounding annoyed. "Just stop, all right? Forget about every other damn person for one bloody second. Just _forget_ about them." He grabbed at my shoulders, holding on to me tightly and shook a bit. "What do you want, Lily?" he demanded, staring at me fiercely. "What do YOU want? Can't you see that that's all that matters? _What do you want_?"

                Oh, bloody hell, this question _again_?

                Didn't anyone _get_ it?

                I DON'T KNOW.

                I DON'T BLEEDING, BLOODY FUCKING KNOW WHAT IN THE HELL I WANT!!!

                I was so angry that he didn't seem to get this–that _no one_ seemed to get this. That everyone was all "Oh, Lily, just pick one and be done with it," as if I were choosing between chocolate and vanilla ice cream and the decision was as simple as my preference that day. _I_ didn't understand why _they_ didn't understand that choosing between Amos and James was entirely different–that no matter who I chose, there was still something _wrong_ about abandoning the other. James seemed to think it was all about what _I_ wanted, but that's where he was wrong. This wasn't just about me–it was about all of us, and _that's_ where the trouble came in.

                I didn't want to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow with Amos. I knew that. I'd already figured that one out this morning. But that didn't mean that I was ready to just let him go completely! I mean, when I think about all this time–how much I _fancied_ him–that has to mean something, doesn’t it? I owed it to him and to myself to at least give the thing a chance before I let all my negative feelings ruin everything. Because maybe it wouldn't be like I expected. Maybe it would be exactly like that first project session of ours, all laughs and smiles and perfection. Maybe I would go on this date tomorrow and be so totally and completely in love with him again that I couldn't even _conceive_ thinking that our relationship would come to nothing. It could happen. It really could.

                But then James...

                I looked up, catching sight of his still fierce gaze, wondering if I was ever in my life going to be able to look at James and not remember what it felt like to have him kiss me. That time in the stairwell had been a complete and utter fluke in comparison to the last ten minutes, an absolute insult to what it actually felt like to _really_ be kissed by him. It was...Merlin, I didn't even have words for it. And I figure that that should probably tell me something–the fact that I felt so wonderful with him that I couldn't even describe it properly _had_ to mean something–but it also seemed rather shallow to judge any sort of relationship simply by the fact that the bloke could make my knees weak. Except...that wasn't all there was to it. It really wasn't.

                Because James is my mate–he's one of my _best_ mates, even, which might seem completely ridiculous seeing as up until a month ago, I really couldn't even stand the boy, but it's the truth. Without him...Merlin, it all seemed rather bleak, didn't it? Because James Potter is special. He's a special sort of bloke. And even though he drives me absolutely mad half the time...well, the other half of the time usually makes up for it. And Merlin knows I definitely haven't lacked for excitement since I befriended him. And what’s more...

                Well, he _likes_ me. He really, really likes me. Even though he knows how mad I am and how stupid I can be and how I lie about everything and all about my inferiority complex.

                So that...that's good.

                My head was still hurting just thinking about it, but even though I had pretty much ended up exactly where I had started–Amos=good, James=good–there was something...things just seemed to make a bit more sense. And _because_ they made more sense, I could finally manage to start breathing properly again.

                Because the thing was...I think I had a plan.

                I really think I did.

                There was no way I was going to win both ways–one person was going to have to lose in this situation, but there was nothing I could do about that. However, as of right now, I couldn't even really judge properly because the two sides were sort of uneven. I mean, here I was with James, hashing it out and...and other things, knowing him _so_ much better than I do Amos. I mean, James is my mate. We spend all this time together and really, that gives him a bit of an unfair advantage over Amos, doesn't it? Because while I'd been given an endless amount of time to get to know James, I hadn't really been given as extensive an opportunity with Amos. And I figured that if I was going to be making any sort of legitimate choice...well, Amos had to get a fair shot, as well, didn't he?

                Which meant that, like it or not, I was going to have to go on this date tomorrow with Amos. And, what more, I was going to have to try _really_ hard to enjoy it. I was going to get to know Amos. I was going to give him a fair shot at this, get the playing field level.

                And then–and _only_ then–would I decide what I was going to do about this.

                But in the meantime...well, James wouldn't be ignored. I wouldn't try to do that again. Because apparently–regardless of what stupid Sirius Black might think–I'm more in James's system than he thought.

                And you know...I think I'm okay with that.

                Hm.

                James was still holding my shoulders, staring down at me with a slightly confused expression, probably wondering what the hell was going on as I remained silent, thinking this all over. I bit my lower lip, trying to figure out just how I could explain everything to him. He deserved that much–to know what was going on inside of my head, what I was planning–but I wasn't quite sure how he'd take it. Would he understand why I had to do this, or would he think going with Amos tomorrow was as good as picking him?

                It was a rather precarious situation.

                "I...I'm going to tell you something," I told James slowly, wondering already if this was the proper way to go about this, but not really knowing how else to do it. James regarded me warily, suddenly looking rather suspicious. I tried not to let my uneasiness show. "I'm going to tell you something," I said again, "but I don't want you to overreact, or jump to any conclusions, or anything like that because it doesn't change anything, all right? It just...well, it just is what it is, but I think you have a right to know, so..."

                "Lily." James dropped his hands from my shoulders, his eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"

                "It's...well, it's just..."

                "Just what?"

                "Er...well, you see..."

                " _Lily._ "

                I just blurted it out.

                "I don't want to go with Amos tomorrow!"

                Oh, bugger.

                That's not _quite_ how it was supposed to come out.

                Oops.

                James looked stunned. He seemed to choke on his own spit. "You _what_?" he sputtered.

                I was hasty to re-explain.

                "That's not what I meant!" I explained quickly, trying to ignore the expression on James's face–he was still looking a bit like I had suddenly sprouted four more lovely heads. "That is, when I _said_ that I don't want to go with Amos tomorrow...er...I didn't mean–well, actually, that's sort of exactly what I meant, but– _ahh_!"

                I squealed, the air rushing straight out of my body as James quickly snatched me up in his arms, grabbing hold of me around the waist and lifting me clear off the floor. He laughed joyfully, dropping kisses on whichever part of my body he could find at that particular moment, covering my face and neck and shoulders with his mouth, entirely too enthusiastic than any one person really ought to be. I tried to speak, tried to explain, but James kept cutting me off, efficiently stopping my words with his frantic kisses.

                "Why didn't you"–kiss–"tell me _before_ "–another–"you little tease! I wouldn't have"–a longer one this time–"yelled at you"–kiss–" _nearly_ as much. I–"

                "Hey– _hey_!" I somehow managed to pry his mouth away from mine, putting both hands on either cheek and forcefully keeping his face away. Ignoring the slight dizziness–that mouth of his should be bloody illegal–I scowled at him. "Don't you listen? I said no jumping to conclusions! It's not what you think!"

                "How can it not be what I think?" James demanded, turning his head slightly so he could place another kiss on my palm. "Do you or don't you want to go out with the arse tomorrow?"

                I glared. "I don't, but–"

                That apparently was all James needed to hear. Completely ignoring me, my glares, and my every attempt to explain the truth, he– hands-on-cheeks be damned – leaned right over and started snogging me again.

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_ , where is his self-control?!

                I wanted to explain. Really, all I wanted to do was make him understand that this wasn't some sort of anti-Amos admission, just an explanation of my feelings that he was _supposed_ to respect. I just needed him to listen for a moment. But there didn't seem to be much of that being done when his tongue was stuck partially down my throat.

                The downsides to snogging.

                _Merlin_.

                Stupid, randy idiot.

                "James!" In between kisses, I sporadically attempted to get something out. "James, listen–"

                I didn't much think that James would pay any attention to my blathering–really, he seemed far too busy with the whole tongue thing–and at first, he didn't. But one second he was snogging me like there was no tomorrow, and the next he wasn't, suddenly looking down at me with a new, searing sort of look.

                "Go with me," he demanded.

                I reeled back, blinking rapidly at him.

                "What?" I sputtered, utterly dumbfounded. James only grinned eagerly at me.

                "Go with me," he said again, kissing me quickly once more. "You don't want to go with him, so go with me. It'll be brilliant. You'll have fun. And I promise I'll even let you up for air occasionally."

                Oh.

                Oh, dear.

                Er...

                "That's not...I can't do that, James," I answered carefully, shaking my head slowly. "You can't just... _I_ can't just–"

                "Why not? Because of Diggory?" James rolled his eyes. "He'll be fine. I'm sure he and Julie Little can go off and have a wonderful time together. And we can–"

                "Julie?" I asked, alarmed that he had called her out specifically as my replacement. Had he heard about our weird confrontation in the corridor? About Julie being oddly cross with Amos? "Why would you...why would you say that?"

                James rolled his eyes again. "Who cares? That's not the point here. Just say you'll go with me–you know you want to."

                "I can't–"

                "You _can_."

                "No," I said, shooting him a bit of a glare for being so stupidly pigheaded, "I can't. I'm still going with Amos tomorrow, James."

                James did not seem to like that answer.

                "What?" he demanded, his eyebrows furrowing. "Why? I thought you just said you didn't want to go!"

                I sighed heavily, ignoring the rather annoyed look he was giving me, trying to repress the headache that was quickly coming on. Why did he have to make this so bloody difficult?

                "It's more complicated than that," I answered tiredly, shifting awkwardly on my feet. "I have to go. I–"

                "Why the hell would you have to go?"

                I glared. "I'd _tell_ you if you'd just manage to listen for a single second. Do you think you might be able to do that without interrupting?"

                James gave me decidedly dirty look. "Oh, yeah," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. " _This_ I want to hear."

                He sounded so utterly dubious about the whole thing that I really wanted to hit him. Instead I gave him an even fiercer glare, letting him know with my eyes that he was quickly topping my List of People To Push Off the Astronomy Tower.

                Merlin, it was his own damn fault for jumping to conclusions!

                Hmph!

                "Look," I started, trying to appear very determined and authoritative. "As I was _trying_ to tell you before...yes, I _technically_ have a very small desire to go to Hogsmeade with Amos tomorrow–no!" I snapped, sending James a sharp look when he opened his mouth to speak. "Stop. Let me finish. I want you to understand, all right? Because no matter what you do or what you say or how many times you may try to drive me absolutely out of my mind with your stupid snogs...well, I'm still going to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow with Amos. He deserves that much from me."

                Some of the tension seemed to leave James's body.

                "So that's what this is?" he asked, appearing slightly placated by that idea. "You're going tomorrow because you feel bad for the stupid sod?"

                " _No_ ," I told him emphatically, shaking my head. "No, that's not why I'm doing it. I'm doing it because...because I have to, all right? Because all of my feelings have been changing so rapidly lately that I'm starting not to trust myself anymore. So even though I might not want to go tomorrow...well, that could be for a lot of reasons. Reasons that actually have very little to do with Amos. I have to make sure that this whole thing isn't just some big fluke on my part. So I'm going tomorrow and I'm going to figure out...I'm going to figure out what all this means."

                James listened to me finish my explanation with an averted face, stepping away from me for the first time. I watched him with a new sort of anxiety, wondering what he was thinking. I knew he probably wasn't going to be happy about my decision, but I hoped that he'd at least understand it. I mean, could he blame me? This was all happening too quickly. This isn't something to jump into. He would get that, wouldn't he?

                "Do you understand?" I asked quietly, taking a small step closer to him. "Do you realise why I have to go now? Why I can't...why I have to make sure?"

                For the longest time, James didn't answer, didn't say anything, didn't even appear to move. I had no idea what was going through his mind, but I sincerely hoped that it wasn't any sort of death threat or perhaps a mad plan to kidnap me and keep me locked up until it was too late to go out with Amos tomorrow. I really wouldn't have put it past him. But I hoped that James was having one of his logical moments, hoped that he would understand. Because the thing was...

                I mean, even if I _had_ decided not to go with Amos, it's not like I could just...just...I mean, talk about your fickle woman! I couldn't possibly ditch Amos one moment and then jump right onto James the next, regardless of what James might want. Things just don't work like that. _I_ just don't work like that. Even though...well, it's not like...maybe _someday_...

                Oh, hell. Why do I even bother? Of course it sounded like fun. Even the 'occasionally up for air' bit.

                I am a fickle tart.

                But no one needs to know that.

                Yet.

                When James still didn't answer, I took another small step forward, my feet almost touching his now. I tried to catch his averted gaze.

                "Please say something," I pleaded quietly, ignoring the uncomfortable knot of tension in my stomach at his continued silence. I fiddled anxiously with the ends of my hair. "I have to, James. And it doesn't mean...please don't be angry with me."

                "I'm not angry with you," James finally replied, though he was still refusing to look at me. He sighed lightly. "I'm just trying to figure you out."

                I snorted softly. "Let me know if you have any luck, all right?"

                James finally looked up, the smallest hint of a smile touching his lips. His eyes were calculating as they met mine and I could tell that he was still trying to come to terms with all of this. I wished him all the luck in the world with that. It was certainly not an easy task.

                "I'm not asking you to like this," I explained earnestly, shrugging my shoulders. "I know that...well, I would never expect that of you. But I'm hoping you'll at least try to understand. Can you understand?"

                "I understand why you _think_ you have to go," James told me, an added weight to his voice. "But I don't agree with it."

                I nodded slowly. "All right," I said. "That's...well, that's fair, I suppose."

                James looked away again, turning his head to the side and letting out a bitter noise. "Fair," he scoffed, his voice especially harsh. "That's certainly an interesting use of words, isn't it?"

                I sighed, reaching out a hand to him. "James, listen–"

                "No." His gaze suddenly snapped back to me, his face hard, his eyes blazing. "No, _you_ listen. Just answer me this, all right? Answer me this one question." He took that final step towards me, our bodies just touching. "Do you care about me, Lily?" he asked. "Do you care at all?"

                I looked up at him, startled by the blunt question. And while I very well could have dodged and avoided answering–it was, I suppose, actually something that I could usually be depended on for–this time...something stopped me. Before I really had much time to think about it, the truth was already falling from my lips, unavoidable as it had never been before.

                "Yes," I whispered, my voice very small. "You know I do."

                James seemed to relax in relief, his entire body releasing tension. It didn't occur to me until that very moment that perhaps James might _not_ have known, might still be having doubts about that. He might not know how much I...how much I...

                How much he meant to me.

                I opened my mouth to say something else–what, I'm really not sure, but the idea that James didn't realise how much I actually did care was not sitting too well with me–but before I could get anything out, James abruptly moved forward–forward _into_ me. I moved back instinctively, matching him step for step until I suddenly felt a wall against my back. Startled, I looked up at James, but his face was dark with a strange sort of look, one that sent shivers up and down my spine. I gulped as he slowly lifted his arms, placing them on either side of my head, trapping me in place.

                Oh, dear.

                This wasn't good.

                "So there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" he asked, an undeniable threat edged in his voice.

                I swallowed hard.

                "Er..." I breathed, sinking further against the wall. "No?"

                A slow, wicked smile slipped across James's face.

                Uh-oh.

                "Lily," he said, that smile growing sharper as he stared down at me. "Have I ever told you how selfish I am?"

                "Um..." My mouth was suddenly dry, my lips parched. I gaped stupidly. "You know, I'm sure you're probably...probably not..."

                "Oh, no," James corrected instantly, shaking his head slowly. "I am. Terribly, actually. And do you know what really gets my selfish side going?" That wicked grin widened even more. "You."

                Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

                "James–"

                "I'm going to kiss you now," he whispered gruffly, leaning closer. "I'm going to kiss you right now so that when you go on this disaster of a joke tomorrow, all you're going to be able to think about is this right here, this very moment."

                I closed my eyes, suddenly far too overwhelmed to keep looking at him. James let out a throaty chuckle, leaning over even farther. Then his mouth was at my ear, his lips and his breath making a mess of my already melting insides. He continued on.

                "Every second, every minute, this is all you're going to think about." I tried–but probably failed–to hold back my pathetic whimpers as his lips stroked against my ear. "You're going to be so full of me, there won't be any room for him. When you walk with him, when he talks to you, all you'll be thinking about is me. If he makes you smile, if he makes you laugh, I'll be there, always the real reason behind it. You'll try to fight it at first–you're too bloody stubborn to do anything else–but sooner or later, you're just going to give in and accept it. And when you finally can't take it anymore, when the truth has at long last hit, the day will be over and you'll shake his hand because that's the polite thing to do and then you'll come find me. And then I can do this again."

                My body went limp against the wall. Before I could string any coherent syllables together, James kissed me, dropping his arms from the wall and instantly putting them around me, pulling me against him. He might have muttered something else, but I couldn't have possibly been expected to hear it over the frantic beating of my heart.

                This kiss wasn't like any of the ones that came before it. This one was rough and it was hungry and it was utterly and completely _mind-robbing_ , almost to the point where if I hadn't been propped up by the wall on one side and James on the other, I'm quite certain that my legs would have given out from beneath me. I moaned rather ridiculously, grasping onto James's shoulders as his lips continued to move against mine, a delicious pressure. I felt dizzy and disoriented, each new kiss making me ache. When he'd teasingly pull his lips away from mine, I'd unabashedly strain forward, bringing the heated pressure back. James's throaty laughter would shift into a throaty moan, and then the kiss would start all over again, a never-ending cycle.

                I wouldn't have stopped. It's embarrassing to admit and it _definitely_ says something about my slaggish ways (I'm pretty sure that any and all traces of prude that might have ever been inside of me disappeared within those few minutes), but I just wasn't strong enough to do it. I clung helplessly to him, happily pushed up against the wall, letting him do whatever it was that he wanted and enthusiastically returning his every movement. And what more, _he_ didn't seem to be of the stopping mind, either, which meant that this could very well have continued on forever. But James must have managed to hold on to some of his sanity– _I_ certainly had none left–because after being lost in him for several blissful minutes, his lips were suddenly gone, the unexpected loss of them causing me to moan quietly. I opened my heavy eyes, meeting James's clouded gaze, feeling his sharp, panting breaths against my face, letting out a long string of my own.

                "Shit," he breathed raggedly, staring down at me. It was all he could say, that one swear word. " _Shit_."

                "Don't let go," I gasped, closing my eyes again and gripping his shoulders even harder. "I think I might fall down."

                James let out a winded laugh, pressing one last quick kiss to my mouth. "Good to know," he said.

                Eventually I managed to open my eyes again, but only after I had finally gotten my breathing back to a relatively normal rate. Inside my chest, my heart was still slamming, matching the sudden pounding in my head pulse by pulse. I lifted my eyes to James's, finding him staring down at me with an amazingly blank expression. He let out one more long breath.

                "All right," he said, his voice still rather heavy. "Point...point made. I think...I'm going to leave now. Before I can't."

                I thought we might have passed that point a few minutes earlier, but apparently James is a whole lot stronger with these things than I am because somehow–miraculous, really–he was able to detach himself from me, stepping away as I slouched against the wall, my body suddenly cold.

                "You all right?" he asked, watching me sag. My eyes darted up to his, still disoriented.

                "I think I hate you," I muttered, sighing heavily. "Leave. Before I kill you. Or myself. Neither will be pretty."

                James smiled, shaking his head. His eyes stayed on me for a few more silent seconds, bright again for the first time since earlier in the night. I told myself it didn't affect me (that was a lie).  
   
                "Don't do anything rash," he told me, his voice suddenly flat. "You have a date to go on tomorrow, remember?"

                "Hmmm."

                "I'm going."

                "Hmm."

                James laughed lightly. "All right?" he asked again.

                I only shook my head. Nothing else was coming out anymore.

                "Good," was his smug response.

                I watched him as he turned, his feet not at all the wobbly, worthless limbs currently struggling to even hold me up, but strong and steady as his footsteps crossed the room. My eyes followed him as he moved, something inside of me wanting to lurch right after him. I pushed away that impulse, but couldn't quite help but call out to him as he very nearly reached the door.

                "James!"

                He turned, one hand on the doorknob, his head cocked questioningly at me. I sagged down a bit further, blushing to the very roots of my hair, biting nervously at my lower lip. I didn't even know what I meant to say until it was out of my mouth.

                "I-I'm nothing," I stammered, shrugging my shoulders helplessly. "You shouldn't even bother with me. I don't know why you do."

                James didn't immediately respond to that. In fact, he didn't seem to move at all, just stared at me. I shrugged again, suddenly fighting off the stupid impulse to cry. But James moved abruptly, letting out a heavy sigh as he shook his head at me, that small, familiar smile slipping across his face.

                "I know you might not believe this," he told me softly, "but you're worth it."

                He turned away then, leaving me stunned against the wall, gawking after him as he quickly opened the door. He looked back and spoke only once before he left.

                "Get some rest," is what he said. "You have a busy day ahead of you."

                And with that, he stepped through the doorway and into the corridor, dragging the door closed behind him.

 

______________________________________________

 **Saturday, October 18th, Room of Requirement, BEFORE DATE  
****Observant Lily: Day 33  
****Total Observations: 202**  

   
                Morning.

                Fuck.

                Fuck, fuck, _bugger_ , fuck.

                I...

                I don't...

                FUCK.

______________________________________________

 **Later, R.o.R., BEFORE DATE  
** **Observant Lily: Day 33  
** **Total Observations: 202**

 

Walked past the door on my way to the loo and found something tacked up on it.

A rose.

A red rose.

And this:

                _L-_

_Think of me._

_J._

______________________________________________  
   
**Later, Before DATE  
****Observant Lily: Day 33  
****Total Observations: 202**

 

                _Dear Mum,_

_Thank you very much for the fudge. It was lovely. I didn't actually get to give it to the person I was supposed to give it to, but that's quite all right because I gave him quite a bit of something else to placate him. Besides, I needed it more._

_I'm sorry to inform you, but this very well may be your last letter from me. After today, there is a very large chance that you'll have to shut me up in some remote hospital that only caters to very special psychological cases. And I'm not, for your information, making any sort of mountain out of any sort of molehill. This is simply the truth. Because you know what, Mum? Do you know what?_

_I have a date today. Yes, that's right. A DATE._

_And maybe, you know, you might be thinking that this isn't a very big deal_ – _that it is, in fact, not even remotely the sort of thing to put your lovely daughter in a state of mental paralysis_ – _but THAT is where you're WRONG, Mum. You're just WRONG. Because in about an hour, I'm supposed to be going to Hogsmeade with Amos Diggory_ – _Amos is, by the by, the bloke that I have fancied and obsessed over for the last year, who I always cleverly dropped into the conversation and who you equally-as-cleverly ignored_ – _and the fact of the matter is...I don't want to go. I don't want to go, Mum, but I have no bloody_ CHOICE _because I am_ STUPID _and I am a_ MORON _and I told the person I actually probably_ SHOULD BE _going with_ – _I'm sure you'll recall James, Mum. You seem to enjoy him so much via letter_ – _that I WOULDN'T go with him because I HAD to go with Amos, but what is the bleeding POINT of that when I'm just going to be THINKING of stupid, selfish, annoyingly prattish JAMES because he TOLD me to and REMINDED me to VIA NOTE AND FLOWER?!_

_So I'm giving up. I really am. This is the end of the line for me. It's all over. So this is probably good-bye._

_Love you. Kisses._

_Lily_


	18. October 18th: Dear John...Love, Milk

**Author’s Notes:** I could spend a million years apologizing—yet again—for my lateness, but I really think you have all come to expect it, so I’m not going to dwell and will simply say thank you for being patient. Here is chapter eighteen—breaking records in long-ness, which seriously makes me wonder how I was ever even considering extending it. Still, I hope you enjoy it. Much happens, much is explained, much is begun…basics. A million thanks go to my two wondrous betas, Andie and Ben, who wielded (or framed) their cutting battle axes and fearlessly muddled through all four-part-sagas of this chapter. And, as always, to every single person who still cares to read this story. I don’t know why you do it, but I can’t tell you how much it means. Enjoy. =)  
  
 **EDIT:** The missing text is fixed. Sorry about that. If you spot anything else, let me know.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“If you're a young Mafia gangster out on your first date, I bet it's real embarrassing if someone tries to kill you.”

-Jack Handey

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

______________________________________________

**Later, BEFORE DATE, Still in the Room of Requirement**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 203**

 

**Ten Things To Remember As I Prepare To Embark Upon The Amos Date (Which I Am Very Excited About, Despite What It May Presently Seem Like...Remember?)**  
1) Amos is a darling fellow. Really, he is. The boy has never given me reason to think that he'll be anything other than perfectly lovely today...er, well, other than that extreme awkwardness with Julie Little, I mean. Oh, and that time with the Never Healing Ankle when he and James were playing tug-of-war with my mangled body. And his Quidditch moodiness and mad mates. But other than those tiny, miniscule things, not a single reason!  
2) Only the worst sort of witch goes back on her word and rescinds her Hogsmeade agreement on the very day it's set to commence. Even a pathologically lying one. It just isn't done.  
3) Who has been the absolute worst at understanding her own stupid feelings? Yeah, that would be me. So I shouldn't go jumping to any conclusions. I mean, they're probably wrong, anyway. Probably.  
4) Leveling the playing field. Very important. Let's not forget that.  
5) It's a beautiful day! In October! How often does that happen, hm? It's probably some sort of sign. Like a message from above or something. Therefore, it is my responsibility—nay, my obligation!—to take full advantage of that. Yes, indeed!  
6) Hogsmeade dates—no matter whom with—are nevertheless an opportunity to make yourself more attractive than you naturally are. You get to dress up—I _love_ to dress up. Even for people who I may not exactly be feeling 100% attracted to right now. That's so not the point. It's just not.  
7) Stupidity is a raging epidemic. That's always worth remembering.  
8) I need to get out of this room.  
9) I need to stop thinking.  
10) James Potter is a stupid, prattish, no-good, note-leaving, high-handed, bastard wizard.

 

_T-Minus: Two hours until DATE._

______________________________________________

**A Few Minutes Later, Still BEFORE DATE, Still RoR**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 203**

                So...say you want to set something on fire, right? 

                (And I'm not talking a little fire here. I'm talking big—like, _really_ ablaze, big. Total conflagration. Ash and cinders and devastation, etc. etc.)

                Would the Room of Requirement—seeing as the said something(s) whose fiery fates are in need of being met happen to be of the flower and parchment variety, and are therefore highly flammable—prevent itself from catching on fire, as well? You know, because I _require_ it to? Because I'd rather not burn down the entire castle along with these other crude, cruel, miserable things?

                It's an important question, I think.

                This place should really have some sort of manual.

_T-Minus: One hour and fifty-four minutes until DATE._

______________________________________________

**Minutes+, Still BEFORE DATE, RoR**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 203**

                It's because there's no manual, of course.

                Why I'm not starting up Fiery Hell Location Two, I mean. It's because there's no manual and I'm thinking Dumbledore likes his school just the way it is. Otherwise, I'd be having myself a burning party right now. A big, happy, rose-and-parchment-induced burning party.

                Really.

                Seriously.

_T-Minus: One hour and fifty-one minutes until DATE._        

______________________________________________

**More Minutes, Still BEFORE DATE, RoR**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 206**

Observation #204) What is the point of lying to yourself when you _know_ you're lying to yourself? Yeah, that would be none. Zero point. Negative point. Not-even-existent point.

Observation #205) The opposite of setting things on fire is apparently no longer simply _not_ setting these things on fire. The process now also includes lying stupidly on some aforementioned stupid, prattish, no-good, note-leaving, high-handed bastard wizard's bed, tracing his bastardly handwriting with your now-traitorous fingertips and mooning incessantly over a clipping of his stupid, illegitimate shrubbery. Really, who knew?

Observation #206) I am sick. _Sick_.

                 
 _T-Minus: One hour and forty-nine minutes until DATE._     

______________________________________________

**Minutes, Still BEFORE DATE, Still RoR**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 206**

                Oh, god.

                I seriously have to get out of here.

                This is not healthy.

                Not healthy at _all_.

_T-Minus: One hour and forty-seven minutes until DATE._   

______________________________________________

**Minutes, Still BEFORE DATE, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 207**

                "I'm not a slag, I just fell asleep!"

                This was the announcement with which I accompanied my prodigal return back to the 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory, twenty minutes after my failed attempt at embracing pyromania and the following result of me pacing about the Room of Requirement for as long as was physically/emotionally/chronologically possible. I was practically panting with exertion as I stormed through the dormitory door, something that probably should have been identified as panic rushing through my veins (though I certainly wasn't in any mood to be classifying it as such), just trying not to completely hyperventilate. 

                I stood there, leaning against the open door, gasping like the moron that I am, reveling once more in the pathetic, idiotic situations that are my life.

                Honestly. Why do I even bother going on? Does anyone know?

                My insanity was met with varying reactions. From their huddled positions on top of Carrie's bed, Saunders and Carrie Lloyd stared at me with equal looks of disdain and hilarity, both expressions so utterly ridiculous that, had I not been in complete panic mode, I may have managed to laugh a bit. Gracie was standing by herself in front of our closet, three possible tops hanging from wire hangers around her neck. She was grinning stupidly at me. Emma was nowhere to be seen.

                "I'm sure," Saunders scoffed.

                "Lovely," Carrie giggled.

                "Get over here, my pet," Grace said.

                I felt myself grow a ridiculously obvious shade of red as I rushed over to Grace, ignoring Saunders and Carrie's silent glaring and less-than-silent cackling, focusing instead on simply making it to the other side of the room without further disaster. Grace had turned back to the closet mirror and appeared to be seriously contemplating a purple top, efficiently ignoring me and my hyperventilating.

                "That was a lie," I whispered quickly, just as soon as I'd reached her. I made sure to keep my voice low enough that Glaring Git and Cackling Coot couldn't hear. "It was a big, fat lie, Gracie. I was a slag—the _biggest_ slag in the entire world. All previous slags are now bowing down to me and my slaggishness!"

                Grace didn't react. In fact, the girl didn't so much as flinch. For Merlin's sake, she didn't even bother _looking_ at me.

                Um, hello?

                Did she not _hear me_?

                Slag!

                I was a _slag_!

                "I know," was all she finally said, pulling the hanger with the purple top over her head and tossing it aside. A familiar green top took its place from underneath.

                I stared at her.

                "You know?" I sputtered dumbly, grappling for words. "What do you mean 'you know'? How could you know? I've only just told you!"

                "How do you think I know?" she asked mysteriously, intently considering the green top now. She finally turned to me and I thought she might actually care to elaborate on that before I had to beat it out of her, but all she said was, "What do you think of this? My colour, yeah?"

                She was asking me about clothes.

                A green top had trumped my slaggish night.

                Tell me, in what sort of world is that _okay_?

                "I think it's _mine_ ," I snapped, snatching the shirt off the hanger, wondering just what in the hell I'd done to deserve such crap mates. _Honestly_. "Can we focus for just one second here, please? I tell you that I've been a slag, and _you_ ask me how you look in my top. Am I the only one seeing the problem here?!"

                "Goodness, Lil." Grace turned back to the mirror, shooting me a look over her shoulder. "You know, for someone who has so recently been involved in a slaggish affair, you sure are grumpy this morning."

                I was going to kill her.

                A few tugs on those stupid hangers, that's all it'd take. 

                No one would miss her.

                " _Grace_." I hissed her name through clenched teeth, giving her my dirtiest, don't-mess-with-me-right-now-lady look. But Grace—as usual—only rolled her eyes, rather unfazed by my looks of dangerous fury.

                "Cool your heels, Slaggy Sue." She gave me a stupid grin as I took a quick swipe at her, already planning just which hanger I'd use to take her down. Grace merely hopped out of the way, cackling like a mad loon. "Firstly," she said, taking a hasty step closer to me and snatching the green top back from my hand, then making a strategic retreat. "Share, share, that's fair. You don't even _like_ this top. There's no need to be selfish. And secondly..." She paused, throwing me a pointed look. "How do you _think_ I know? Or have you already forgotten that every Slaggy Sue needs a Slaggy Stu?"

                What the...Slaggy Stu?

                Who the hell—

                Oh, god.

                No.

                No, he...he wouldn't. He _wouldn't_.

                I felt my face fall as my heart did a little plummet inside of my chest, dropping down to my toes. I couldn't believe it. Last night...last night had been _private_. Why would James have told...why would he...

                I suddenly felt like crying.

                Grace must have seen my distress because she instantly jumped up, quick to explain. 

                "Oh, Merlin, no, Lil." She shook her head frantically at me, rushing closer. "It wasn't like _that_ —James didn't tell me anything."

                Something inside my chest hitched.

                "He...he didn't?"

                "Hell no," Grace scoffed, waving it off with her hand. She shot me a little smile. "Not that I didn't try to get it out of him, of course—I did. But he didn't give me rubbish."

                My eyebrows furrowed, even as my heart continued to skip a few beats. "But if he didn't tell you anything," I started slowly, "why did you say...?"

                Grace snorted. "Why?" she asked. "Why do you think, Lil? The poor sod didn't _need_ to say anything. The bloke stumbled into the Common Room looking like he'd just been hit with a some sort of rather stunning Cheering Charm or something." 

                Grace mimicked this, walking a bit like a zombie, with the biggest, stupidest grin on her face. As she wobbled about, I let out a small laugh. She stopped then, shooting me a pointed look. 

                "I may not be the brightest star in the galaxy," she said flatly, "but even _I_ could figure that one out."

                I nodded slowly, even as I squirmed uncomfortably in place, hating how much the pressure in my chest eased at Grace's explanation, how relieved I was that James hadn't said anything. And...well, I suppose the image of him stumbling about all Cheer-Stunned wasn't exactly disheartening, either. You know, because it's good to know that I hadn't been the only one standing dazed against the wall after all our slaggish business and everything. Even though James was technically walking around. But whatever. Still.

                "Lily?" Grace prodded, when I didn't say anything. "All right?"

                I snapped out of my stupid thoughts, reminding myself that this—two hours before my Amos Date—was _so_ not the time to be dwelling on Zombie-Grinning. But even as I felt myself nodding again and heard my head yelling at me to stop all this, my mouth was still somehow continuing on with it, blurting out, "You're assuming. That could've had nothing to do with me."

                Which really shouldn't have been so shocking. My mouth, I mean. Considering its traitorous nature and all.

                Psh.

                Grace merely cocked an eyebrow at me, not buying that for a second. "Come on, Lily," she said. "He was with you."

                "That's assuming, as well."

                "Actually, that one wasn't."

                I tossed her a look. "I'm pretty certain that you weren't there to clarify, Gracie."

                There was no debating with that—I'm about one-thousand percent certain that James and I were the _only_ ones in that room last night—but regardless, Grace's face still suddenly broke out into a rather sneaky grin.

                Oh, dear.

                "Be that as it may," she started slowly, her grin only growing wider as the seconds wore on. I practically gulped. "You've forgotten one thing, mate-o-mine...how do you think James knew where you were in the first place?"

                ...

                Oh, Merlin.

                She didn't.

                "Grace Reynolds," I breathed, my eyes narrowing dangerously. "You _didn't_."

                Grace flounced smugly in place, a satisfied smirk settling on her mouth.

                "Lily Evans," she said sweetly. "You've been intervened upon."

                Oh my god.

                Oh my _god_.

                " _Grace!_ " I shouted, not caring any longer if the Prat Twins or James himself or even my future mates in Guam heard me now—I was too incensed. "How could you...the _day before Hogsmeade_? How...why...for Merlin's sake, couldn't you have waited for a bit more of an opportune moment?!"

                "Excuse me," Grace replied, practically _reeking_ of smugness now. She held up a hand as if that would stop me if I chose to lunge for her jugular (which, um, yeah, it _so_ wouldn't). "Judging by the 'I'm-the-biggest-slag-in-the-world' comments, I'd say my timing was rather perfect, thank you very much."

                I huffed loudly in exasperation, but Grace merely cackled some more, amusing only herself with her stupid logic that wasn't even logic because it made no sense. I gave her my worst sort of glare, crossing my arms over my chest so that I wouldn't do her bodily harm and end up in Azkaban for life.

                "You just made everything worse, you meddling minx!" I seethed, letting her see how furious I was. Grace only rolled her eyes. I threw my hands up in frustration. "What happened to our Factory Workers' solidarity, hm, Gracie? Is there no trust left in this world?"

                Grace shrugged. "I told you you were next."

                Azkaban, Lily.

                It's dirty. And cold. And not happy. You don't want to spend the rest of your life there, remember?

                Oh, but it was _tempting_.

                It was close. I could very well have killed her right then and there and not thought anything of it. But just as I was fighting off the rather prominent urge to keep my fingers from happily wrapping around Grace's stupid little neck, a momentary reprieve—for the murderer _and_ for the victim, I suppose—came in the form of the sound of the dormitory door opening. Grace and I both turned to see Emma stepping into the room, a small scowl settled deeply upon her face. However, her scowl wasn't what sent my stomach plummeting down to the dungeons as soon as I saw her. What _actually_ had me feeling quite like I would've liked to empty out the entire contents of my stomach right then and there were the two rather familiar objects that were residing in each of Emma's hands.

                Oh, bloody hell.

                Bloody fucking _flistering_ hell.

                "Lily," Emma announced, her voice very dry. "I have a delivery for you."

                From behind me, Grace burst out laughing.

                I swallowed. Very, very hard.

                Bugger life sentences. Being warm, clean and sane was vastly overrated, anyway.

                I was going to kill him. 

                _Kill_ _him_.

                "I was told to give these to you directly," is what Emma said, stepping carefully over to the closet where Grace and I were still standing. She handed me the first object—a familiar red rose, identical to the one that I presently had stashed away in my rucksack—with little flourish. The second object—an equally familiar red and gold scarf—Emma tossed about my neck. "I asked if there was a message I was supposed to be passing along with them," she went on, "but was told that there was none. Apparently you 'already have your orders for the day.'"

                I blushed furiously.

                "Orders?" Grace repeated, cocking a questioning eyebrow at me. "Are you going on a date, or executing strategic warfare?"

                I shot her a withering look. "Who knows?" I bit out. "No thanks to _you_."

                As Grace merely grinned in an overly satisfied way, Emma took another few steps closer, her face showing conflicting emotions as she stared at me.

                "Lil," she said, very slowly. "Forgetting for a moment that I am still _incredibly_ cross with you for spending the entirety of yesterday pelting me with parchment envelopes..." She paused, a reluctantly sympathetic expression crossing over her face. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. "What in the world _happened_ last night?"

                Emma's question registered, but mostly caused some more fiercely attractive blushing on my part. I almost wanted to laugh. What had happened? What had _happened_? What _hadn't_ happened? Were there even any words for the madness that had occurred inside of that stupid room? I looked down at the rose in my hand— _another_ rose, I reminded myself, thinking then of that ruddy note and what exactly my 'orders for the day' were. It was all so ridiculous, the whole messy situation. I fingered the scarf—the scarf that, I then realised, James must have grabbed with this very intention in mind when he'd come back in to tack up that stupid note, seeing as he certainly hadn't been in any condition to grab it the first time he'd left. I tried not to think too much about that condition, but it was becoming increasingly difficult not to.

                _Bugger_.

                I gulped audibly, looking past Emma's uncomfortably honest face and intending to stare blankly at a wall until I could properly control the rush of words that were dying to come out of my mouth. Instead, I found my gaze suddenly catching Elisabeth Saunders’s. My eyes locked with hers. I watched silently as her hard eyes flickered quickly from my face to James's scarf (which was still hanging limply around my neck), then back again.

                Oh, hell.

                I did _not_ need this. _So_ did not need this.

                Moving quickly, I snapped the offending object from around my shoulders, turning swiftly and bunching the scarf up into a small ball as I held it plastered against my chest, hidden away from view. Grace and Emma both shot me confused looks, but I mostly ignored them. I could still feel Saunders's eyes burning holes in my back. When I finally spoke, my voice was softer, conscious now of those who could be—would be—listening.

                "Later," I whispered, suddenly extremely tired as my gaze skipped from Grace to Emma, then down to the floor. I sighed heavily, my head beginning to pound. "I don't want...it's not something I want overheard. Plus, if I start talking about it now I don't...Merlin, I don't know if I'll be able to force myself to go today."

                The admission was—horribly, pathetically—true, and its recognition suddenly had me feeling a bit sickened. Grace, on the other hand, was looking quite pleased, while Emma merely looked shocked.

                "Merlin," she breathed. "It's as serious as all that?"

                Oh, Emma.

                If only you knew.

                I really didn't see how I could possibly answer that without bursting into tears and letting the whole sordid tale slip out, so I settled for simply nodding my head miserably, letting that simple action explain the extent to which my pathetic life had fallen. Emma made a sympathetic sound.

                "Well," she said, letting out a small breath. "Everything will...work out, I'm sure."

                Work out?

                _My_ life?

                Oh, don't make me laugh.

                Don't make me _laugh_.

_T-Minus: One hour and twenty-one minutes until DATE_

______________________________________________

**Later, Still BEFORE DATE, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 207**

 

** Lily Evans's Guide On What To Wear On A Date That She Is Increasingly Getting Tired Of Pretending She Has Any Interest In Going On (Despite Reviewing Her 10 Important Reminders List Several Times) **

 

**1) The PROPER Top**  
                Normally for an auspicious occasion such as a date with Amos Diggory, I would be in frantic search for the PERFECT TOP—one that would make me look all pleasantly slimmed and happily endowed and everything wonderful like that. It's expected. It's normal. But now...well, today isn't exactly _normal_ , is it? So I'm thinking that all this 'perfect' business might not be the _best_ of ideas, really. I mean, there's no need for any extra attempts at enticement, is there? This date isn't about that. It's about seeing if there are any true feelings involved _without_ all that rubbish. Amos should fancy me without bulge-protection and extra breast-paddage. He should be looking _inside_. Obviously.

                Therefore, as a result of this brilliant line of logic, instead of searching for the PERFECT top, I am alternatively on a search for the PROPER top. The usual three Perfect Tops—the green jumper, the slaggish camisole, the simple white—just won't do. So here in their places we have three new choices. Three perfectly proper tops.

                1) My maroon jumper, the one that's super comfortable, but clashes rather formidably with my hair (though does—just to throw this out there—go rather well with a Gryffindor scarf. Any Gryffindor scarf. Mine or otherwise. If I were so inclined to wear one. Which I'm not. Probably).  
                2) My blue, flowy top that always manages to hide my too-much-rice condition, but unfortunately also manages to make my mammo-esque mates appear practically non-existent.  
                3) My green top that, yes, I _perhaps_ don't even like, but which Grace has so rudely set her sights upon, and whose wearage would allow me to make Gracie miserable, which she rightly deserves after her meddling stunt.

                So. Decisions, decisions.

                Well...oh, all _right_ , let's just knock off number three. I really do hate that top. I look like an ugly turtle in it. And Grace would probably start wailing in despair if I snatched it from her. Even though I think she deserves a bit of agony, I suppose I'm just not that spiteful. Not yet, anyway. And while I am still rather adamant about not playing up my feminine wiles, I don't want to look like a man, either, so I suppose I can toss aside top #2, as well. Which leaves us with...top #1.

                Hm.

                Interesting.

**2) The Proper Trousers**  
                All right. This one's a bit more difficult.

                I mean, I suppose I could rummage around in my closet, searching for a pair of trousers or a skirt or some sort of bottom-oriented piece of clothing that will be all proper and not perfect and whatnot...but that would take a lot of effort. More effort than I’m really willing to put in, actually. And while I know that wearing my super-special-bum-magnifying jeans is rather the definition of unnecessary enticement...well, I don't want to look like a complete hag, either, now do I? No, of course I don’t. Plus, those jeans go so well with Proper Top #1. Therefore—in this case—it seems that perfect _is_ proper. 

                Or perfect is more practical, anyway, which is practically the same thing.

                Right.

**3) The Proper Shoes: To Slag or Not to Slag?**  
                So here's the dilemma:

                Ever since Emma unearthed the Slaggy Boots from their dark lair at the back of the closet during Hurricane Letter, Gracie has been eyeing them like a savage beast on the prowl for some innocent prey. Seriously. She's been practically salivating. I know for a very certain fact that if I choose not to wear my previous slag boots today, they will inevitably end up on Grace's overly large feet. And if that happens, I have very little doubt that I will never see my Slaggy Boots in one piece again. I am not kidding. Millions of dirty, damaged pieces are all that will be left of my precious Slaggy Boots. She'd be all, "Oh, Lil, I don't know _how_ I slipped in that giant mud puddle and how that alligator ended up in there, chomping away at my feet. Oops!", and I'd be all "My _boots_!" and she'd be all, "Let's get dinner, yeah?”

                Seriously. That would be the conversation.

                The Slaggy Boots have been hidden away for a reason—they are, as their name states, pretty much the epitome of Slag—and I know that I would much rather be wearing my practical, comfortable trainers, not only because they won't give me blisters, but because they are definitely a whole lot more un-enticing than the provocative Slaggy Boots, but...well, sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. If this is the only way to save them from a gruesome end at the hands of Grace Reynolds, then I will sacrifice myself and my comfort and possibly my enticement scheme for their sake. I'm really left with no other choice.

                Besides, if there was any day for me to be wearing my SLAG boots...

                Yeah.

                That would be today.

**4) Accessories: A Girl's Best Friend...or Enemy?**  
                Any witch worth a single Sickle knows that the proper accessories can make or break an ensemble. It's these simple, little additions—earrings, a bracelet, a necklace, a...different sort of scrap of material hanging about your neck—that _really_ make a bloke go, "Hmm. Yum," or "Ugh. Hag." It's scientifically proven. It's practically a law of nature. There is no contesting the Law of the Accessories in any way, shape, or form. Seeing such, I think it would be utterly foolish of me not to take advantage of the many perks that accessories can bring to my life.

                Except...well, I've never really been much of a jewelry person. I mean, all that tingling and clacking when you move—yeah, not really my thing. And seeing as my ensemble is pretty heavy already, it probably couldn't afford any add-ons, anyway.

                But it _is_ maroon. 

                My jumper, I mean. It's a lovely shade of maroon that really is quite Gryffindor-like. And seeing as I'm going out with a Hufflepuff, it's really the least I can do to represent my people. You know, because they might think I'm abandoning them or something. Which I'm not. I don't even want to go. But that's not the point. The point _is_ that it is my Gryffindor duty to represent my house and the only way to do that is to adorn myself with proper Gryffindor paraphernalia. And I _could_ , I suppose, wear something of my own...but Grace is still blocking the closet. All of my proper Gryffindor paraphernalia is in the closet. And who _knows_ when she's going to get around to moving from the mirror now that I've finally relented and gave her permission to wear the ugly green top. That's just her way. She's a mirror hog.

                So I suppose I'll just have to work with what I have.

                If you know what I mean.

**RECAP:**  
 **The Proper Top:** Check.  
 **The Proper Trousers:** Check.  
 **The Proper Shoes:** Check.  
 **The Proper Accessories:** Check.

**Total Ensemble Rating** : Very proper...sort of.

_T-Minus: One hour and three minutes until DATE_

______________________________________________

**Later Later, Still BEFORE DATE, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 207**

                Oh, god, an hour.

                I still have an entire _hour_.

                How the bloody stinking sodding hell am I supposed to last another _hour_?

_T-Minus: One hour until DATE_

______________________________________________

**Minutes Later, Still BEFORE DATE, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 207**

                A paper bag.

                That's what I need—a good, ol' brown paper bag. One of those really sturdy ones, that make breathing oh-so-much-easier.

                Yeah.

_T-Minus: Fifty-eight minutes until DATE_

______________________________________________

**Seconds, Still BEFORE DATE, 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 207**

                WHY DOES NO ONE HAVE A GOOD OL' BROWN PAPER BAG?!?

                WHAT ARE THEY TRYING TO DO TO ME?!?!

_T-Minus: Fifty-seven minutes until DATE_

______________________________________________

**A Few Minutes Later, Still all the same rubbish**   
**I don't know what any of this 'Observant' bit means.**   
**What are you _on_ , Lily?**

                _Dear Lily's Diary,_

_Lily is no longer available to verbally (writing-ally?) hyperventilate into you, on account of the fact that we've just drugged her with Calming Draught in order to shut her up. She's presently lying happily prone upon her bed without a brown paper bag, which she was rather adamant about having for some reason or another._   
_Instead, she's snuggling with James's scarf._   
_I just thought that was important to add._

_Love,_   
_Grace_

______________________________________________

**Later, Still BEFORE DATE, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 207**

                Date.

                I'm leaving for my date.

                I'm okay.

                I think.

                Er.

                ...maybe I should take one last swig of that Draught. You know, just in case.

_T-Minus: ZERO minutes until DATE_

______________________________________________

**Later, AFTER DATE, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 208**

                I...  
                Hm.

                All right.

                Right.

                That was...

                Hm.

______________________________________________

**A Little Later, After Date, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 208**

                After chugging down the rest of Grace's Calming Draught ("Hey there, champ—you want to be _calm_ , not comatose, remember?"), I can only vaguely recall the sort of dazed sauntering that somehow got me from Gryffindor Tower (with, all right, perhaps a _bit_ of initial steerage from Grace and Emma) down to the Great Hall without any disastrous instances of hyperventilation or drug-induced injury. And while some might say that drugging myself into compliancy wasn't exactly the brightest idea...well, they just don't understand. This wasn't a normal girl-takes-drugs-to-ignore-the-fact-that-she's-possibly-going-on-a-date-with-someone-who-might-be-a-bit-of-a-ponce-despite-what-she-previously-believed-and-oh-yes-a-certain- _not_ -such-a-ponce-wants-to-take-her-instead-but- _whoops_!-she-said-no-to-him-didn't-she? situation. This was totally different, completely necessary. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. Besides, all that really mattered in the end was that I got down there, right? In one piece? And breathing properly? Without a brown paper bag? Clearly some people have lost sight of what's important here. There are far worse things than a little med-induced moral support. I mean, it wasn't as if I was _selling_ the stuff or anything.

                Er, not that there was any _left_ to sell, actually. 

                But whatever. All the rice I eat, I probably needed that extra dose.

                Or three.

                Okay, five.

                Numbers. Psh. Minor technicality.

                Anyway, by the time I finally did manage to stumble down the winding and slightly wobbling corridors to the Great Hall, the place was rather crowded— _everywhere_ was rather crowded, actually, despite the fact that it was a Saturday (SleepDay) and a few minutes before nine. It never fails to astound me how Hogsmeade days somehow manage to transform even Hogwarts's most slovenly bums into happy, whistling, early-risers. The entire school is suddenly ready and eager to greet the sun, sickeningly merry and chipper as they go about their ways. And it's not only your normal Hogsmeade Hags that succumb to this. Social Butterflies, Quidditch Fanatics, and Library Hermits alike can all be found wandering about the castle on a Hogsmeade morning, even if they're only there to stand on the sidelines and watch the inevitable drama unfold (which, judging by the shrieky sound of Penny O'Jene's voice coming from the Ravenclaw table, and the sight of an unusually sullen Hyena Boy staring at her helplessly, I'd say was starting _right_ on time).

                Oh, Hogsmeade. What joy, what rapture.

                I should have been enjoying this—I mean, a Penny/Hyena melodrama? I _lived_ for their pain—but for one reason or another, it just wasn't happening for me. I stood there, leaning silently against the far wall, letting my drugged head settle, and couldn't even muster up enough feeling to care that Penny had just started sobbing and Hyena was shouting, "Deb Hess? I _despise_ Deb Hess! She's a cow, Pen!" as loud as he possibly could. And maybe it was because people who have recently overdosed on Calming Draught can't feel proper emotions, or maybe it was because I had heard a similar row to this one just the other day (though I believe it was Finola Groose then), or maybe it was simply because Deb Hess had just wandered into the hall and it appeared as if this drama was suddenly about to gain some bloodshed and I wasn't really into the whole gore thing, but whatever the case, I just wasn't into it.

                Oh, hell. 

                Why am I even bothering to lie?

                The truth was, I was starting to panic.

                Look, I _know_ it was stupid (and rather miraculous, actually, considering how much Calming Draught I'd just downed), but it's the truth. In my own silent and (artificially) calm way, I was standing there like a sad little louse, feeling that ever-present knot of dismay rushing through my stomach and getting ready to jump full-force into panic mode at the slightest provocation. And the thing is, I knew that if I let that happen—if I let myself succumb to the maddening power of the panic—I would definitely not be making it out of the stupid Great Hall. As much as I claim I'm such a worthless sod and as much as I know that this day could end in disaster, I also know that I'm better than that. I'm better than the flighty little bint that I've been acting like. And the only way to _prove_ that I am is to stop being so ridiculous and just _go_.

                Everything was going to be fine. 

                That's what I kept telling myself as I stood there—everything was going to be _fine_.

                I mean, I knew it wasn't going to be _perfect_ , but I wasn't expecting that. The point of today wasn't perfection. The point _was_ to find out once and for all if Amos and I were meant to be the true and loving soul mates that I had once envisioned us to be. And if we were...well, I'd deal with it. And if we weren't...well, I'd deal with that, as well. I could stand there, watching Penny scream and cry and Hyena Boy cower and apologise, picking every miniscule detail of my upcoming day to bits and pieces until the cows and Deb Hess's came home, but what would that do, hm? Would that change a single bloody thing?

                No.

                No, I'm quite sure it would not.

                So bugger it all. Bugger every stupid thing. I was going to stop being such a coward, I was going to go outside, find Amos, go on my date, and that would be it. Come what may.  
                Having this sort of resolve made it so much easier to finally detach myself from the wall I'd been letting support my drugged weight for the past few minutes—well, that and the fact that my head had finally stopped making the room slant, of course—and started to walk. Striding past a pack of giggling third-years who were watching the Penny-Hyena-Deb soap escalade (oh, to be young and vapid again!), I quickly made my way towards the front doors, figuring that I had better get myself outside before I lost all traces of courage or my Calming Draught wore off and I ended up dashing into the nearest closet and remaining there for the rest of my petty existence. I didn't think about what I was doing, where I was going...I just walked. That seemed best. Walk.

                It was quite nice and pleasantly warm outside when I finally pushed my way through the front doors, though I wasn't entirely certain whether that was due to the unusual October sun or the massive swarms of bodies clustered all about the courtyard. I moved away from the doors with determination, stopping at the top of the steps and lifting my hand to block the glaring sun as my eyes scanned the crowds for Amos's familiar features. As I looked slowly from left to right, I saw a lot of other familiar faces, but not the one that I was searching for. Sighing with frustration—honestly, did he _want_ me to have time to reconsider this?—I started down the steps, figuring that I had done my bit. The ball was in Amos's court now. He could come find _me_.

                "Lily! Hey, Lily!"

                I turned at the sound of my name, trying to ignore the breath of relief that slipped through my lips when I saw that it was Marley weaving her way towards me, her blonde head bobbing in between the crowds, instead of my date. She gave me a big smile and a frantic wave as she un-chivalrously shoved people out of her way in her attempts to reach the stairs. I smiled at her mad antics, my first truly natural grin of the morning.

                "Hey, there," I greeted her when she finally managed to reach me, leaving a trail of rather disgruntled, teetering students behind her. I switched my gaze from our angry classmates to Marley herself, giving her a quick once-over and noting her Perfect-esque outfit, which had remained in rather miraculously perfect condition despite the slight altercations it had just passed through. "Date?" I asked.

                "Potential," Marley answered, grinning jaunty. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "I never commit myself to someone beforehand. It's not safe that way. What if something better comes along, hm? A witch has to keep her options open, you know."

                ...

                Yeah.

                Don't even have a comment for that one.

                "That's incredibly wise of you," I somehow got out, chuckling a more-pained-than-amused sort of chuckle as images of someone-who-I-shouldn't-have-been-thinking-about-for-my-sanity's-sake flashed through my head. "Very, very wise."

                Merlin, kill me _now_.

                "Yes, I know," Marley agreed, flouncing smugly in place. She gave me a quick once-over, as well, cocking her head questioningly. "What about you?" she asked. "Today's the famous Amos Diggory date, isn't it?"

                "Yeah." I couldn't quite bring myself to elaborate more than that in my present state of mind. Marley didn't seem to notice my severe lack of enthusiasm, however.

                "Excited?" she asked, obviously expecting an affirmative answer.

                "Er." My tongue seemed to be sticking to the roof of my mouth. "Yes?"

                Marley's eyebrows instantly shot up. 

                "Are you asking me or telling me?"

                "I just drank my body weight in Calming Draught."

                Er.

                Yeah, she probably didn't need to know that.

                But Marley—bless her kind soul—acted quite as if I'd just told her that the weather was particularly pleasant, or that my boots were making my feet ache, rather than the fact that I was an aspiring draught addict.

                "Oh," she said simply, nodding. "Right then."

                See, _this_ is why I keep her around.

                I let out a miserable sort of half-laugh, one that Marley took in with a rather sympathetic grin. I knew she couldn't possibly understand the extent of my problems, couldn't possibly know what had happened last night or what was about to happen today, but...well, looking at her then, it sort of seemed as if maybe she could. Or perhaps it was just my desperation grappling for some sort of lifesaver, anything to hang on to. And like a big, bright buoy in the rampant ocean storm of my life, Marley placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, her fingers coming to rest just beside where James's scarf lay around my neck, and kept me momentarily afloat.

                "It's only one day," is what she said, giving me a very kind look. "Witches have been through far worse." 

                She moved her hand from my shoulder, but didn't drop it back down to her side like I'd expected her to. Instead, she brought it down to playfully give a tug on the end of James's scarf. That jolted me a bit. 

                "And if things get bad," she joked with a wink, "just look down at your scarf and remember you're a Gryffindor. You know—bravery, courage—all that rot."

                As Marley laughed, my desperation took over and the traitorous mouth took advantage.

                "It's not my scarf," I blurted out, completely ignoring her supportive spiel and comforting jokes and every other common sense thing I could have said and going straight for sheer masochism instead. Marley stopped laughing. She gave me a confused look.

                 "Not yours?" She looked suspicious now. "Well, whose is it, then?"

                I suddenly seemed to find something utterly fascinating on the ground.

                Really. Just _fascinating_.

                "Er." I scratched idly at the back of my down turned head. "Erm..."

                "Oh." Marley's exclamation was sudden, her voice piqued. Then it turned lower, amused. " _Oh_."

                Is it sad how utterly apparent I am? To just about _everyone_?

                "Yeah," I sighed softly, lifting my burning cheeks. "Oh."

                There was a moment of silence then as Marley seemed to digest this. I didn't know for sure if she knew what in the hell— _who_ in the hell, rather—we were talking about, but that didn't take too much time to clear up. Before long, Marley appeared to have quickly come to terms with the whole thing. In fact, she was looking at me with a decidedly amused expression for someone who very well should have been scratching her head in confusion over my cryptic mutterings.

                "Well, then!" she suddenly grinned, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively. "Decided that perhaps some ketchup on your eggs isn't the worse thing in the world, have you, Lily?"

                Ketchup on my...

                Oh, _honestly_!

                "No!" I answered automatically, feeling the panic start to take over. "No, that's not— _I'm_ not— _We're_ not..." 

                My voice trailed away, the lie I had sitting on the edge of my tongue suddenly not all that happy to come out. Not for the first time that morning, James and all our slaggish madness from last night came flooding back into my head, replaying without any sort of restriction, causing me to turn what I can only imagine was a lovely shade of crimson. It had all been so easy before, pushing anything I felt for him aside, lying about it to anyone who asked. It shouldn't have been different now, but of course it was. This time yesterday, I could have easily told Marley that James and I were nothing more than mates, that there was nothing there but camaraderie and perhaps a bit of natural bloke-bird tension. But now...

                _Think of me_.

                Merlin, it was impossible.

                Just so bloody _impossible_.

                I instantly grew cross. I yelled at the James-Inside-My-Head who was grinning like a stupid Zombie Loon and tried to push it all away because—for Merlin's sake, how many times do I have to _say_ it?—this was _so_ not the time. I looked at Marley and tried to force the lies back out, but what I found myself saying instead was something that sounded remarkably like, "Let's just say that I _may_ presently be _open-minded_ to the _possibility_ of the _idea_ of _some_ ketchup and eggs... _sort of_."

                Which just made complete sense.

                Psh.

                Worthless mouth.

                "All part of a balanced breakfast," Marley grinned.

                I really could have strangled her.

                "Thanks," I bit off darkly, scowling fiercely as Marley began cracking up at her own stellar wit. Balanced breakfast. Psh. "I don't need this, you know!" I cried, throwing my hands up in frustration. Then muttered, "Trust me, Mr. Balanced Breakfast has _more_ than staked his claim. He doesn't need your help!"

                "Staked his claim, eh?" Marley started laughing anew, finding this utterly hilarious. "Does Amos know about all this 'staking' and 'claiming', then?"

                Dear, sweet, merciful _Merlin_.

                I let out a large sigh, feeling my head start that ever-present pounding it was so fond of.

                This was just not my day.

                "Do you think you could get the rumour around to him?" I asked flatly, deciding then that all my attempts at logic were apparently lost on this girl and that I was just better off with that pesky little thing people call the truth. I raised a hand to my throbbing head, suddenly sick of it all. "Then maybe I wouldn't have to go."

                "You don't want to?" Marley asked, though she didn't sound nearly as shocked as anyone else who had previously heard this information. Not remotely interested in attempting to lie again, I shook my head. But instead of growing all properly concerned and mate-like, telling me how horrid that was and being all appropriately sympathetic and such, Marley simply grinned even wider and gave me a telling nudge in the side. "Wha- _oh_!" she cackled. "Way to go, Mr. Balanced Breakfast!"

                Really, where do I _get_ these mates?

                I nudged her back, rolling my eyes. "Shut up."

                "No, really!" Marley cried, still laughing along like a mad fool. "You don't even want to go on your date, Lily—a date that, if I remember correctly, you were most giddy with anticipation over not so long ago." She suddenly started sounding like a proud mum, beaming with satisfaction. " _That_ is brilliant work," she praised proudly, as if James were standing right there next to her and could hear her extolling his fine romantic prowess. "Quick, efficient, _brilliant_ work."

                Um, since when did snogging someone into submission turn into a brilliant tactical strategy?

                Yeah, how about _not_?

                "I'm so very glad you approve," I bit out sarcastically, really not wanting to get into the whole uh-yeah-brilliant-efficient-not-so-quick- _snogging_ -was-more-like-it debate, considering it probably wouldn't help my case very much. Plus, I shouldn't have been thinking about it in the first place. Snogging is bad. Very, very bad. "I'll be sure to let James know, all right?"

                "Right now?" Marley asked. 

                I threw her a look.

                "Of course not right _now_. I'm going on a _date_ right now, remember?"

                "Oh." Marley looked mildly disappointed by this, her shoulders sagging a bit. "That would have been rather romantic, actually—you know, running off just before the date, jumping into his arms, confessing all your secret passion..." She smirked at me. "Are you sure you don't want to?"

                I snorted, shaking my head. Though she _did_ have a—

                Damn it, _no_.

                (Damn it, _yes._ )

                _Damn_ _it_.

                "I don't know anything anymore," I confessed with a sigh, trying to get _that_ picture out of my head now—all mad dashing Slaggy Boots and arms and hugs and mouths and... _ugh_. I fiddled idly with the end of James's scarf, looking down and watching as my fingers skimmed through the fringe. "It seems all I've been doing lately is changing my mind."

                Marley hummed her acknowledgement.

                There was a short silence after that, one in which I let myself wallow for a moment in the vat of self-pity I'd been stirring up but determinedly denying all morning. It felt good, even as I let the desperate feelings rush over me, making my head spin even more than usual. Inside the mix, I heard James and all his stupid babble about thinking of him and finding him and whatever other nonsense he'd spewed. _That_ certainly bothered me, but there was something else bothering me, as well—something I hadn't really stopped and thought about too closely in fear that it would be the final straw that tipped over my delicate balance. Because the thing was...

                Bloody hell, what if I actually had a _good time_ today?

                What if I actually enjoyed my date with Amos? What if it wasn't over between us? I'd be a big, stupid liar if I said that I was expecting—or perhaps even hoping—that would happen. I could tell myself as much as I wanted that I wouldn't mind it, that I would deal with it if it happened, but then I'd only be lying to myself and that's complete rubbish. The truth was that I was utterly terrified of such a thing. I didn't _want_ to stay like this. I didn't _want_ to be torn between Amos and James anymore. And since I think it's relatively obvious that my attachment to James is...well, let's call it _annoyingly sustaining,_ for lack of a better word, I was pretty certain that nothing could be altered on that front. 

                Which only left Amos. 

                And the thing is...I mean, it's not as if I've felt the Amos feeling all that recently, right? I mean, besides that time the other day when I kissed him? But that was under rather odd circumstances—I was slightly delusional. Before that, there's been nothing, not for ages! And I know that that could just be a fluke, that I've been so buried under all my other problems and madnesses that I just haven't had the time to swoon and sigh or something, but...well, I've managed to make enough time to swoon and sigh over stupid Mr. Balanced Breakfast, haven't I? So what does _that_ say?

                I don't know. I don't know what that says. All I know is that if Amos got there and all of a sudden my heart started fluttering and my head got all dizzy and the Amos feeling was back, I was in trouble. I was in _so_ much trouble. Trouble that, quite frankly, I'm not sure I could handle for much longer. I mean, I'm not exactly your most emotionally balanced person in the first place. If I have to deal with this romantic war for much longer, who _knows_ what sort of mess I'll become. We're quite lucky I've made it this far! You can't push these things, you know!

                I prayed to every higher power I knew that the fates were intelligent enough not to push it. I was damned bloody tired of pushing back.

                "So what are you going to do?"

                Marley's voice brought me back to the present, snapping me out of my thoughts and silent pity party as she glanced curiously at me, looking properly concerned for perhaps the first time since our conversation began. I stared at her for a second, letting the question register. In the real world, it was a simple enough inquiry. But in _my_ world...

                Yeah. Not so much.

                "Go, I suppose," I answered quietly, though my voice sounded confused and uncertain, even to my own ears. "I mean, I don't have much of a choice, really. I need to—or at least I _think_ I need to...I mean, it's not really as if I can just..." I moaned. "Oh, I don't _know_."

                Marley looked like she was about to say something, a comforting word that I probably would have appreciated in my moment of utter defeat, but she suddenly stopped mid-first-syllable as something over my shoulder seemed to catch her eye. Her gaze stayed there for a moment before quickly flickering back to mine.

                "Well, not to add any unnecessary pressure on it or anything," she said hastily, tossing me a slightly hassled look, "but I'm thinking that you might want to figure that one out soon. Like, now, soon."

                "Why?" I asked.

                "Because Amos is heading straight for us."

                _Amos is heading straight for us._

                I froze, a jolt of alarm rushing through my body at her words. My throat went instantly dry.

                Amos.

                Amos was heading this way.

                There was no amount of Calming Draught that could have stopped the catch in my breath at that very second (which is something I probably should have thought about before attempting to drug the reaction out of myself). I wasn't ready—I _so_ wasn't ready—and suddenly all those panicked questions about whether or not I was actually going to enjoy myself were back, running rampant inside my head and making me feel slightly nauseous. I looked at Marley with what I can only imagine was a most terrified expression. In return, I got a more-or-less sympathetic cringe.

                My bright, bobbing buoy, it seemed, was suddenly sinking along with me.

                Which just bloody _figured_.

                But I had to turn around. As much as I hated it, as panicked as I had suddenly become, the fact remained that I had to do this. I could be as petrified of the outcome as I wanted to be, but that didn't change the fact that in order to...to...well, even forgetting about anything romantic, in order to merely keep the single wisp of sanity that I'm still somehow desperately clinging to, I _needed_ to go on this date. If I didn't—if I ran as far and as fast as I possibly could away from there like I wanted to—this whole thing would never end. I'd be teetering on edge like this forever. I couldn't do that. It wasn't fair to Amos, it wasn't fair to James, and it wasn't fair to me.

                This was it. I was doing it. No more excuses. And I know I've said all that before and haven't exactly stayed true to my word, but this time I meant it. And more than that, this time there was no turning back. Here it was. Now or never.

                I took a deep breath...and turned.

                And there he was.

                He was looking to his left when I first saw him, giving a wave to one of his mates as he climbed down the steps towards us. I stared at him, my heart caught in my chest, watching as he continued to walk, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looking just as devilishly handsome as I'd always imagined he would on our first date. It was strange and mad and I was sure that if I didn't get air in my lungs soon I would probably collapse, but how could I even _think_ of air when he was _walking towards me_ and I didn't know what to do or what to say or what was to come and then he was suddenly _turning his head_ and his eyes were on mine and then...and _then_...

                And then he smiled.

                I knew it as soon as he smiled.

                And I know that sounds mad—I _know_. This was a rather large deal and it seems so ridiculously stupid writing it now and even living it then—we hadn't even left the bloody _courtyard_ , for Merlin's sake!—but it's the truth. It was quick. It was _so_ quick. It all happened in the span of about four seconds and that was it. I knew. I just _knew_. I knew it as well as I knew that I was going to end up with the ugliest sorts of blisters from the Slaggy Boots and it was a mistake to wear them. I knew it just like I knew that it was unnaturally warm for October and I would look like a right ponce for wearing James's scarf around Hogsmeade, but I wouldn't take it off anyway. I knew it just like I knew that I _knew_ what I knew and nothing was going to change that fact. 

                I _knew_. It was as simple as that.

                Because when Amos smiled at me—that same _wonderful_ smile that I had first become so enamored with, had spent hours upon hours thinking of and memorizing and waiting to flash my way—I felt...I _felt_...

                I felt nothing.

                Absolutely, positively _nothing_.

                NOTHING!!!!!

                I FELT NOTHING!!!

                !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                Well, actually, that's not entirely true. I mean, there _was_ a moment of nothingness (!!!!!!!!), but after the tide of that singular apathetic sensation filtered through me, a rather overwhelming emotion did indeed take its place. One that came in a rather large dose, in fact.

                Relief.

                I was so bloody _relieved_.

                Because if I didn't feel anything for Amos now— _now_ , when he was looking all devastatingly handsome and his hair was all nice and he was smiling at me with that perfect smile and I was about to go out on a bloody _date_ with the man for crying out loud—well, then I'm pretty positive that I wouldn't _ever_ feel anything for him.

                And didn't _that_ suddenly make life a whole lot easier?

                It was as if a giant weight had suddenly been lifted off my shoulders—like this horrific boulder that had somehow been balancing upon my small frame had suddenly decided it was time to find a new home. I wanted to dance and sing and shout and do all sorts of mad, foolish things that would probably get me sent straight to the Hospital Wing for mental evaluation, but I wouldn't care because I was so happy and I probably belonged there anyway. I didn't do any of these things, of course—I mean, obviously. I couldn't possibly dance about in my Slaggy Boots. Can you say _ouch_?—but I thought about doing them. I thought about doing them a lot. But mostly, I thought about how relieved I was.

                _ThinkofmeThinkofmeThinkofme._

                (Oh, yeah. I thought a lot about _that_ , as well.)

                This whole, huge emotional event really occurred in about the span of ten seconds, though I was probably the only one who knew such a monumental thing had taken place. One moment I was standing at the foot of the steps, trying to remind myself to breathe as I frantically attempted to convince myself that this _wasn't_ the end of the world, that I _would_ make it through the day, and then the next, I was suddenly fine— _more_ than fine, even—breathing regularly and staring up at Amos with what I knew to be my biggest and best smile in the entire world. Because he had just made me one _severely_ happy woman.

                Er, well, you know, by making me one severely _un_ happy woman. 

                Sort of.

                I could barely contain myself as Amos drew ever closer, suddenly wanting to wrap my arms around him and squeeze him until he burst—though for strictly platonic reasons, of course (PLATONIC! I WANTED IT TO BE PLATONIC!!). But even though all of this had happened and I was smiling like sunshine and feeling like I could float up to the clouds I was so free and fantastic, all of these things couldn't possibly have become clear to Marley, who was still standing behind me, and whose sudden whispered question had me floating back down to reality.

                "Do you want me to pretend faint?" she whispered frantically, her voice coming quickly at my ear. As Amos came closer, she spoke faster. "Seriously, Lil, we can still get you out of this. I'm a _brill_ pretend fainter. You'll just pull the "I have to take care of my mate" card and we'll have this whole thing done in a second. Just say the word and I'll start dropping—"

                "No, no." I shook my head, letting a laugh escape from my lips as the picture of Marley falling dramatically to the ground in a fainted heap floated through my mind. "It's fine," I whispered over my shoulder, feeling calmer than I had all day. "I'll be fine. I'm going to go. I'm okay to go."

                Which, I was suddenly rather surprised to find, was actually not a lie.

                It seemed that once I took the whole oh-my-god-what-if-I-actually-still-fancy-him-I-have-to-look-unenticing-HELP-MERLIN-PLEASE aspect out of the whole day...well, things didn't seem nearly as grim. In fact, maybe this day could be fun. Nice, friendly, PLATONIC fun.

                Hm.

                Platonic.

                I really, really like that word.

                "Are you sure?" Marley asked when Amos was all of two meters away, sounding as if she didn't quite believe me. I nodded.

                "I'm sure," I assured her, then turned my head forward, greeting Amos with my oh-thank-god- _nothing_ smile and a casual, "Hey."

                "Hey," he smiled back (you know, the one I felt _nothing_ for?), then glanced at Marley, who had come out from behind me to stand at my side. His smile dropped a bit. He gave her a curt nod. "McKinnon."

                "Diggory." Marley wasn't much warmer in her returning nod. She shot me a quick look before glancing back at Amos. "So you're taking Lily out, are you?"

                "Yes, I am," he replied, and then, as if to prove that it was true or something, grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me over to his side. Marley cocked an eyebrow at me as I stumbled over, which I returned with a _yeah-I-know_ sort of look. But then Amos was glancing down at me, smiling his bright smile again, which I really felt quite bad about answering with nothing less than an equally bright smile of my own. So I did it, because that was the polite thing to do.

                ... _the day will be over and you'll shake his hand because that's the polite thing to do..._

                Oh, bugger.

                James-Inside-My-Head, _shut up_.

                "Take care of her," Marley was saying when I had finally stashed the James-Inside-My-Head to the _back_ of the inside-of-my-head where he belonged. "She's not in her top form this morning."

                I glanced at Marley with a confused look, wondering just what sort of trouble she was trying to cause, but to my surprise, Amos didn't seem to have that same problem. He appeared to understand exactly what Marley was implying. Or he thought he did, anyway.

                "Oh, that's right!" he cried, turning to look at me again. He grabbed for my arm again, though this time it was my right instead of my left. And instead of using it to manhandle me like before, he lifted it up and pulled back the sleeve of my jumper to see the bandage lying beneath. He seemed more disappointed that he couldn't see the injury than concerned about my welfare. I pulled my hand back and held it protectively against my chest as Amos finally seemed to realise that he should _care_ and kindly asked, "How are you? I heard about the accident. Nasty stuff."

                "I'm fine," I muttered, though at the same time I was answering, Marley spoke up, saying, "Actually, that's not what I was talking about."

                Amos and I both stared at her.

                "No?" Amos asked, confused.

                "It wasn't?" I asked, suspicious.

                Marley shook her head, but she wasn't looking at me, which suddenly made me even more nervous. What in the hell was she up to now?

                "The accident was terrible and all," she said quickly, sounding remarkably innocent for someone who I was quite certain was _not_ , "but I was talking about something much simpler than that."

                "Like what?" Amos asked.

                Marley finally turned to look at me.

                Her grin was positively _wicked_.

                "Why, Lily hasn't had her _balanced breakfast_ this morning!" 

                Oh. Dear. _Merlin_.

                I was going to kill her.

                "Oh." Amos glanced down at me, then back at Marley, switching back and forth between the pair of us as if waiting for the joke to suddenly spring out from one of our heads. But Marley was too busy grinning like a stupid fool and I was too busy glaring at her for all I was worth, so there was a rather slight chance of that happening. Amos was rather left at the wayside. "I'm sure we can get you some breakfast in town, Lily," he tried helplessly, still out of the loop. "There's plenty there."

                "Not the kind she's looking for," Marley muttered.

                While Marley started laughing at her own witty genius and Amos looked on as if the pair of us were not quite playing with a full deck, I grabbed Amos's hand and shot one last withering look at Marley, who was too busy hacking it up to realise that I was about to kill her. I pulled him along and away, muttering, "Good- _bye_ , Marley," before either of us could do any permanent damage.

                "Have fun!" she called after us, though I could practically hear the "Yeah. _Right_ ," in her tone.

                She is lucky that there were so many witnesses about. 

                So very, _very_ lucky.

                I could still hear Marley's tingling laughter as I pulled Amos away, but realised rather quickly that I had no idea where exactly I was pulling him off _to_ , so I stopped just as soon as Marley's laughter faded in with the rest of the courtyard chatter. I turned to face him then, taking pity on the poor boy and the completely bewildered look on his face. I gave him a guilty smile and shrug, letting his hand drop from mine.

                "Sorry about that," I said, waving my hand in Marley's general direction. "She's mad."

                "Yeah, I caught that." Amos was still looking at me a bit queerly. He paused for a second, then asked, "Do you really want breakfast?"

                Oh, _hell_.

                "No," I answered quickly, shaking my head and cursing the day that Marlene McKinnon was born. "No, I don't need breakfast. I'm perfectly fine. Really. Let's just go, all right?"

                "Yeah, sure," Amos answered, though he sounded hesitant as he said it, scratching at the back of his head and appearing to be looking around the courtyard for something. He seemed uneasy, though I had no idea why. I didn't have too long to question it, however, because he suddenly perked up, smiling again as he turned to me, his eyes flashing quickly to his left. "Actually," he said, his words quick, "would you mind if we just popped over there for a moment? I see Vance Dunnings and I've really got to speak with him about something. You don't mind, do you? It won't take long."

                I turned to look where Amos was pointing, seeing indeed Amos's mate Vance standing off to our left with a few other Hufflepuffs, appearing very deep in conversation. I turned back to Amos, who was glancing hopefully at me. I didn't really know Vance or any of the other kids standing with him, but it wouldn't hurt anyone just to stop and say hello if that's what Amos wanted. I mean, it wasn't as if I was aching to get to Hogsmeade, anyway. Plus, how long could this possibly take? Not too long, I was sure. So I nodded my agreement to Amos, who shot me another bright smile at my compliance.

                "Brilliant," he said, already grabbing my hand. "We'll be quick, I promise."

                Then he dragged me over.

                We didn't leave the courtyard for nearly two hours.

                Two, terrible, horrible, _excruciatingly_ long hours.

                I'm not even kidding when I say this. I mean, I know that I am somewhat prone to exaggeration—well, okay, maybe _prone_ isn't really the proper word. I suppose I rather exaggerate like I lie...pathologically—but this time I'm so not. There is no exaggeration here, not even a little. We started off talking to Vance at (and this is being _generous_ ) probably about ten past, and by the time we were _finally_ making our way towards the Hogsmeade carriages, it was just before eleven.

                Two. Hours.

                _Two hours!_

                But the thing was, it wasn't _technically_ like Amos lied or anything. He said speaking to Vance wouldn't take long, and it didn't. Amos had finished his conversation with Vance and his mates in probably ten minutes or so, just as I'd expected. But he also finished his conversation with Pete Taggart in ten minutes. And with Shirley Shorn? Yeah, ten minutes, too. And with Kiki Molter and Christa Forester and Penny O'Jene (actually, he and Penny took a good twenty minutes. She and Hyena Boy had apparently broken it off—again—after their shouting match and she needed some comforting). He took ten minutes with just about everyone he _could_ take ten minutes with and even _then_ I had to kindly remind him that rain could come at any time and we should really get to Hogsmeade soon, or else I'm quite sure he would've starting striking up conversations with the bleeding _shrubbery_.

                Remember my fun, friendly, platonic date?

                Yeah. Not so fun. Way too friendly.

                And the thing is, it's not as if I'm a complete social outcast or anything, all right? I mean, I may be mad and emotionally unstable, but I can act normally and make small talk with people I don't particularly know (because I _didn't_ really know most of these people. Didn't really know them at _all_ ) when I have to. That wasn't the problem here. And the problem wasn't even really that Amos wasted the first two hours of our date chatting with other people, either—I certainly was in no position (and really had no inclination anymore) to keep him all to myself, anyway. The problem was...well, it was just that...

                He was _weird_.

                He was acting so, so _weird_.

                And I don't mean that he talks about strange things or that he was being particularly odd in his movements or anything like that. I mean that he was just acting strange in regards to _me_. It was like...Merlin, I don't even know how to describe it. It was like...it was like he was showing me _off_ or something. Like I was some sort of trophy he was particularly interested in rubbing in other people's faces. 

                Except that I'm not a trophy. I'm a girl.

                Amos didn't seem to get that.

                Every time we (or really _he_ ) went to talk to someone new, he'd be all, "Hello, Insert-Person's-Name! How are you? Do you know _Lily_? Well, this is _Lily._ Lily _Evans_. We're going to Hogsmeade on a _date_. Having a _great_ time."

                Except of course that we weren't. Having a great time, I mean. And we weren't exactly on a date yet, either. Or at least it didn't feel much like one.

                And I know that people could be all, "He was _introducing_ you. What's wrong with that? What did you want him to do? Ignore you?", but it wasn't like that. They didn't hear him. He _wasn't_ just introducing me. I don't know what the hell he _was_ doing, but it certainly wasn't that. 

                It just felt so...well, so _fake_ , really, and not just because of the whole showing-me-off-thing, either. What _really_ had me feeling uncomfortable was the fact that Amos...he didn't _need_ to be talking to all these people. Even if he were the most social being in the entire world, he didn't need to be talking to all of them. Everything they chatted about—even his initial conversation with Vance, which apparently had _had_ to be done that morning or whatever—was completely pointless. It was idle small talk, stupid chatter. So why was he doing it? Why was he wasting our— _his_ —time with it? There had to be some reason, but for the life of me I couldn't figure it out. 

                And do you know what the even _stranger_ bit about the whole thing was? The fact that—all these people Amos was talking to? Yeah, it might be normal for _me_ not to really know most of them, but I have a strange feeling that _Amos_ didn't know them all that well, either. It was like the only reason that he was talking to them was to make sure that _he_ knew that _they_ knew that he was there with me—oh, and "having a _great_ time," of course. It was like he was trying to sell something. 

                Trying to sell _me_.

                That sounds completely self-absorbed. I know it does. And while I'm the first to admit that I can sometimes be consumed with all things me—thinking everyone is talking about me and starting societies about me and all that nonsense—that wasn't what this was. This wasn't normal the-world-revolves-around-me Lily perspective. This was _real_. I wasn't imagining it. And I don't know, maybe it could just be because I was bored and suddenly in a rotten mood, but I couldn't help feeling that way. And I got more than a few strange looks out of the whole thing, as well, which makes me even more sure that it wasn't all in my head. I mean, even Kiki Molter, after Amos had mentioned " _Lily_ his _date_ " for about the fifth time, had given him a disgusted look and been all, "Amos. I _know_ you're here with Lily. Do _you_?"

                Yeah.

                And Kiki Molter doesn't even _like_ me that much.

                So needless to say, I wasn't exactly a bundle of joy by the time Amos and I were finally making our way towards the Hogsmeade carriages. After two hours of listening to idle small talk and " _Lily_ " this and " _Lily_ " that, I was really starting to hate my own name.

_...you have no idea how bloody_ fantastic _it is to hear you say my name...I swear, you could make a bloke start to hate his own name, Infallible. You really could..._

                Oh.

                And then there was _that_.

                I'm not even going to _touch_ on that yet.

                "I can't believe we were talking in the courtyard for so long!" Amos marveled once we were both settled properly inside one of the carriages, sounding quite amazed by the fact, though I had a rather strong suspicion that he wasn't amazed at all. "Mad, right?"

                "Mm." I hummed disinterestedly, leaning my head against the side of the carriage as Amos continued blathering on.

                "You just get drawn into conversations, you know? Time flies by. But it was a lot of fun. A great way to start the morning, don't you think?"

                "Just fab," I muttered, and wondered if it would be rude if I closed my eyes and took a nap. As Amos went on and on, I started to doubt he'd even notice.

                "Hogsmeade's great to catch up with mates," he was saying, rather not realising that he was mostly talking to himself. "I mean, I haven't talked to some of those people in ages. It was good to catch up. Though, you know," he said, turning to look at me, "I noticed a few of my mates weren't around yet. Strange, eh? It being nearly eleven and all. That's pretty late." He paused for a second, then seemed to realise that I wasn't responding to that remark and asked, "Were any of your mates around?"

                "A few," I answered, thinking that it probably wouldn't be polite to relay the tale of when—circa forty-five minutes into the Amos chat-a-thon—I had thought I spotted Grace in the crowds and started sending frantic 'S.O.S.' signals her way, only to discover a few seconds later that it _wasn't_ Grace at all and that I'd been mouthing desperate "Help me!"'s to some dark-haired fifth or sixth year and her mates.

                Yeah. I don't think he'd really appreciate that one.

                "Very odd," Amos replied, giving me a nod. His eyes flickered away from me for a moment, then back again. "Hey," he said suddenly, _sounding_ surprised, as if this thought had just occurred to him, but looking so shrewd that I seriously had my doubts. "Did you happen to spot Julie Little in the crowds? I think she said she'd be down, but I can't quite recall seeing her."

                Okay, seriously?

                Was he _seriously_ asking me about _Julie Little_ right now?

                That is _so_ not happening.

                "No," I heard myself say, long before my brain had processed a proper response. But my mouth was still moving and words were still flowing and it soon became rather obvious that this was _all_ traitorous mouth. "No, I didn't see Julie, Amos. Did _you_ happen to see _James_ anywhere? I was looking for him and can't recall spotting him, either."

                Yeah, that's right. 

                Playing the James card.

                How do you like _that_ , Mr. Julie Little?

                "Potter?" Amos spat out James's name as if it were something dirty. "Why would you be looking for Potter?"

                "He's my mate," I answered simply, turning my nose up a bit. "You were looking for your mates, I was looking for mine."

                Amos didn't like that answer. Just as I—or rather, just like my _mouth_ —had expected.

                "I don't know how you can tolerate that ponce," Amos growled, tossing me a look. "He's nothing but a troublemaking bastard. Don't you remember what he did to you before the Quidditch match? Using our relationship to give me false information—it was a bloody dirty trick! That's what Potter's all about—dirty, underhanded tricks. You should still be cross with him over that!"

                "Well, I'm not," I snapped, surprising even myself with how annoyed I was starting to sound. "And James...well, feeding me false information was no more underhanded than you asking for it! Don't be cruel. He's better than that."

                Amos stared at me silently, seeming stunned by my words. I stared back, utterly defiant. It wasn't exactly the proper things to be saying to one's date while _on_ said date, but for once, I wasn't at all cross that my mouth had gone and spouted off all sorts of inappropriate things. Did Amos seriously have the audacity to sitting there slighting James— _my_ James, who, yes, has his supremely stupid and prattish moments, but is nonetheless a pretty goddamned brilliant bloke—when we had been on our "date" for nearly two hours and this is the first time he'd even bothered to speak to me? And about _Julie Little_ , of all things?

                I _was_ cross, though certainly not with James.

                In fact, James was the only one keeping me even mildly sane throughout this whole ordeal.

                What would Mr. Julie Little think if I'd told him _that_ , hm?

                Because the truth was...remember those little snippets of all those things James said last night? The ones that kept popping up in my head at the most inopportune moments? Yeah, not exactly rare. Like, at all. In fact, they had been my rather constant companion for the past two hours, leaping up in my head at an alarmingly rapid rate. Everything Amos did, everything he said, everything he _was_ , it all related back to James. Every single, bloody thing. Which was all his fault, of course. James's, I mean. If he hadn't gone on with his little 'think of me' spiel, the idea to do so probably wouldn't have even occurred to me. But because he _did_ put it there (and also perhaps aided by the fact that Amos was such a rubbish date), James and his stupid words and his stupid face and every other stupid thing about him wouldn't bloody _leave_. 

                And at first this had made me all annoyed, of course. I wanted it to stop because it wasn't exactly healthy to be thinking of James smiling at me when Amos did so, to be thinking about James's voice as I heard Amos's, to be hearing " _And I promise I'll even let you up for air occasionally_ ," repeat inside my head as Amos blathered, " _Lily_ ," this and _"Lily,_ " that. But after awhile...

                I mean, come _on_.

                I'm only female. It couldn't be helped!

                So by the time we'd crossed the one hour mark and I was still smarting over the Grace false alarm and Amos appeared to be paying more attention to the weepy Penny O'Jene than he was to his apparently revered " _Lily_ "...well, my mind sort of rebelled. So instead of pushing the James-Inside-My-Head to the _back_ of my head like I had been doing previously, I not only let him linger up front, I encouraged it! I entertained myself by replaying our time in the Room of Requirement over and over inside my head, and when that had me blushing too much, switched instead to imagining the sorts of things James would say if _he_ were a participant in these asinine conversations Amos was dragging me in and out of. I heard him tell Penny, "There, there. I'm sure he didn't _mean_ to have his hand down Deb's pants. Fingers slip sometimes, you know," as she sobbed over her Hyena trials. I heard him tell Vance Dunnings to "embrace the disarray," as the idiot Hufflepuff complained about the things the sun were doing to his hair. I even listened to him blather on about Quidditch, shooting me, "Yes, eat your breakfast, Lily," looks as Amos and Jervis Rennet got into an argument over some recent match.

                I did all of this, and suddenly, being dragged from person to person listening to Amos sell me, it wasn't so bad.

                _Think of me_ , he'd said then, and I'd gotten angry.

                Now I was practically _begging_ him to stay inside my head.

                (Which was probably something so incredibly telling that I couldn't possibly stop to think about it then or I'd surely never survive the day—or think about it _now_ , either, because...well, just because.)

                Anyway, so that's what I was really doing as Amos sat there staring silently at me after my rather snappish defense of James—thinking of the bloke in question and imagining what he would do if he were sitting there in the carriage with us. In my head, I saw him grinning smugly at Amos, telling him in that sardonic tone of his, "Listen to her, Diggory. Bird's got brains, you know," and watching Amos sputter.

                Yeah. I know. Sick.

                But regardless of how sick that was or wasn't, thinking about such things on the inside had me grinning rather foolishly on the outside, which I can only assume Amos took as some sort of tacit apology on my part because soon he was grinning right back at me as if I hadn't just insulted him immensely.

                "Let's just agree to disagree," is what he said, pleased as a peach once more. He glanced out the carriage window briefly, then turned back to me. "Look, we're almost in town. Where would you like to go first?"

                He was suddenly looking so eager and earnest that I started feeling a bit guilty, even though he had pretty much brought my embracing the James-Inside-My-Head Game upon himself by being such a rotten date. But he wasn't talking to stupid people anymore and he wasn't saying " _Lily_ " all annoying-like, and it appeared as if he was actually ready to start being a decent bloke, so I really couldn't help but acknowledge that small roll of remorse that swept through my stomach as James-Inside-My-Head was all, "She'd like to _leave_ , you bloody prat," and soon heard myself being very polite and cordial, going, "Oh, I have nowhere in particular in mind. Where do you want to go?"

                James-Inside-My-Head shook his head in disappointment.

                Amos grinned.

                "We'll walk around," he decided, waving a careless hand at my indecision. "See where the day takes us, yeah? Then we can head to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Sound good?"

                I nodded, trying to get James-Inside-My-Head to stop rolling his eyes.

                "Sounds lovely," I said through my fake smile, holding back a large sigh. "Just lovely."

                Amos nodded back, utterly content.

                The rest of the carriage ride went by rather quickly, though mostly because I had spent a large portion of it trying not to fall back into my James-Inside-My-Head ways. Amos kept babbling about one thing or another, but Julie Little was not one of them, so I was satisfied. I mean, even though I was relatively certain that Amos and I would leave this day without the least bit of romantic feelings between us, that certainly didn't mean that I wanted to hear him moaning and whining over Julie. He could wait a few bloody hours before officially moving on, couldn't he?

                Well, apparently he could, because Amos didn't bring up Julie again. Instead, he found another topic that satisfied him just as much.

                Himself.

                Oh, yeah.

                Best. Date. Ever.

                "And it's not that I'm particularly _bad_ at Charms," Amos was ranting, helping me down from the carriage when we finally arrived, probably doing it more out of habit than any real courteous concern. "I just don't understand the _point_ of them, you know? So then Flitwick assigns us these bloody long essays on the topic and I have to find something to write. It's not my fault that Memory Charms are about as interesting as plywood!"

                I dropped Amos's hand as soon as I reached the ground. James-Inside-My-Head (it was really quite impossible to get rid of him) let out a low whistle. "Not _Charms_ , you prat," he muttered, shaking his head. "Don't insult _Charms_."

                "I happen to find them fascinating," I interrupted tightly, speaking for the first time in quite awhile because, damn it, James-Inside-My-Head was _right_ —was he seriously insulting Charms to _me_? "I'm already done with my essay, actually."

                "Truly?" Amos laughed. "That's just mad."

                "I like Charms."

                "Yeah. You like Runes, as well, right?"

                "Right."

                "That's mad, too."

                What I wanted to say—what James-Inside-My-Head was rooting for, as well— was a very casual, "Perhaps. But I'll have my N.E.W.T. in both and get a proper job. What about you?", but I figured that we had just gotten out of the carriage, we undoubtedly had at least a few more hours together, it was probably not best to start off the day on that sort of foot. So even though it went against my very core as an independent, assertive witch, I smiled at Amos with my best fake smile and went, "Let's just agree to disagree, yeah?"

                We seemed to be doing a lot of that.

                Hmph.

                Amos grinned back and nodded, then went on chatting mindlessly as we started walking towards town. I rather stopped listening once he got on the topic of some long-ago holiday he'd taken with his family. I started reconsidering my suspicions about Amos-and-the-two-hour-pointless-chattering then, discovering that maybe, to Amos, the things he'd been talking about with all those people _were_ important—maybe all this bloke _did_ was meaningless drivel. And I suppose I wouldn't much have noticed this before considering that all the time I've spent with him this year has rather been done in a situation where asinine conversation is appropriate (study sessions, hallway walking, mealtimes), but I sure as hell was noticing it now. And really, even a girl as shallow and as mad as me needed something a bit more substantial than that.

                Though considering my best source of conversation recently has been an imaginary replica of James Potter who is living inside my head, I really don't suppose I'm really one to talk.

                Psh.

                We made it safely into town without any moments of disaster or homicide, which I personally was quite proud of. The city was positively packed, but that was nothing surprising. What _was_ surprising, however, was the fact that the moment we reached the hordes that made up civilization, Amos tossed his arm about my shoulders and instantly seemed to warp back into In-the-Public-Amos mode. He didn't (thank Merlin) start up endless conversations with every Tom, Tracy and Tree in the vicinity, but he _did_ give each of them a wave, all the while continuing on with his endless stream of chatter to me. I was utterly fascinated by this change in him, in the sudden shift of public and private personalities. It was strange and I didn't trust it, but seeing as there was nothing much I could do, I just let Amos do what he wanted and may or may not have accidentally-on-purpose started playing the James-Inside-My-Head Game again. You know, maybe.

                Sad and pathetic?

                Yes, I know.

                We went into Honeydukes first, mostly because it had been a stressful morning and I thought I deserved some chocolate, so I didn't give Amos much of a choice in the matter. Still, he seemed quite content with my decision, spotting some of his mates as soon as we walked in, thankfully giving me a brief reprieve from his droning so that he could go chat _their_ ears off. As for me, I busied myself with selecting chocolates with the exact precision and lengthy deliberation one would utilize when in life or death situations. I took a good twenty minutes selecting a rather decently sized box for myself, a small batch of caramels for Emma, a package of sugar quills for Gracie, and an extra package of fudge...just in case.

                Honeydukes would have been mostly uneventful if it hadn't been for the fact that—just as I was deliberating between sugar quills and sugar mice for Gracie—out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone who appeared to be not-so-furtively hiding behind a display at the end of my aisle. I turned my head just in time to see Peter Pettigrew jump as if startled, then dash out of my sight down the next aisle of sweets. My eyes instantly narrowed. I grabbed the nearest package of sugar quills and then attempted to follow after him, but he wasn't down the aisle I'd seen him duck into, nor in any other consecutive aisle I checked. I was about to give it up as a lost cause when a quick flash of something drew my gaze towards the front doors. I turned just as Peter and Remus rushed out of the store, disappearing into the busy streets. 

                My breath caught, my heart jumping in my chest. Quite suddenly, something I hadn't even considered before dawned on me.

                Could...could _James_ be in Hogsmeade?

                It was selfish of me to think that he wasn't, and it was stupid that the thought had never occurred to me before, but it really hadn't until that very moment. His mates were definitely here, though—definitely here and _looking_ at me, even—so there really was no telling if James had walked out of Honeydukes ahead of Remus, or if he and Sirius were off waiting somewhere nearby. For some reason, that thought had my heart beating a bit more rapidly in my chest. I knew that at the end of the day, whether James was in Hogsmeade or not didn't matter—I was still here with Amos. It's not as if I could just abandon him or something—but it still seemed to make all the difference. Suddenly, I was consumed by the question. I started scanning the store as if expecting him to jump out from behind a display or wave at me through the store's windows. That's when I grabbed the package of fudge, just for the hell of it. It was also then that I decided it was probably far past time for me to go find Amos, before I did something _really_ stupid.

                _ThinkofmeThinkofmeThinkofme._

It wasn't that difficult to find Amos—he was still standing right where I had left him, talking with Pompous Boy and some blonde bloke, seeming to be rather deep in his conversation.

                "I don't think so, mate," Pompous Boy was saying as I walked up behind Amos. "You've got yourself right fucked. She isn't just going to go out—oh! _Lily_. Hullo!"

                I raised my eyebrows, but tried to keep my face blank. Clearly I had walked in on something I wasn't supposed to.

                "Hello," I said, giving him a cursory smile. I glanced at him, then at Amos, then at the blonde bloke, who was looking decidedly nervous. "Everything all right?" I asked.

                "Smashing," Amos answered, tossing his arm about my shoulders again. "Simply smashing. How about you? Got everything you needed? Looks like you've got a bit of a sweet tooth, eh?"

                "I have a lot of mates," I replied flatly, ducking out from under his arm. He seemed a bit surprised by that, but I really couldn't be bothered. I nodded my head towards the short line by the till. "I've just got to pay. Are you almost ready to leave?"

                "Yeah, I'm ready," he said, though there was a sort of tone in his voice now that hadn't been there before. He turned to his mates with a pointed look. "I'll see you around. We'll finish talking about the...match, later. Just get the news around, yeah?"

                "Yeah, all right," Pompous Boy responded, while the blonde bloke only nodded. "See you around. Later, Lily."

                "Bye," I muttered, watching Amos closely as the pair of them walked away. He stared after them for a bit, then glanced back down at me. He didn't look the least bit guilty. "What was all that about?" I asked.

                "Quidditch," was his quick response. "Quidditch match."

                "Oh?" We started walking towards the till. "Which? Who's playing?"

                "Puddlemere and Kenmare." 

                "When?"

                "Tomorrow."

                He was making it very difficult to trap him in his lie. I couldn't be sure whether he had discovered my complete Quidditch ineptitude and therefore knew that I wouldn't be able to contradict his answers, seeing as I didn't even know who Kenmare _was_ let alone when and who they were playing, but I soon discovered that, honestly, I didn't really care. I mean, I had much bigger things to deal with—like the possibility that James Potter was even as we spoke gallivanting somewhere throughout Hogsmeade. _That_ was a problem. This...yeah, not so much. I truly just couldn't be bothered with Amos and his stupid secrets.

                I brought my sweets and soon Amos and I were out and about once more, though this time he didn't try to anchor me to his side with his arm, for which I was eternally grateful. We went into Dervish & Banges where Amos got some sort of knickknack for himself, and then into Scrivenshaft's where I picked up a few quills. Amos still kept up his waving-at-every-passing-living-object nonsense, but at least he'd moved on from regaling me with his childhood adventures to talking about his father's job at the Ministry, which was at least semi-interesting. Still, by the time we reached the Three Broomsticks after a few more small stops, I was very nearly dying of boredom. I couldn't even fathom how I had ever thought Amos even remotely entertaining. The boy was about as gifted in conversation as I was in Divination, or, Merlin help me, in telling the truth. He needed a muzzle, for Merlin's sake.

                But even though I knew going to the Three Broomsticks would only put me in a situation where more of Amos's conversational ineptitudes would be showcased, I was too relieved to finally have the chance to sit down to care. The Slaggy Boots were quite positively _killing_ me and I was quite sure that the blisters they were causing were about to explode, which was not a pretty sight under any circumstance. I figured such things took precedence over my fatal boredom.

                "Do you see a table anywhere?" Amos asked as we walked into the crowded pub, his head moving slowly from side to side. I joined him in the search, but the place was rather packed and no empty table was in sight. I wanted to sob, my feet hurt so much, which is why I think when Amos went, "Oh! Perfect! Come on," and grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards what I soon discovered was an already overly-crowded booth filled with his fellow Hufflepuffs, I didn't immediately object. In fact, as long as I had a chair (which, after Amos stole two from a nearby table, I did), I wasn't going to say a damn thing.

                It was mostly the same crowd that Amos had started off his chat-a-thon with this morning—Vance Dunnings, Pete Taggart, Shirley Shorn, Pompous Boy and the blonde bloke, and then two other girls whose names I never quite caught—and though they were perfectly friendly, it was also rather...well...awkward.

                "How's your day been?" Shirley Shorn asked me once I was settled, though I didn't quite catch what she had said because my relief to be off my feet was so great that it was actually rather numbing and all-consuming. Her voice was drowned out by my inner sighs of contentment.

                "I'm sorry?" I asked, once I realised she'd spoken to me.

                "Your day," Shirley repeated again, her smile frozen in place. She was staring at me with a sort of crazy-eyed look. "Has it been well?"

                "Er...lovely," I muttered, giving her a strained smile, wondering what she was all about. "It's been lovely."

                Shirley nodded, then threw a pointed look at Vance, who turned to look at Amos, who was trying to finagle his way out of trouble after stealing the two chairs from the table behind us. I was once again left with the rather strong impression that I was being left out of something, but once again, I couldn't particularly find myself caring. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure it wouldn't concern me for much longer. I truly didn't expect to be hanging about this crowd for any extended period of time after this.

                The conversation continued on and I participated when it was necessary, but mostly I just zoned out, sipping my butterbeer and smiling when it was appropriate. I entertained myself by watching as new people entered and left the pub, judging (and, you know, _perhaps_ occasionally letting James-Inside-My-Head help, as well) whether _they_ were having as horrific a day as I was. Most weren't—lucky bastards—but occasionally there waltzed in a few unfortunate souls who I could tell would have gladly taken an Unforgivable in order to leave their present situations.

                Ah, kindred spirits.

                I should have brought them all drinks.

                It was just as I was considering that very sentiment after watching a rather desperate-looking third-year mouth "HELP" to a pack of her giggling mates behind her date's back that the bell above the front door jingled again, drawing my gaze away from Desperate Dora and back towards the pub's entrance. I turned my head just as Peter and Remus walked in from the street.

                _Just_ Remus and Peter.

                My heart skipped a few beats in my chest.

                I ripped my gaze away before they could see me staring, though not before I saw them settle in at the bar on the other end of the room. They only took two chairs. They weren't saving any. So did that mean...

                It had to, right?

                I tried to concentrate then, concentrate on anything other than the two boys across the room and the other two—one in particular—who were missing, but the fates must have been watching this very moment and decided I haven't suffered enough because the table conversation had turned to—of _all_ things—Quidditch, which of course was about as helpful to me as an umbrella in a lightning storm. Plus, I was relatively certain both Remus and Peter were continuously shooting looks at me, glancing my way and burning holes in my back with their eyes. What was _that_ all about?

                I lasted all of fifteen minutes, and then broke.

                It was fourteen minutes longer than I had expected.

                "Amos," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder as he continued hacking it up with his mates. He turned, looking at me questioningly. I motioned my head to the left. "I'm going to dash to the loo. I'll be back."

                "Yeah, all right," Amos said, then almost instantly went back to listening to Vance's retelling of some match or another (Puddlemere and Kenmare, perhaps? Psh. Yeah _right_ ). I lost any and all feelings of guilt I might have thought I should have at that very moment and instantly got up, struggling not to roll my eyes.

                Merlin, what a ponce.

                I had just decided that it would probably be less pathetic if I _actually_ made a stop in the loos rather than just heading straight over to Remus and Peter as if that had been my only reason for getting up (even though it was), but changed my mind when I spared the two a quick glance on my way to the ladies', only to find them both staring rather shamelessly back at me. The second my glance caught theirs, they both instantly snapped their heads around, an act so utterly conspicuous that it couldn't possibly be ignored.  I narrowed my eyes at their backs, then quickly changed directions. They had just crossed their own line of patheticness. I figured two could play that game.

                I stopped when I stood just behind them, arms crossed over my chest, foot tapping.

                Oh, yeah.

                They were in trouble.

                "Hullo," I greeted loudly, putting on my best fake smile. "Fancy seeing you both here."

                I almost laughed as I watched both boys' backs stiffen, their reaction to the sound of my voice yet another sure sign that there was something distinctly fishy going on here. They both turned around slowly, looking at me with deliberately blank expressions on their faces. I cocked an eyebrow, silently daring the pair of them to try to get themselves out of this one. I would enjoy seeing them try.

                "Hello, Lily," Remus replied pleasantly after a moment. "How are you?"

                "Enjoying your day?" Peter added in.

                Psh.

                Did they seriously think I was going to fall for _that_? Please. What was I, stupid?

                "Well, I _was_ until the pair of you started getting on my nerves," I answered pointedly, not even bothering to hide my extreme suspicion anymore. I narrowed my eyes at them. "What exactly are you two up to?"

                "Up to?" Remus had the audacity to act confused, idly playing around with his mug of butterbeer as he shot me an innocent look. "Really not sure what you're talking about, Lily."

                Ha!

                "You know exactly what I'm talking about!" I shot back, but the pair of them must have been practicing for this very moment in their downtime or something, because neither of their faces betrayed any sort of guilt. In fact, they both looked at me as if I'd gone a bit mad. I let out an annoyed little huff and stuck them with a good glare. "Look," I said crossly. "I'm not stupid, all right? I saw Peter in Honeydukes and I've seen you watching me now and I may not always be the most observant person in the world, but even _I_ could put this one together. So can you please quit playing innocent and tell me what exactly the point of all this is so that I can move on with my day?!"

                I was practically panting after that mini-rant, glaring so hard at the two of them that my eyes might very well have gotten stuck that way. Unfortunately, Remus and Peter weren't nearly as affected. Mostly, they just looked shocked, blinking owlishly up in my direction. I was on the verge of whipping out my wand and beginning to throw out some more threats _that_ way when— _finally_!—there was movement. Remus turned to Peter with a slightly disgusted look on his face.

                "She saw you in Honeydukes?" he asked, his voice flat. " _That's_ what 'Red Alert, Red Alert' meant?"

                "What did you think it meant?" Peter asked, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't hiding from the licorice wands!"

                "Well, I don't know—"

                "Hiding? You were _hiding_ from me?"

                Both Remus and Peter turned to look at me as if suddenly remembering that I was standing right there in front of them, hearing every word that came out of their mouths. They both looked a bit uncomfortable for a moment, before, casual as anything, Peter finally gave me a shrug. 

                "No offense," he said.

                Yeah.

                That was his response.

                'No offense'.

                I suppose I could have reacted in any number of ways to that. The assumed response would have probably been something along the lines of, _"_ That's all you've got to say to me? _No offense?"_ and then a series of hexes so bad that even I wouldn't know where I got them from. But—surprisingly—that's not what I did. And I didn't stalk off in annoyed huff or start sobbing like an over-emotional shrew over the injustice of it all, either. In fact, I did nothing remotely close to any of that.

                I laughed.

                I laughed, and I laughed, and I _laughed_.

                Because—"no offense"? That was pretty damn funny.

                Or perhaps it was just subjectively funny, considering what I'd had to put up with all day.

                Hm.

                "N-no o-offense?" I burst out, losing it completely right there in front of the bar, hacking it up like the lunatic that I am. "N-no _offense_? Seriously? What"—Uncontrollable laughter—"what are you"—some more—" _Merlin!_ "

                Then I was off again, lost in my mirth.

                I know. I should be locked away.

                "Er..." Remus scratched at his head, sharing a look with Peter as they both watched me convulse, confusion evident. "Er, Lily? You all right there?"

                "Oh, yes," I giggled helplessly, trying to control myself now. I grabbed hold of the back of Peter's stool, trying not to topple over in my insanity. I wiped at my eyes, brushing away the wetness that had suddenly sprung up there. "No offense. Ha! Do you know what, Peter? None taken! None at all! I think that's quite possibly the funniest thing I've heard all day."

                "Clearly," Remus muttered.

                "I believe you," Peter said at the same time.

                My laughter finally dulled, leaving me with only a silly sort of feeling inside that felt so good that I nearly burst out laughing again, just for the hell of it. But I controlled myself, choosing instead to smile brightly at the pair of them, actually enjoying myself for the first time all day. After a few seconds, Remus and Peter stopped looking so worried that I might turn manic at any second and actually started smiling back. We were all blissful in our smiles when I finally let out a long breath, this one of utter contentment.

                "Thank you," I said, still smiling at them both. "I really needed that."

                "We know," Peter responded, nodding his head in a very understanding manner. 

                I cocked my head to the side questioningly.

                "You know?" I repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

                "You keep rotten company, Evans," Peter replied, a hint of pointed meaning evident in his voice. "They're boring you stale."

                "Really?" I asked dubiously, even though that was completely and utterly true. In fact, I didn't think 'stale' was even a strong enough word for it. What's a word for 'to the brink of utter suicide and back'? "And how exactly would you know that?"

                I asked as a joke, something to keep our happy banter going, the amused mood in the air. But instead of laughing at my silly gibes, Remus and Peter both simply looked away from me, shifting uncomfortably in their stools. My smile dropped a bit, my curiosity piqued. What in the world...?

                "What?" I asked, trying to catch their averted gazes. "Hey, what's going—"

                Then it hit me.

                _I wasn't hiding from the licorice wands!_

                Hiding. They had been hiding from me. And they had been...

                _Merlin_!

                "Oh my god." I stood up straighter, my voice getting louder. "Oh my _god_! Did he...did he send you here to _spy_ on me?!"

                The second the accusations left my mouth, Remus instantly began shaking his head, voicing his own soft objections as Peter loudly sputtered out, "What? No! No, of course not! No one...that's just...just..."

                I gave them both a sharp look.

                Remus stopped shaking his head. 

                Peter deflated.

                "Yeah, all right," he muttered bitterly, looking put out. "Maybe."

                Oh my god.

                Oh my double bloody fucking _god_.

                That _prat_. That stupid, selfish, bloody sodding insecure _prat_! I can't believe him! The bloody nerve! He actually—he _actually_...

                Oh, who the bloody hell am I kidding?

                I loved it.

                I absolutely _loved_ it.

                I shook my head in wonder, trying to look put out for Remus and Peter's sakes, but failing pretty miserably considering I couldn't quite stop smiling. Spy on me. He'd told them to _spy_ on me. The domineering little ponce!

                "I can't believe him," I murmured, trying to squish the little bursts of feeling fireworking in my stomach and, what's more, the image of James-Inside-My-Head smirking sheepishly. "I truly can't believe him. Spying on me! Actually _spying_!"

                "Well, it's not really _spying_ ," Peter tried to insist, though I think we both knew that it was a bit too late for that. I shot him a pointed look.

                "No?" I asked. "What exactly would you call it, then?"

                "Deliberately accidental observation," Remus announced, and I instantly burst out laughing. Remus laughed, as well, giving his shoulders a sheepish shrug. "That's what James called it, anyway. We weren't to _spy_ —we were simply to go about our day, have a lovely time in Hogsmeade, and _if,_ by chance, we happened to spot you from a fair distance, we could—if we so desired—keep that fair distance while casually noting your every action, movement and facial expression."

                "Only if we _wanted_ to, of course," Peter added in with a smirk, looking quite amused. "He stressed that part quite a bit."

                "Oh, of course," I agreed with faux seriousness, hiding my conspiring grin behind a few quick nods. " _You_ wanted to. Got it."

                "And if we just so happened to be within a _less_ fair distance of you," Remus continued ruefully, giving me a look, "we were certainly allowed to listen in on anything you might be saying or discussing, noting any enthrallment or lack therefore of you might be displaying."

                "And of course we were allowed to report any and all of these findings we may have deliberately accidentally observed back to James at the end of the day," Peter explained. "That is, if—"

                "—you so desired," I finished off for him, laughing happily once again. I shook my head, taking all of this in with another hard-to-contain smile and the stomach fireworks bursting inside at a rather uncontrollable rate. "Merlin," I whispered, still barely believing it. I glanced at both of them, shaking my head again. "And he left you both to do this?" I asked, grinning jokingly. "Couldn't even bother to deliberately, accidentally observe himself? What's with that?"

                "He was a little busy," Peter answered.

                "With what?" I asked.

                "Beating the shite out of Sirius."

                "Beating the... _what_?"

                My grins instantly died, my spine jolting up straight as Peter's casual words finally seemed to register. James was...what? Why? Oh, dear Merlin, was it because of me? Because of what I told James about Sirius and the acid? He wouldn't be that stupid, would he? He wouldn't actually...I mean, he couldn't...

                _Bugger_.

                "Do you..." I cleared my throat, suddenly finding my mouth unusually dry. The words wouldn't come out. Remus offered me his butterbeer, but I shook my head. "Do you know...why? I mean, why would he do that? Did he...say?"

                "He yelled," Peter informed me helpfully, grinning quite pleasantly though I don't know how considering we were talking about one his best mates possibly doing bodily damage to another one of his best mates. "There was a bit about 'fucking acid', then some 'bloody bastard''s, then he really let Sirius have it—right in the face! It was _classic_."

                " _Classic_?" I cried, not quite knowing what it was I choked on, but somehow managing to sputter quite fantastically on that word regardless. I stared at Peter, stunned, then switched my gaze to Remus, who wasn't looking the least bit fazed about any of this, either. "What...how are you so casual about this?! They're going to hurt each other!"

                "Well, _yeah_ ," Peter said, looking at me as if I was suddenly quite dumb. "That's the _point_."

                "And you're _okay_ with this?"

                "It's how they like to communicate," Remus told me, giving a little shrug, though he at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. "Some people use words, James and Sirius like to bash the hell out of each other. You shouldn't worry about it. They won't do any permanent damage." He paused for a second, probably noting my still distressed face, then softly asked, "I'm assuming this bout had something to do with you?"

                "Do you know anyone else associated with acid recently?" I asked bitterly, shaking my head as Remus gave me a little grin. I couldn't find it in myself to give anything back. I nibbled fretfully at my lower lip, dropping my gaze to the ground as images of James and Sirius rolling in a mess of blood and limbs played endlessly in my head. Burst of guilt replaced the burst of fireworks inside my stomach as I slowly lifted my eyes back to Remus and Peter. Both of them were staring at me questioningly. I swallowed hard, then forced myself to ask, "Did he...did James tell you...about last night?"

                I don't know why the question was so hard to get out. I don't know why the thought of James having told them about it was suddenly making me feel betrayed. That was stupid. It was hypocritical. I mean, I had every intention of telling Grace and Emma...well, I mean, not _all_ the gritty details, of course (some things are just for a girl alone, you know?), but nonetheless a pretty thorough retelling of last night's events. Why shouldn't James tell his mates? Why was I expecting him to keep it private when I had no intention to? I didn't know why, but that didn't stop the feeling of relief that filtered through my body at Remus's next words.

                "Only the 'fucking acid' and 'bloody bastard' bits," he said, obviously trying to be funny, but eyeing me too carefully to truly set me at ease. "There wasn't much time for anything else. Peter and I were going off to Hogsmeade, James and Sirius were...sorting things out. James barely got out his accidentally observing bit before the pair of them were storming out of the dormitory."

                "They didn't want to trash the furniture," Peter informed me helpfully, grinning. "They moved locations."

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                "Lovely," I muttered, my voice calm even though I was not. "That's lovely."

                "Don't worry about it, Lily," Remus told me again. "James is a grown wizard. He knows what he's doing."

                "Or he _thinks_ he does," I muttered darkly, cursing myself for even mentioning that stupid acid spill to him. Why can't my mouth ever keep itself bloody shut? 

                I was growing more distressed by the second. I didn't want to think about any of this anymore. I would just worry myself into a panic and there would be nothing I could do to fix it. Remus was right. James was a grown wizard—a _stupid_ grown wizard, maybe, but grown nonetheless. I couldn't control or change his actions. He knew what he was doing. And if he didn't, he'd have to face the consequences. That was it. I had to let it go.

                Desperate for a distraction, I looked back up at Remus and Peter, noting their slightly concerned faces, but ignoring them for the time being. I sighed tiredly, running a quick hand through my hair and regarded the pair of them critically. "Do you want to know something?" I asked softly, crossing my arms over my chest. I actually managed a bit of a smile. "You two may be the worst spies ever."

                Remus chuckled softly as Peter let out an insulted, "Hey!", but I just shrugged and let my smile grow even wider because, really, it was so true. I would definitely not trust my deliberately accidental observing in their hands. And that's certainly saying something, coming from a witch who finds it necessary to record her own observations just to make sure she's not being oblivious.

                Yeah.

                Sometimes I forget how pathetic I am.

                "I can see how you might think that," said Remus, taking a casual sip of his butterbeer, looking decidedly amused about something. "But let's _really_ think about this here. Are we the worst...or the best?"

                I couldn't help it. I snorted right in his face.

                "The best?" I repeated dubiously, cocking a mocking eyebrow. "How exactly do you figure that one?"

                Remus shrugged, but was looking rather smug now so I knew he had something up his sleeve. I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering what it was.

                "Lily," he said, shaking his head at me. "If you knew anything at all about accidentally deliberate observation—"

                "Don't you mean _deliberately_ _accidental_ observation?"

                "—yes, exactly. That's what I said. Deliberately accidental. Now, if you knew the first thing about it, you would know that methods are a rather tenuous aspect of the practice. What _really_ counts are the results."

                "Results?" I propped a hand on my hip. "So what exactly are your 'results' then?"

                Remus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could manage to get anything out, Peter unceremoniously blurted, "You'd rather be swimming with a pack of poisonous lobalugs than sitting over there with Amos the arse."

                Er...

                Um.

                Well, actually now that he _mentioned_ it...

                I must have turned what I can only imagine was a ridiculously attractive shade of red, blushing mightily at the thought that I had been so completely obvious in my unhappiness. I mean, I knew I wasn't exactly _hiding_ how desperate I was not to be on this date, but I certainly didn't think that any innocent passerby could discern my thoughts, either! And while these Deliberately Accidental Observers weren't exactly innocent passersby...still. It was quite disconcerting to say the least. 

                Peter merely nodded sympathetically at my blatant embarrassment, while Remus glanced at me with a knowing sort of look that I would have rather ignored. I scratched idly at the back of my neck, letting off a soft sigh, admitting defeat with little protest.

                "All right," I muttered, hoping my cheeks were fading back into a decent colour. "Perhaps you're not the _worst_ spies ever, then."

                "We know," Peter replied happily, sipping contently from his mug.

                "Good of you to notice," Remus added, smiling.

                I let out another sigh, wishing I weren't so bloody pathetic.

                "Hey," I suddenly said, something quickly occurring to me. I bit my lip for a moment, considering it in my head, then slowly glanced at both boys, my gaze flickering between them. "Can you both do something for me?" I asked quietly.

                "Sure," Remus replied.

                "Depends," Peter said, suspicious.

                I hesitated for a moment, then just forced it out.

                "Don't... _don't_ have the desire to report your findings, all right?" I blushed a whole new shade of red. "Don't tell James anything about today, okay?"

                "What?" Remus asked, surprised.

                "Don't _tell_ him?" Peter sputtered, shocked.

                I shook my head quickly, then hastily explained, "It should be me. Don't tell him because it should be me. _I_ should be the one to tell him about today. It...it should be me."

                I don't know why this thought occurred to me, why it had suddenly become so important. It made no sense, really, but the idea had sprung up inside my head and now it seemed the only option. It was what I wanted—what I really, really wanted. I had no bloody idea what the hell I was going to say to James about any of this, what I was going to do or when, but I knew that whatever it was, whenever and however, I wanted to be the one to do it. He deserved that much from me. _I_ deserved that much from me. It just seemed imperative.

                Both Remus and Peter were giving me the strangest sorts of looks at my request—Peter with a half-shocked, half-appalled sort of expression, Remus with an oddly pensive sort of frown. I knew that I couldn't force them to do it—if they wanted to tell James, they would—but I thought I could sway them to my side. It made sense, after all. If James hadn't had his stupid, domineering spying plan, I _would_ have been the one to tell him. They should understand that.

                "Please," I implored them, trying not to sound as desperate as I was suddenly feeling. "It's not so much to ask. And besides, it...well, it will drive James positively spare. You two could hold it over him for ages. Can't turn down an opportunity like that, right?"

                I was hoping to appeal to their petty, mischievous Marauder side with that last bit, and it seemed to work because Peter stopped looking quite so stupefied and Remus's frown had faded into a half-smile. I took that as a good sign.

                "Hmm," Peter muttered, narrowing his eyes at me a bit, appearing to be looking for the catch. He turned his head to Remus. "The girl _does_ have a point. James would drive himself up the wall, not knowing."

                "Indeed, he would," Remus agreed, though instead of looking at Peter, he kept his eyes trained on me. I tried not to squirm. "How long until you tell him?" he asked.

                The question threw me for a loop.

                "Er..."

                How long? Merlin, how long? I was suddenly hit with the realisation that James and I would be having this conversation soon—like, _really_ soon. I knew I didn't feel anything for Amos anymore—that obstacle was out of the way—so what was left? Was there anything? Nothing immediately came to mind, and the thought of such a thing positively terrified me, though I have no idea why.

                Shit.

                Double bloody fucking _shit_.

                "Er...soon as I can manage, I suppose," I somehow got out, though it felt like a lie, even though it wasn't intentionally one. Remus must have sensed this, saw my hesitation or something, because his half-smile turned to a frown again. Peter merely looked delighted.

                "Perfect!" he proclaimed, rubbing his hands together in malevolent expectation. He grinned in predatory excitement at Remus. "This is going to be _good_."

                "Yeah," Remus said, still looking at me. "Good."

                I know that I rather deserved that look of his, that sort of guarded censure that was radiating towards me. I wondered if he could read my suddenly panicked thoughts as aptly as he and Peter had read my feelings earlier in the day. I wondered if he knew that the thought of _that_ sort of conversation with James—regardless of the fact that we had basically had one rather similar to it last night—had me in fits of dismay. I couldn't be sure he knew any of it, but I really didn't want to stand there any longer to think about it. In fact, I didn't want to think about anything remotely resembling or connecting to that sort of conversation. Not now. Not yet.

                Merlin, what a _mess_.

                I don't know whether either boy understood just how agitated I had quickly become, but suddenly I realised that I had been standing over here talking to them for far longer than was necessary for about three loo trips. I cast a furtive glance back at my table, finding Amos still happily involved in his conversation with Vance and Pompous Boy, but found Shirley Shorn regarding me with a slightly-more-than-was-comforting bout of suspicion. I turned my head back around, somewhat grateful for the excuse to leave the two Marauders. I had got the information I wanted, and then some. I didn't think I could handle much more.

                "I'd better get back," I said quietly, looking back at Remus and Peter with what I hoped was a calm expression. "Amos is probably wondering where I got off to."

                "Who cares?" Peter asked, snorting loudly. "He's an arse."

                I rolled my eyes at that, shaking my head as I slowly began to turn around, lifting my hand to give them a friendly parting wave. "See you later," I started to say, just as Remus cut me off with a sudden, "Hey, wait."

                I stopped where I stood, still half turned away from the pair, my waving hand dropping slowly down to my side. I shot Remus a curious glance, wondering what he was all about, but he wasn't looking at me to see it. Instead, he was suddenly digging through one of his bags—a large one from Zonko's—paying me no mind.

                "Oh, right!" Peter burst out, slapping himself in the forehead. "Bugger, almost forgot about that bit."

                "Forgot about what—" I started to ask, but the words stopped dead in my throat as Remus finally straightened out, pulling something out of the bag with him.

                A single, bright red rose.

                Oh, _bugger_.

                "Here," he said, holding the rose out to me, his hand unwavering. "This was another part of the deliberately accidental observing. If we get closer than the customary decent distance—say, close enough for interaction—we should—"

                "—give me this," I finished for him weakly, slowly reaching out and taking the familiar flower out of his outstretched hand. My heart was going mad inside my chest. Trying to ignore it, I looked up at Remus with as calm an expression as I could muster. "There wasn't any message, was there?"

                "Was told you knew your orders," Peter answered, shrugging. He regarded me curiously. "Don't you?" he asked.

                All I could manage was a pathetic sort of nod.

                I reveled in the feeling of the rose stem inside my hand—an unsurprisingly familiar one as of late—letting it rush over me for a moment as I glanced down at this tiny, perfect flower. My panic, which had up until just seconds ago been escalading to rather catastrophic proportions, suddenly seemed to dim rapidly, leaving me with only a small sense of uncertainty in its wake. I marveled at the fact that—even when not around—James could suddenly have this sort of effect on me, almost knowing exactly when I needed a reminder of things most. I shook my head, letting out a tired little laugh that I'm sure sounded more strained than I would have liked it to, but at lot less panicked than it would have just seconds before. I suppose there was that to be grateful for.

                "Thanks," I somehow got out, glancing back up at Remus and Peter. If they thought my reaction to the rose odd, they didn't say anything. "Thanks a lot."

                "Just following orders," Remus replied, nodding his head. "All part of being decent spies," he joked.

                "You're the best," I muttered with a little grin, starting to turn away from the pair again, my hand clenching even tighter around the rose stem as my feet started to move. I lifted my free hand in a wave once more, letting my smile grow more natural. "See you around, all right? And remember—not a word about today, got it?"

                "Got it," Peter said, giving me a salute.

                "See you around," Remus added, a small nod of his head giving me agreement, as well. I waved once more, then began to make my way back towards my table.

                When I reached my previously vacated chair, no one immediately commented on my overlong absence. Eventually Amos turned to me with a smile, which I returned as best I could considering the circumstances.

                "Hey," he said, his tone slightly curious. "All right, there? You were gone awhile."

                "I stopped to chat with some mates," I replied, nodding towards Remus and Peter's general direction, though I silently hoped he didn't ask me to elaborate more than that. He didn't, for which I was grateful, but I wasn't as lucky with the ever-suspicious Shirley.

                "What's with the rose?" she asked, her tone little more than incredulous. "Get it in the loo?"

                "No," I replied, trying to keep my face as blank as possible, wondering just why it was that someone hadn't done the world a favour and pushed Shirley Shorn off the nearest parapet early in her life. "It's a...a joke. Sort of. My mates gave it to me. Nothing, really."

                "What kind of joke?" Pompous Boy asked, forcing me to add him to my Parapet List (though, honestly, he probably would have made it there eventually, anyway).

                "A stupid one," I answered, trying to shrug it off, really quite cross that the lot of them chose _now_ to actually be interested in my existence. "You really wouldn't get it," I added. "It's a Gryffindor thing."

                Pompous Boy nodded, obviously too dim-witted to notice when I was blatantly lying through my teeth, turning away from me and starting up the conversation I'm assuming had been going on before I got back—one about leprechauns, I soon discovered—thankfully drawing most of the attention off of me. Amos kept his gaze fixated on me for a moment longer than his mates, but soon turned away, as well, obviously shrugging my flower eccentricities off. Shirley was the only one who bothered to continue staring at me suspiciously, but I ignored her and simply began hiding myself as often as possible by taking continuous sips of butterbeer.

                I don't know for how much longer we sat there—maybe it was two hours, maybe it was two minutes—because I went from paying little attention to the conversation to no attention at all. Thankfully no one apparently attempted to engage me in conversation, because if they did, I was relatively sure I wouldn't have even noticed, so lost was I in my thoughts.

                Because, honestly, the stupid prat _would_ give me another rose.

                Who does things like that? Seriously, who? Who in their right bleeding mind would, one, have their mates stalk a girl while she's on a date with another bloke, and then, two, force these said mates to hand over an ever-so-significant piece of botany to her while _still on_ that date? Who does things like that? What sort of sick madman? Well, clearly _my_ sort of sick madman, because even as I was ruing the day that the Potter family decided it would be a swell idea to extend their family line and procreate, I was still rather...well, to be perfectly honest, it was basically the best part of my whole day—I mean, not counting the bits of the day which occurred circa midnight or so, of course. And I suppose that says something equally as utterly tragic about me as it does the moron who spawned the whole flower thing, but I really couldn't bring myself to contemplate it much. I wasn't feeling that masochistic.

                Anyway, whether it _was_ two hours or two minutes or whatever interval of time a person could come up with (actually, I've just realised that—present time dictating—it must have been about an hour or so. Merlin, had I seriously lasted that long?), sooner or later I was broken out of my inner thoughts and rants by the subconscious realisation that everyone was getting ready to leave. I don't know what exactly snapped me at of it, but somehow, when Amos was getting up and was all, "You ready?", I was all, "Yeah, of course."

                I know. Sometimes I amaze even myself.

                We walked out of the Three Broomsticks and down the main road for a while, still amassed in the mob of Hufflepuffs. I followed along, still gripping my rose in my right hand, listening half-heartedly to the conversation looming around me. I realised suddenly that the mob was getting ready to split up, which two hours ago I might have been grateful for, but now was just rather put out over seeing as I would actually have to be a functioning human again. As Amos exchanged good-byes and pats-on-the-back with his mates, I smiled politely and gave little waves, speaking only when it was necessary. As the crowds wandered off, Amos and I were left alone for the first time in quite awhile. It was...

                Well, pleasant in its own way, I suppose.

                "That was nice," Amos said, giving his mates one last wave as they disappeared amid the crowded street, turning to face me only when their forms had completely vanished. "My mates are rather brill, right?"

                "Right," I agreed, though considering I was genuinely planning to push two of them off the nearest tall tower at my earliest convenience, I _may_ have been lying just a bit. "They're lovely."

                "Did you have a good time?" Amos asked, as we both started walking, though—oh, dear Merlin, _thank you_ —in the direction of the carriages, instead of back towards town. "You seemed rather quiet."

                "Just a little tired," I replied, though suddenly I was feeling remarkably rejuvenated. We were heading back towards the castle! _We were heading back towards the castle!_ "Hogsmeade is rather draining, you know?"

                "Yeah, I know what you mean," Amos agreed—a first for us, agreeing on something. "It is a bit exhausting. But worth it, yeah?"

                I nodded, deciding that it wasn't _really_ lying because Hogsmeade exhaustion _could_ be worth it...it just wasn't really this time. But no one said anything about this time. Even if maybe it was indirectly implied. Implications are rubbish, anyway.

                There were no uncomfortable conversations about whether or not the date was over, no questions about whether either of us was ready to head back up to the castle. It was simply taken for granted, both of us casually making our way towards the carriages, actually managing to carry on a decent conversation for the first time all day, which was pretty damn ironic considering the date was now ending. I wondered if Amos was as relieved as I was that the date was over and that's why he was acting so pleasant. I wondered if I even cared, and found I really didn't. As we rode back up to the castle, chatting amicably about nothing in particular, I was happy to find that I didn't even really hold the day against Amos. Honestly, I no longer held enough feeling for the bloke to bother with that sort of thing. I simply chalked it up as an unfit match, as something I had—at one point, anyway—hoped might work out, but found didn't. No hard feelings. No guilt or doubt. All that would require far too much energy on my part for something that now seemed so insignificant. And I suppose that makes me the most fickle sort of witch in the entire world, having someone who had not so long ago been the entire center of my world now reduced to a mere wasted day spent out of my year, but...oh, well. I never claimed to be particularly decisive.

                We got back up to the castle quickly, though whether that was due to the fact that it was still a bit early and there wasn't really that much traffic delaying the trek, or the simple fact that pleasant conversation made the trip go faster, I don't know. Either way, we were stepping out of the carriage in no time at all, happily making our way back up to the courtyard where we had started the day. Chatting idly about how glad we were that the weather had remained decent, we reached the steps to the front doors in no time at all, pausing briefly at the foot of the stairs before quickly jogging up.

                "Hopefully next Hogsmeade trip will be as nice a day," Amos was saying, coming to a halt just inside the front doors, the Great Hall just in front of us. He turned to face me with a friendly smile. There was no hint of invitation in his voice, no implication that he expected more out of this than this one day, and for that, I was eternally grateful.

                "Yeah, hopefully," I replied, giving him an amicable smile of my own, nodding my head. I waited a moment for him to say something more, but when he didn't, I took it upon myself to start the ending formalities. "I had a really nice time today," I lied through my teeth, figuring that 'I had a really nice time these past fifteen minutes' wasn't exactly polite. "You're a really brill bloke, Amos."

                "You're not so bad yourself," Amos said with a grin, his eyes twinkling at me. "I'm glad we got to spend this time together."

                I nodded, figuring I was testing my luck with lying again—how many times could I manage it before my traitor-of-a-mouth started spouting off something else?—but Amos didn't seem to mind my silence. In fact, he just smiled even wider, which had me smiling, too.

                "We should probably split up here," he said, shrugging lightly. "We head in two different directions and all. But I _did_ have a good time today, Lily. You did as well, yeah?"

                "Sure," I replied, figuring 'today' and 'fifteen minutes' were practically the same thing. "It was great."

                "So I'll see you around?" Amos sounded hopeful about that, which I suppose was a bit odd considering we were _clearly_ not suitable and I _know_ we both knew this ended here, but I chalked it up as politeness and nodded.

                "Definitely," I said, because of course I _would_ see him around—we still had Ancient Runes together.

                Amos smiled, and suddenly began to lean in for what I quickly realised was going to be a kiss.

_...and when you finally can't take it anymore, when the truth has at long last hit, the day will be over and you'll shake his hand because that's the polite thing to do..._

I very nearly started cracking up right then and there, realising that—bloody hell, how pathetic was _this_?—I actually _would_ have preferred shaking Amos's hand rather than returning the kiss he was so rapidly getting closer to giving me, but my stubborn side would absolutely not let me pull away or even turn my head aside, letting Amos drop a decently innocent kiss on my lips, instead. It wasn't long or particularly poignant. It wasn't really unpleasant, either, but I certainly wasn't drowning in any sort of lust. Still, it was a nice reminder that this relationship—the one I'd had in my head for months and months and months, and the _real_ one that had actually existed these past few weeks—really was over. As Amos pulled away, I gave him a truly natural smile for the first time all day. He smiled back, equally as content.

                "Bye," I said, stepping away with a little sigh, letting all my girlhood dreams of this boy filter out of my system.

                "Bye," Amos replied, stepping away, as well. We exchange small waves, a last parting farewell, then went our separate ways.

                The date was over.

                Finally, officially over.

                I let out a loud breath of relief.

                My jaunt back to Gryffindor Tower was pleasant, a time for me to fully unwind from the day, put it into perspective. Perhaps it was only when it was over that I could look back and say it wasn't _utterly_ terrible, just a rather rotten three-out-of-ten on the date scale. I mean, it wasn't Amos's fault that we just didn't click. He was perfectly nice—even if he was a bit weird with the whole incredibly social thing—but it just wasn't meant to be between us. And I was okay with that. In fact, I was _more_ than okay with that. I felt happy and free for the first time in quite some time.

                I was practically humming by the time I reached the corridor that led to the Tower, seeing the portrait hole in the far distance, but not really paying it much attention. It wasn't until I had practically reached the Fat Lady—all of four meters away—that I noticed the anomaly.

                Bloody hell, not _again_.

                For tacked up right there on the Fat Lady's frame, looking quite innocent and pleasant for anyone who wasn't me, was yet another bright, red rose and—surprisingly—a small bit of parchment attached to it.

                I very nearly groaned.

                _Why_ does he do this to me?

                I approached the portrait hole carefully, ignoring the Fat Lady's curious gaze as my own eyes remained locked on the flower and note. When I finally was close enough to reach, I grabbed hold of both and slowly brought them down. My eyes were fixated on the three small words that were scrawled haphazardly on the bit of parchment.

                _Come find me_.

                That's all it said. 'Come find me.'

                He hadn't even bothered to address or sign it this time.

                I stared at the three words as if they were something dangerous, something that would jump out and attack me at any moment. Suddenly, that panicked feeling was back, the one that had all but consumed me back when Remus had asked me about when James and I would be having our conversation. I didn't know why, but I was quickly overcome with a great feeling of dread. It made no sense—dread? Why dread? Why should I be dreading this?—but that's just the way it was.

                Gulping lightly, I snapped myself out of my endless thoughts to find the Fat Lady looking at me in the most questioning sort of way. "For you?" she asked, and I nodded.

                "When did he put it here?" I asked, not defining who 'he' was, assuming she'd know. She did indeed, but her answer rather shocked me.

                "Not three minutes ago," she answered, and was suddenly rather huffy. "Didn't even ask my _permission_ to adorn me in such a way. Just did it, no respect at all."

                "That sounds like him," I muttered, then was rather overcome by the thought that... "He isn't...I mean, he isn't _inside_ , is he?"

                "No," the Fat Lady answered, and I practically sagged in relief. "Waltzed off down the corridor. Disappeared over by that dreadful Sir Cadogan. You know, I can't _stand_ that knight—"

                "Honeysuckle," I interrupted, giving the password and forcing the Fat Lady to open with an offended noise. I ignored her and stepped straight through, barely registering the few students who littered the Common Room as I headed right for the staircase and straight for my room.

                The dormitory was thankfully empty as I finally walked in, something I was extremely grateful for, but didn't think much about. I didn't care where everyone was—all I cared about was snuggling in my bed. I dropped my shopping bags near the door, letting my roses and succinct little note fall gently onto my bed, sparing only a few moments to tare the Slaggy Boots from my feet—Merlin, were _those_ going back to the dark end of the closet—before happily sprawling out upon my bed. I grabbed my pillow and my blanket, burrowing myself between them and closing my eyes.

                _Come find me_.

                Merlin, why does the idea positively terrify me?

                I didn't know. I didn't care. Frankly, I still don't know and I still don't care. Or perhaps I just don't _want_ to know. Either way, I've had about all I can take for one day. I think I need a nap. Or just some proper contemplation time. I don't know. I just don't _know_.

                Bugger.

______________________________________________

**Later Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 208**

                I was still lying prone upon my bed, mostly unmoved since I'd gotten back from Hogsmeade and finished reliving the day via written word, wondering just how the hell my life had come down to this sad state (my conclusion? Karma. Isn't it always karma?), when the dormitory door opened, threatening to interrupt my mindless and pathetic wallowing. And while I know that mindless and pathetic wallowing is...well, mindless and pathetic, I truly think that every girl deserves her own time to indulge in such things if she's so inclined. Which I am. So inclined, I mean. Clearly. So I was less than happy at this sudden interruption. In fact, I barely managed to suppress a groan, rolling over to my side so that I was facing away from the door, dreading the inevitable intrusion, especially if it was one of the Prat Twins coming to torture me as usual. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. They wouldn't disturb the innocent slumbering, right? I mean, that's just cruel. Innocent slumberers aren't doing anyone any harm. Leave them alone. 

                "Lily?"

                My eyes popped open, relief rushing through me as I registered that the voice calling out my name was Emma's, not any other prat, git or ponce that lives with me. I rolled back over, spotting her standing just inside the door. Her cloak was still thrown about her shoulders and her cheeks seemed a bit redder than usual, so I figured that she must have been outside, though she hadn't said that she was going down to Hogsmeade. She turned for a moment to gently close the dormitory door behind her, then turned back and regarded me with a concerned expression.

                "Are you all right?" she asked, coming closer to my bed. I must have been looking as pathetic as I felt. "How was it?"

                "Sit down," I ordered, rolling over to make room for her. I patted the empty bed space next to me. As Emma moved closer, I added quickly, "Don't squish my flowers."

                Emma laughed, shaking her head as she carefully moved aside my four roses (which somehow got on my bed with me. I don't know how. Maybe magic. It's a magical world, you know) before settling down next to me. She held on to one of the flowers as she shrugged off her cloak, twirling it about in her fingers and cocking a telling eyebrow at me.

                "I'm assuming Amos didn't give these to you," she said, tapping my nose lightly with the rose bloom. I snorted, snatching the flower away from her and ignoring the silly sort of knowing grin on her face.

                She couldn't prove a thing.

                "The only thing Amos gave me was a headache," I muttered, mindlessly twirling the rose around myself, feeling bad about putting all of my bad mood on Amos, even if he had been a somewhat shotty date. Emma laughed again.

                "Was it as bad as that?" she asked.

                I shrugged. "More or less."

                "Do you want to talk about it?"

                I didn't answer her straight away, bringing the rose that was still in my hand down to my nose and breathing it in gently. I let the flowery scent wash over me, momentarily distracted from my present dilemmas. Emma grabbed another rose off the bed and did the same, watching me carefully from over the top of the red bloom. I sighed lightly, letting the flower drop down to my side. It wasn't that I didn't _want_ to tell her everything that had happened—I did, actually. Quite a bit—it was just...I mean...

                "I don't want to have to say it all twice," I finally answered, giving Emma a shrug. I would let that be my excuse for now. "Let's just wait for Grace to get back. I'll tell you both everything then."

                "All right," Emma agreed, not appearing to have a problem with this, taking my silly excuse as the truth. She was silent as she moved to lie down beside me, both of us still playing around with James's roses. After a moment, she turned her head to look at me, her face oddly serious. "Can I go, then?" she asked.

                Go? What?

                My eyebrows furrowed curiously

                "Er...yeah, of course," I answered, shifting to look at her. "What've you got?"

                Emma went quiet, turning her face to stare back at the ceiling. She appeared to be gathering her thoughts together or something, and I was more than a bit curious about what that might mean. She seemed somber, even for Emma, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she could possibly want to talk about that had her looking that way. For a second, a sudden flashback of our last serious conversation—remember, the one that ended in slag accusations and tears?—flickered through my head and I started to worry that we may have another mental meltdown on our hands, but Emma had been acting relatively normal lately and besides, my karma may be bad, but _no one_ deserves that much torture in one day. There is a limit, you know.

                Emma was still staring at the ceiling when I decided she needed a little prodding to get her talking. Just as I was about to question her some more, however, she suddenly moved, reaching for her cloak that now hung half on my bed, half on the floor. She sat up slightly as she grabbed for it, sorting through the fabric until she reached one of the pockets. She thrust her hand inside, coming back out almost instantly with a very familiar envelope.

                This one, however, was opened.

                Oh, Merlin.

                Of, _course_!

                "Emma!" I grabbed the letter straight from her hand, reveling in the beauty that was the ripped and tattered flap. I quite positively beamed. "You opened it! You actually opened it!"

                Emma shook her head at my excitement, clearly not understanding the joy of a meddling achievement as grand as this. As I giggled in glorious delight, she merely quirked her lips up a bit. "Well, your intervention worked well enough, I figured why not try mine? It was past time, anyway. I was just being stubborn."

                "Happens to the best of us," I assured her quickly, fingering the envelope reverently. "What matters is that you finally came to your senses. Huzzah!"

                As I continued on with my celebratory jigs and raves, Emma continued with her subdued reactions. Slightly disheartened by this, I watched her carefully, wondering why she wasn't as happy as I was. I mean, shouldn't she be? Didn't Mac make up for whatever stupid thing he'd done to blotch their relationship up? I knew he wanted to, so I couldn't see why he wouldn't. So what was wrong? I glanced away from Emma and down at the envelope in my hand, not sure if I was allowed to reach inside and pull the letter—which I now discovered was actually quite a thick wad of parchment. A long letter! Brilliant!—out and read it. I glanced back up at Emma, waiting to see if she would say anything more. When she didn't, I took a page out of her book and calmly asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

                "Yes," Emma answered almost instantly, which made me assume that she'd been thinking about what to say all the while. "Yes, I'll tell you. I want to tell you. I'm just trying to figure out how to start. Or rather...where..." She trailed away, nibbling a bit on her lip as she continued to try to find the proper words. She reached out her hand for the envelope, which I quickly returned to her, even though I would've liked to hold the evidence of my meddling success in my hands for a bit longer. Slowly, carefully, she pulled the thick pages of parchment out of the envelope, opening the folded panels and scanning the top page with her eyes. She was silent for a few more seconds. Then she looked up at me.

                "The whole thing was just a giant slew of over-reactions," she started quietly, letting out a small sigh. "It wasn't—I mean, I was _justified_ in thinking he'd lied to me—he had! And that's why I'm so...but I made a bigger deal out of it than I should have. I should have listened to him when he told me it didn't go past that, but I was so cross and I was even crosser that it had made me doubt you, so my mind was jumping to all these mad conclusions and I—"

                "Er, Em?" I interrupted her rambled explanations in a quiet voice, even though I rather wanted to shake her. "Not that I'm not extremely glad that you're getting all of this out and everything...but I have I have no bloody idea what you're talking about. Your explaining skills are kind of rubbish."

                Emma blinked. "Oh." A sudden redness crept into her cheeks. "Oh, yes, sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on. It's just that I've been sitting outside thinking about this all morning, imagining what you and Grace would say when I spoke about it with you, so I suppose I forgot for a moment that I hadn't told you anything at all. Sorry. I'll...I don't know. Start from the beginning. Or something."

                "The beginning is generally good," I replied, giving her a supportive grin. I wanted to try to ease some of the tension out of her. Thankfully, Emma smiled, as well.

                "All right," she said, letting out a small breath of air. She glanced at me, her face slightly strained. "Well, I suppose it rather all started after I introduced you both to Mac. Do you remember that day?"

                "He didn't eat toast," I replied helpfully. "His hair was a mess."

                Emma let out a surprised laugh. 

                "Well, that wasn't exactly what I was going for," she muttered, "but yes, I suppose that was true. Anyway, I told you before...well, not that I want to bring it up again, but that night that I was...er..."

                "A mean hag?" I prompted with a grin. Emma winced a bit, but nodded.

                "A mean hag. Sure. Sounds about right. The point is, do you remember _why_ I said all those things? What set me off?"

                I tried to remember. I had rather blocked off and repressed most of that night for my mental sanity, not to mention the fact that it was all a bit blurry in the first place with all the yelling and the tears and whatnot. There were still a few bits and pieces that I was sure I could scrounge up, though. I bit my lip, thinking hard.

                "Well, I know it was because of Mac's stupid fancying," I answered slowly, skimming through the images of screeching and crying and attempting to recall actual words. _Were_ there actual words? "And something about Mission De-Pruding turning me into a slag?"  
                "Exactly," Emma said, nodding. Then added quickly, "Which I'm—once again—extremely, extremely sorry about."

                I rolled my eyes, waving off her apology. "Please grovel on your own time. I'd like to hear the rest of this story sometime this decade."

                Emma smiled. "You're a brilliant mate, did you know that?"

                "Em. Seriously. The story."

                "I'm just complimenting you."

                "Well, can you do it later? I've got things to do."

                "Like what? Lounging about with your roses some more?"

                Oh, brother.

                Wasn't I getting new mates? Wasn't that the plan?

                I think Emma sensed that I was about to beat her over the head with something large and heavy, so she flashed me a slightly apologetic grin—though not _nearly_ apologetic enough. I can lounge about with any sort of botany I'd like, thank you very much—before continuing on with her tale.

                "I didn't tell you all this before," she began, momentarily assuaging my annoyance by finally getting on with it, "but the reason why I was so quick to blame you and get cross is because after that day when Mac told me about fancying you...he was acting so _strangely_ , Lil. He'd cancel plans we made and make up silly excuses about things he was doing or where he'd been certain nights. I suppose I didn't want to think it was something to do with me, so I let my jealousy and uncertainty latch onto you and your De-Pruding. I thought Mac was rethinking being with me after seeing you. And I thought he was lying to me about it."

                "That's stupid, Em," I tried to reason, shaking my head at her. "Mac adores you. You know that. Why did you let your insecurities get to you?"  
  
                "Because they were well-founded!" Emma insisted, rather surprising me with her vehemence. Well-founded? What did that mean? "Not about you," she told me quickly, sitting up on the bed. "I _was_ stupid to have let myself believe that, but something _was_ wrong. He _was_ lying to me. Just not about what I thought."

                My eyebrows lifted, surprised to hear such a thing, even though I'd had a bit of a warning after Emma's rambling before. Mac had lied to her? About what? Why? That didn't sound like something he would do—I mean, the bloke clearly loves Emma. Why the bloody hell would he be lying to her, then?

                "What happened?" I asked quietly, noticing how Emma's face had begun to fall, her expression getting more upset by the second. "What did he lie to you about?"

                "The excuses," Emma explained tiredly, sounding defeated. "He _was_ sneaking around when he would break our plans and would disappear some nights. But it wasn't anything romantic. That's not what he was doing."

                "Then what?"

                Emma sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to her forehead and rubbing gently as if trying to ease a headache. I waited silently for her to continue, even though I was practically itching in my seat for answers. The whole thing was such a mystery. What could Mac have been lying to her about? I wanted to know.

                "That afternoon—the one before my mean hag night," Emma started slowly, "I'd had plans with Mac to work on this Arithmancy project we had due the next week. By that time, I had already figured out that I was being stupid about you—I tried to talk to you during Potions, but you wouldn't even look at me, so I was already cross about that. I went to go sit down at my desk. That's when Mac told me that he couldn't work with me after class. He wouldn't even look at me when he said it. I knew he was lying. He blathered out something about a meeting with Professor Abbott for Potions Club, but I didn't believe it for a second. I knew he wasn't telling me the truth and I was sick of it. I had asked him more times than I could count what was going on, but he never admitted to anything. I told him he was being ridiculous and refused to talk to him when he started spouting out more excuses. I sat there fuming the entire class. I can't ever remember being so cross."

                "So what did you do?" I asked when Emma paused, sitting up a bit, as well. "What happened?"

                "I just wanted to get out of there," Emma explained, shrugging a bit. "The second class ended, I was out of my seat, striding for the door. Unfortunately, I strode without my Potions textbook. I didn't even notice that I'd left it in the dungeons until I'd made it all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower. I wanted to do my assignments—it was the only thing that would keep my concentration long enough to forget about my horrid day—so I decided to go back down to fetch it. I took my time. I wasn't in any rush. But when I got back down to the classroom...there were other people still in there."

                "Mac?" I guessed with a wince.

                Emma nodded. "Mac." 

                "What was he doing?" I asked. I assumed it wasn't Potions Club.

                Emma sighed heavily. "Someone was shouting when I got down there, but I didn't realise that it was coming from the classroom until I'd practically barged through the door. It was Evan Rosier, carrying on about ruining a potion. He was yelling at Mac."

                Evan Rosier?

                But...

                Evan _Rosier_? Why would Mac be making a potion with...him?

                "What..." I didn't really know what to ask, didn't really know what to say. Even without all the things I had recently learned about the Rosier family, I knew what Emma was getting at. I just couldn't believe it. "Why was he...I mean, why would he...with Evan?"

                "Not just Evan," Emma answered, her voice flat. "Evan's brother Paul was there, too, and Jack Avery, and Septimus Wilkes. All of them, and then Mac."

                Something inside my chest clenched. Those boys...Merlin, what was Mac doing with them? They weren't exactly the innocent sort, not by a long shot. Evan Rosier—and another Rosier, his brother, Paul. I didn't know MJ had a second brother at Hogwarts—Jack Avery and Septimus Wilkes were not the sort of people any self-respecting, decent person would be hanging about with. Mac and I had never particularly gotten on well, but I had never gotten _that_ sort of vibe from him. And I was generally one that could pick up on those things, considering I was usually their target of disdain. Mac may not like me, but it wasn't like _that_. And yet...

                What was he doing, then? Why would he be with them?

                I looked towards Emma for answers.

                "I froze in the doorway," Emma continued quietly, staring fixedly down at my bed. "They all stopped, too. Evan quit yelling and glared at me. Wilkes looked like he was about to hex me. All the colour drained from Mac's face. They were all standing around this boiling cauldron—I couldn't see what was in it, but it smelled foul. I muttered something about my textbook, but I was too shocked to really get anything out. All I could think about was that _this_ is what Mac had been lying to me about—hanging out with practical Death Eaters! It was _worse_ than him being after you. I grabbed my book and left."

                Emma finally looked up at me again. Her face was blank. "Mac came after me, of course. He caught me just as I was leaving the dungeons. I tried to shrug him off, told him I wanted nothing to do with any of that or with him, but he grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go. He said it wasn't what I thought, that I had it all wrong. He said that he wasn't doing anything dangerous, wasn't messing around with anything dark. He had to do this, it wasn't a choice. He told me I had to believe him, but I..."

                "You didn't," I finished, my heart aching for her. "Of course you didn't. He'd lied to you before, you thought he was lying again. You were hurt. Angry. Confused."

                " _Yes_ ," Emma sighed, breaking out in the most grateful of expressions, obviously thankful that someone other than herself could finally understand her reasoning. "It was just too much. How could I know that he wasn't lying? It didn't make any sense—Mac _wasn't_ that sort of person. I knew him. I loved him. He _couldn't_ be, but...I don't know. And I didn't give him a chance to explain, either—not that day or any other. I kept avoiding him." She held up the letter that was still open in her hand. "Then he gave me this the day of the match."

                I listened to Emma finish her story with a slightly heavy heart, not even thinking of the meddling pride that usually puffed me up at the thought of Mac's letter. I mean, dear Merlin, no _wonder_ the pair of them kept telling me that things were complicated—they were! Like, _actually_ were, not the whole you-did-this-why-are-you-a-brat-hmph-we're-in-a-fight complicated that I had imagined. Poor Emma! And to think, the girl has been keeping this to herself for all this time! Why the bloody hell hadn't she told Grace and me about it before? We could have helped, given her a little mate-ish support at the very least. Why are people so bloody stubborn about doing things on their own?

                "So what did he have to say?" I finally asked, watching as Emma's gaze flickered back to mine. She looked distressed, but she answered.

                "Quite a bit, actually," she told me. "It's all so—"

                BANG.

                "Sweet Merlin, my lips may never be the same again!"

                The dormitory door flew open along with this rather loud pronouncement, cutting off whatever Emma had been about to say. Emma and I both turned to find Gracie barging into the room, not even remotely worried about the commotion she'd just caused, an extremely satisfied sort of smile playing at her lips. Emma let out a small sigh and I rolled my eyes as our dim-witted mate continued on.

                We really should have tossed her over ages ago.

                "Seriously," she was saying, pulling at the strings of her cloak, carelessly letting it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. My green top underneath was looking significantly more disheveled than I remembered. "Why haven't I snogged Chris Lynch before? Whose mad decision was that?"

                "Yours," Emma and I answered together. Grace threw us a look.

                "Well, way to be proper mates then, letting me be stupid like that. You both fail supremely." She tossed her shoes off, as well, happily making her way towards my bed, which she unceremoniously threw herself down upon. "I _adore_ Hogsmeade."

                "Hey!" I shouted, taking an angry swipe at her. "You're going to squish my flowers!"

                Grace let out a loud snort, grabbing one said flower off my bed and oh-so-politely tossing it at my face. "I will not," she scoffed, ignoring my annoyed huffs. "Quit being such a baby. Besides, even if I did, James would just conjure you up a million more when—" Grace suddenly stopped, springing up from her lying position and shooting Emma and me a most accusatory glare. "Bloody Merlin. You weren't talking about it all now, were you? Without me? Because if you were, I will never _ever_ forgive you—"

                "Oh, hush," I interrupted, grabbing a pillow from behind my back and tossing it at her and her big mouth. It thankfully shut her up. At least for the moment. "We weren't talking about that. I said I'd wait for you and I did. But we _were_ talking about something equally as important before you barged in with your endless snogging raves."

                Grace grinned foolishly, placing her hands behind her head and reclining back on the bed in a most content way. "What can I say?" she asked, shrugging. "He was _fantastic_. I couldn't possibly keep it to myself. It would have been entirely selfish. Now what could possibly be more important than the utter contentment of my lips?"

                I grabbed Mac's now empty envelope off the bed next to Emma and tossed it onto Grace's stomach. "That," I said.

                Grace's reaction was almost instant.

                "All _right_!" she cried, jolting up with a laugh of delight. She did a little victory boogie. "Two for two for Grace's interventions! _Merlin_ , I'm talented. I should get _paid_ for this rubbish."

                "Hey!" I protested, just as Emma started letting out her own slew of objections. "I helped with this one! Quit taking all the credit!"

                Grace rolled her eyes. "Sorry there, Lil, but I don't much consider practically passing out on me halfway through the Factory work day as 'helping.'"

                "I was tired!"

                "Yeah. _Useless_ tired."

                "Hmph! I'll have you know—"

                "Does it _matter_?" Emma shouted, cutting in on what I'm sure was going to be a rather brilliantly scathing defense of my perhaps less-than-complete-but-still-completely-legitimate Factory work day (if I had thought of one, that is), giving both Grace and me an exasperated look. I glared at her for the interruption. Grace merely smirked. Emma rolled her eyes. "Look," she said. "All that matters is that I opened it, right? You can both take credit if you'd like. _Thank_ you for your wonderful meddling. Satisfied now?"

                Psh.

                My meddling _is_ wonderful. What's with the sarcasm? 

                Honestly, I'm so underappreciated.

                "Not even remotely," Grace declared, bustling up to Emma in quite a predatory way. She grabbed the envelope and waved it about. "I want to know what this was all about! What did he do? What did it say it? Get _talking_ , Emmeline."

                Emma threw Grace an annoyed look, but I think she was pretty desperate to get this whole thing off her chest because she didn't waste any time giving Grace a few good knocks in the head (though she deserved them), choosing instead to launch straight into a quick repetition of all the things that she had just told me. I listened this second time around with half-an-ear, basically just waiting for Emma to get to the part where she actually opened Mac's letter. Grace was appropriately outraged when she heard what Mac had been up to, but even she was antsy to hear what Mac had to say. She asked what I wanted to ask as Emma finally got to the bit where Mac gave her the letter.

                "What's he got to say?" she demanded, nodding her head expectantly at the letter. "Do you believe him? I mean, it sounds pretty rotten, Em, but there could be a reasonable explanation—"

                "There is," Emma insisted, opening up the folded letter and gazing down on it again. "Or at least, he _says_ there is. I honestly don't know what to believe. I want to believe him, of course, but...I just don't know if I should."

                "What did he say?" I asked again, trying not to sound too eager, even though I was. Emma looked like she was still hesitating, pressing her lips together as she gazed down at Mac's words, but then she suddenly began to speak.

                "Apparently it was something to do with his family," she explained, her voice quiet. "The Avery's are old family friends and Mac's dad wrote him and told him to help the lot of them with some potion Jack's dad needed. None of the rest of them know Potions worth a damn, but Mac does, so he was the automatic choice. Mac said he didn't tell me because he knew I'd react this way, that he'd thought he had to lie to me in order to do what his father asked. It was a one-time thing. He hated it, but it was important to his father, so he did it. It wasn't...whatever they're doing, Mac isn't part of it. He says he doesn't even think it's something dangerous, though I don't believe that. Why would they be doing it at Hogwarts in secret, then? It makes no sense."

                "I don't think it really matters," I told her gently, giving her a sympathetic look. Merlin, what is it with blokes and their bloody families, anyway? "I mean, it's not like you can stop it if it is. And either way, it all comes down to whether or not you trust Mac, doesn't it?"

                "I don't know if I can," Emma admitted, her shoulders sagging. "I mean, it makes sense. I never thought that Mac was someone who would...would...well, hang out with people like that. But he still lied to me. And he would have kept lying to me if I hadn't barged in on them. Who's to say that he won't do it again? That he's _not_ doing it again?"

                "Lily's right, Em," Grace said, speaking bluntly. "Either you trust him, or you don't. That's what it really comes down to. And unfortunately, we can't make that decision for you. For what it's worth, though, _I_ don't think he's lying to you. I think you're right—Mac doesn't seem the type to get caught up in that stuff."

                "And he loves you," I added, giving her a small smile as my meddling side beamed in approval. "It's so obvious, Em. And I don't think he'd do anything to hurt you. Maybe he's telling the truth when he says that this was only a one-time, family thing."

                Emma looked a bit overwhelmed by all this advice, though pretty pensive about the whole thing, as well. I felt bad for her, but there was also a rather mighty bond of kinship that had suddenly sprung up. I mean, here I was thinking that _I_ was the only one with romantic complications the size of mountains, but as turns out—hey, I've got company! Who knew? And while it's probably pretty rottenly selfish of me to say so...well, you know what they say about misery and company. I reveled happily in that small kinship for a moment, before—after realising that I was actually wishing that Emma's emotional pain continue, and how sick is that?—I instantly felt guilty and forced out some more helpful advice.

                I mean—please—I have enough bad karma as it is.

                "You should talk to him," I suggested, and not just because the guilt inside was allowing the meddler inside to scream for reconciliation. "Letters are all well and good, but it's really the only way to get things settled. You need a proper conversation."

                "Yeah, you should go find him," Grace agreed, nodding her head. She suddenly broke out into a snarky smirk. "If nothing else, you can at least get one last snog out of him."

                Oh, for _Merlin's_ sake.

                Emma laughed, shaking her head at Gracie's sad antics, but I just gave her a disgusted look. "Must you project your slaggishness on _everyone_?" I asked.

                Grace merely grinned.

                I rolled my eyes, reaching behind me to grab my pillow again which I quite happily whacked Grace upside the head with. She let out a loud, "Hey!", but I didn't much care because she deserved it.

                One of these days, I hope to whack some sense into her.

                "You're so abusive," Grace complained, rubbing at the side of her head, even though it clearly didn't hurt because a feathered pillow doesn't make much of an impact—much to my disappointment. "You should be locked up somewhere, do you know that?"

                I gave Gracie a haughty look. "Blah, blah. Do stop your mindless squabbling. We _were_ talking about Emmeline here, if you'd care to recall. Stop getting off topic."

                "Actually, I think we're quite done talking about me," Emma decided suddenly, casual as anything. She shifted on the bed. "Let's move on to something else."

                "Something else?" I choked out, the words getting caught in my throat. What on earth was she talking about, 'let's move on to something else'? I threw her an appalled look. "What do you mean, something else? We aren't even remotely done! You have to go find Mac! You have to figure out what to do! You have to reconcile!"

                "I have to think," Emma corrected, giving me a decisive nod. "Grace is right—I'm glad I told the both of you, but I really have to decide what to do on my own. I have to think about this."

                "Think?" I cried. "Haven't you been thinking all day? How much more do you need? And truly, thinking is vastly overrated, anyway. Why bother with it?"

                Emma laughed, obviously not understanding how utterly serious I was. She clearly does not know the strong relationship thinking and I share. I know it best. Trust me.

                "Oh, come off it, Lil," was all she said, waving my claims away casually. She grinned at me. "I think someone is simply trying to postpone telling her _own_ story."

                "Oh, yeah!" Grace suddenly chimed in, looking like quite the sneaky devil she actually is. "Come now, Lily, my pet. We want to hear _your_ dirt. Don't be shy. Let's hear all about your recent affairs, Slaggy Sue. Make it good."

                Oh, _bugger_.

                Er.

                Um.

                Right.

                "I...er..." Nothing remotely resembling words would come out of my mouth. "I...er...are you sure you don't want to keep talking about Mac? Because we totally could. Seriously."

                "Look how red she's turning," Grace muttered to Emma, grinning wickedly. "James must have practically shagged her or something."

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                "He did not!" I shouted loudly, as Emma—really, hadn't she been catastrophically melancholy all of a minute ago?—started giggling up a storm with Grace. I could feel my face heat up even more. "Quit making fun or I swear I won't tell either of you a single thing!"

                "Oh, don't be like that, Lil," Grace said, not quitting with her giggling practically at all. "We're excited for you is all. It's about bloody time this whole thing was settled."

                I reeled back, her innocent words feeling like a sudden slap in the face.

                "Who said anything about settled?" I asked frantically, those ever-present little fireflies of panic suddenly taking flight in my stomach again. "I never said anything was setting. Nothing's settled. What's settled?"

                "What?" Grace looked confused. Then she groaned. "Dear Merlin, Lily Christine Evans, don't you dare tell me that you've convinced yourself that you actually _enjoyed_ this Amos-Date. I swear I'm going to—"

                "All he gave her was a headache," Emma interrupted, repeating my words from before. She looked confused, as well. "That's what she told me before. It was more or less as bad as that. Isn't that right, Lil?"

                "Well, thank Merlin!" Grace cried before I could answer, turning to me with a look. "Don't you scare me like that. So what exactly is the problem here? What's not settled?"

                "Everything!" I cried, and I'd be damned if those little fireflies weren't quickly morphing into some rather intimidating hippogriffs. I had thought that I'd finally managed to settle the panic after lying around for so long, but apparently that wasn't the case. Damn it, why was this _happening_? "Everything and anything is not settled! Nothing is settled! Stop saying it is, because it's not! People can't just...just...order me about and expect things to happen or...when they...they..."

                Oh, god.

                Hippogriffs?

                Yeah, how about dragons?

                Large, angry, fire-spouting dragons.

                _Shit_.

                "Whoah. All right. Calm down, Lil. Just calm down," Grace said quickly, obviously noticing that I wasn't kidding as I hastily skimmed the edges of hyperventilation. She put a hand on my shoulder. "Breathe, Lily. No one's making you do anything. What's the matter? What happened?"

                "I don't _know_ ," I all but sobbed, shaking my head helplessly. "I just...everything was fine until—well, not _fine_ , I suppose, but I wasn't so...so...until now and I know that's stupid and I don't know _why_ it's like this because clearly, I mean, you lounge about in bed with someone's roses and that means something, but I just can't...I know it's silly, but I'm so..."

                I ran out of breath, sitting there practically panting as Grace and Emma looked on in concern. I know I must have sounded like an absolute madwoman, but once the words started flowing, they wouldn't stop. I didn't know what to do. Merlin, where did it all come from? I had perfect control of it until now. I mean, I know that note had done funny things inside, but I had no idea that it had spawned _this_ —this completely indescribable panic.

                When had that happened?

                I was still sitting there, half in shock over my sudden outburst, when Emma calmly broke through my wall of frozen distress.

                "All right," she said slowly, giving me a sympathetic look. "Just breathe, Lily. Start from the beginning. Tell us what's got you like this. We'll figure it out."

                Listening to her then, an idea as simple as that—tell them about it? We'll figure it out? Seriously?—seemed so utterly ludicrous, but I must have been more desperate to let the whole thing out than I thought, because it didn't take much more encouragement than that to have me spewing out the whole sordid story like a big, damn, emotional tidal wave. I told them everything—about James and the Room of Requirement (okay, so I might have left some of the more _personal_ details out of that one. I just didn't think they really needed to know exactly when or how often we happened to snog. Minor details, really). I told them about the notes and roses. I told them about Amos and my realisation after seeing him in the courtyard, then about the rather atrocious chat-a-thon that followed. I told them about my Julie Little suspicions and the private/public Amos dilemma and James-Inside-My-Head. I told them about the Three Broomsticks and my conversation with Remus and Peter. I told them about coming back here and finding the note and rose on the portrait hole and the panic that had come back and never quite left.

                I told them everything.

                And though it felt pretty brilliant to get it all off my chest— _Merlin_ , you don't realise how much keeping these things to yourself burdens a girl!—to be perfectly honest, I didn't feel any less panicked.

                Those dragons? Yeah, pretty much still partying inside my stomach. It must be a rager.

                "Goodness," Emma stated quietly after listening to my whole messy spiel. She was looking a bit stunned by it all. "You've had quite the twenty-four hours, haven't you?"

                "You have no idea," I muttered, even though—now—she kind of did.

                "So let me get this straight," Grace said, narrowing her eyes quizzically at me. She ticked off each of her points on her fingers. "One, Diggory's a dunce. Huzzah, hurrah, we're glad. Two, James is _not_ a dunce. Huzzah, hurrah, we're also glad. Three, no one was perilously injured in the discovering of these things. Huzzah, hurrah times three. And four, even though we have one, two, and three, and James seems to be openly available for your every convenience...you are lounging about chatting with us rather than going off to find him. Yeah, can't quite huzzah that one, Lil, seeing as I don't understand it."

                You know, it sounded quite catastrophically more pathetic when put that way.

                Psh.

                I opened my mouth to try to explain myself, but nothing was apparently too eager to come out, because nothing did. Sitting there on the bed, being watched all-too-carefully by my mates, I knew that they knew that something was wrong—even before my mad outbursts they probably had—and I felt guilty for worrying them. Something _was_ wrong, though I couldn't for the life of me understand it. But after lying prone on my bed for the last hour with nothing to do but bask about in my own thoughts and troubles, I actually _had_ come to certain conclusions, even if I didn't understand the reason for having to form them. It was just...well...

                I'm pretty sure no one wanted to hear them.

                But I guess we'd find out.

                "Look," I heard myself say, the words coming out on autopilot now as I twirled my hair around my finger nervously. "I know...I know it seems strange, all right? It _is_ strange. I don't know why. I can't understand either why I haven't...why I didn't...well, why I'm here instead of somewhere else. But I just think...I mean, maybe..." I took a deep breath, then just forced it all out quickly. "I don't think James and I can be together right now."

                There.

                I said it.

                "What?" Grace choked out, confounded.

                "Oh, Lily..." Emma sighed, shaking her head. 

                I was quick to cut them both off.

                "Listen to me," I said hastily, ignoring the looks they were both shooting me and trying to explain before I lost my nerve. "I know...I know what you're thinking, all right? I know it sounds mad. I know that all signs have been pointing towards this for ages and I'm not saying that I don't want to be with him—I do, just...not right now. I _can't_ right now. I mean, the sole fact that the very thought of it is sending me into fits of uncontrollable panic is quite clear evidence of that! I am quite literally breaking out in _hives_ over it, all right? I'm not ready. It's not the right time. Maybe it's because I've just come out of this whole thing with Amos, or maybe it's something else, but either way, it's not right. And I want to do it right. So I'm...putting it on hold. Everything. Just for now. Until I sort my feelings out. All right?"

                The words were out of my mouth so quickly that I didn't really have time to consider what I was saying, but I was surprised to find that most of them were the truth. I had come to my 'put it on hold' decision somewhere near the twenty-five minute mark of my mindless and pathetic wallowing when I had just recently discovered the sudden hives springing up along my inner wrist after twenty-five minutes of considering my James dilemma. That was the last straw in my 'this-could-all-work-out' mentality. I mean, hives? Seriously? Who breaks out into hives at the thought of a bloke? Who?

                And the thing is, I _know_ I'm mad. I know that this shouldn't be happening and that I'm probably just making it worse by putting so much significance to it, but how can I _not_? I mean, I wasn't lying when I said I want be with him—I _do_. Last night was...I mean...well, it was a lot, and the fact that I'm even admitting to these sorts of things seems slightly mad, as well, but they're truths that I've come to accept over the past few days as unchangeable. I fancy James Potter something rather rotten and I don't think that's going to change any time soon. But just because I fancy him and would like to be with him doesn't mean I'm _ready_ to do so—clearly I'm not, or the idea wouldn't scare me witless. Somehow, I just don't think the proper reaction to a beautiful rose and an inviting note should be instant panic and a quick getaway to my bed. There is _clearly_ something wrong here. James is too important to me to do this wrong. So I'm not going to do it at all. I'm going to wait. And if that seems as if I'm...well, being a bit of a coward or something, I'm totally not. There are legitimate reasons as to why I made this decision— _several_ legitimate, logical, rational reasons. And I think everyone should just understand that.

                Except—naturally—no one did.

                At least not Grace and Emma.

                "Lily Evans, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my entire life," Grace announced immediately after my explanation finished. "The goddamn _stupidest_ thing ever."

                "Don't do this, Lily," Emma pleaded, being equally as unsupportive, if less blunt. "You don't want to do this."

                Okay, seriously?

                Worst mates ever.

                "It's not stupid and I _do_ want to do this," I insisted, shooting them both annoyed looks. "Didn't you hear me? It's practically my only choice! I can't possibly start a relationship when the thought of it positively terrifies me!"

                "Of course it terrifies you!" Emma cried, smiling for some insane reason. "Lily, you _like_ James. It's scary because you've probably never liked someone this much. You're just afraid of blotching it up—that's entirely natural!"

                "It's _not_ natural," I shot back, throwing my hands up in frustration. "It's decidedly _un_ natural. It means something's wrong, Em. I'm not doing this if it's wrong."

                "It's not wrong," Grace scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Emma's right. You're only fighting it because you're scared of what it will become. You're panicked over how much he means to you, stupid. That's hardly something to run from."

                "You're not being fair," I protested stubbornly, crossing my own arms over my chest. "It's not about how much I fancy him—I fancied Amos to the point of worship and the thought of dating _him_ didn't send me into fits of panic! There's something wrong with me now. I'm not ready. Maybe it's because this Amos whole thing crashed and burned so horribly. I don't want to rush into something else."

                "Amos was never even real," Grace insisted, waving off my logical reasons with a casual flick of her hand. "That entire relationship existed mostly inside of your head, Lil. You know it did."

                "Um, excuse me? Did I not just go out on a _date_ with the bloke today? How is that inside my head?"

                "It was _one_ date—and a rotten one, at that!"

                "So? It was still a date. It still existed. In fact, we didn't even really officially end things! I should undoubtedly do _that_ before rushing into something else or I'll just end up in the same awkward tug-of-war I've been battling through all these weeks! So there!"

                I could see that Grace was truly starting to get annoyed with me, something that didn't happen too often. She was shifting her jaw back and forth, a telltale sign. "Are you serious, Lily?" she asked, her voice utterly serious. "Didn't you _just_ tell us that you had high suspicions that Amos is panting after Julie Little? You're going to attempt to break up with _that_?"

                "It's formality," I insisted, entirely reasonably. "It must be done."

                "Why are you fighting this so hard?"

                "I'm not fighting anything! It's fighting me!"

                "Oh, of all the _codswallop_ —"

                "Grace, stop attacking her," Emma cut in calmly, making me very thankful for a moment that I had bothered to keep her around so long. She has her uses. "It's no use. You know how she is. She gets frightened and runs in the opposite direction. The more we push, the worse we'll make it."

                I take it back.

                Seriously. I take it all back. 

                Uses? I honestly thought she had _uses_?

                Psh.

                "I'm still sitting right here, you know," I muttered crossly, shooting them all my worst sort of glares. "I'm not deaf. I can hear every word you're saying and you're both wrong. I'm not fighting this. I'm being logical about it."

                "Pft! _Logical_ —"

                "Grace," Emma warned again, shooting her a look. Then she turned back to me, trying to look all sympathetic, but I knew she was just being patronizing. Worthless. "Lily, listen to me," she said slowly, and I pretended to do so, just to patronize _her_. "I know you think you're not ready, but can't you see that that's only an excuse? You want to be with James. You said so yourself. So why are you trying to push him away? What's the point?"

                "I'm not pushing anyone away. I just need time to think," I answered, refusing to believe any of her babble—she didn't know what she was talking about. "Isn't that what you told us before, Em? That you just needed some time? How come you can have it, but I can't?"

                "Our situations are entirely different," Emma insisted, shaking her head at me. "You don't need time when the answer is staring you right in the face. James isn't Amos, Lily. He isn't some fantasy you've built up inside your head. You know him and you truly care about him and I think _that's_ what has you so shaken. It has nothing to do with being ready."

                "He's the first person you can actually have something with," Grace added in, sending me a pointed look. "Don't blotch it up because you're afraid of that. That's just stupid. You know it is."

                I didn't answer either of them, refusing to give into the temptation of listening to what they were saying, ignoring the slight bubbles of uncertainty they were stirring up inside of me. Because I knew I was right. Honestly, I was. I had thought this all out and they weren't going to change my mind. This wasn't about me being afraid of my feelings, or James's feelings, or our feelings together—this was simply about proper timing. There were things I had to do, things I had to be certain of, before James and I could even think about getting involved. Internally, I knew that, and that's why I was so distraught over the whole thing. It wasn't because I was afraid of what our relationship might be, it was because I was afraid of our relationship _not_ being due to my clearly un-relationship-ready state. Why couldn't they _see_ that?

                I think they realised that they weren't going to get far with me, and I certainly wasn't going to waste any more of my time trying to force them to understand what they refused to see, so the conversation drew to a lull in the following moments as we all sat and brooded (okay,  _I_ brooded. And maybe Gracie. Emma wasn't really brooding. I'm projecting. Sue me). I remained firm in my convictions and they in theirs. They would just have to wait and see, find out I'm right in time.

                "All right," Emma finally said, sounding a bit tired. "I give up. Do what you must, Lil. You're right—I'm certainly not one to speak. Look at where I'm at. I just don't want you to make a mistake."

                "I won't," I insisted, slightly thankful to be putting the issue aside. I really didn't want to be dwelling on it for much longer. It did bad things for my state of mind. "And you won't, either. You'll figure out what to do about Mac. Everything will work out. Right, Gracie?"

                "James is _not_ going to agree to this," Grace muttered, completely ignoring me and my attempts at assuaging our dear mates tender feelings and just broodily (not projecting this time. She really _was_ brooding) spouting off her own comments. "I give you two days before he snogs some sense into you. If you even last that long. We will not stand for this!"

                "You're wrong," I insisted, even though I was entirely anticipating such a reaction from James when I talk to him. You know, eventually. "James will understand once I explain. He'll let me sort things out. He's not pushy like _some_ people."

                "Pah!" Grace scoffed, grabbing a pillow and oh-so-delicately hurling it at my head. "You'll see. A little snogging and you'll be putty in his hands. Just you wait."

                "Excuse me, but I am not that easy."

                "Actually, you really are."

                "Actually...well, okay, maybe I am. But in this case, I won't be!"

                Grace started cracking up at my confession, giving me a silly grin as she continued to hack it up. I grabbed the pillow she had just hurled at me and tried to return the favour, but she merely caught it in her hands and thrust it behind her head, throwing herself down back on the bed and stretching out her long limbs. She managed to whack Emma and me most accurately in the process. We shouted our objections.

                "Oh, hush," she muttered, finally stopping with her stupid laughter. She let out an overdramatic yawn and snuggled with my pillow. "Let's stop talking about this," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm sick of telling Lily she's stupid. It's like talking to a wall. Let's chat about something more interesting."

                "Like what?" Emma asked.

                "Three guesses..." I muttered, just as Grace answered, "Snogging."

                Which was rather heartening, I suppose.

                Some things just never change.

______________________________________________

**A Bit Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 212**

Observation #209) Even though they often don't listen to you when you try to explain your romantic decisions, mates can occasionally have their uses. Like making you laugh when you're particularly down due to said romantic decisions. Perhaps they shouldn't be tossed away just yet.

Observation #210) According to the Grace Reynolds Snogging Scale, James is an eight.

Observation #211) Under the same scale, Chris Lynch is an eleven (the scale only went to ten) and Mac has been delegated a three until further notice. Therefore, the validity of said scale may be in question.

Observation #212) I still think James is an eight.

______________________________________________

**More Later, Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 212**

                So, here's the thing. 

                I could totally lie and make up a seemingly valid excuse as to why I'm not going down to dinner with Grace and Emma right now.  Really, I could. I'm quite good at it. I _might_ even get them to believe it a bit. However, being the utterly righteous person that I am, I'm just not going to do that. I'm not giving any excuses. They know exactly why I am not going down to dinner and I'm not trying to hide it. I think I deserve some sort of credit for that.

                Instead, Grace just says that I'm a coward and that if I were really so certain of my romantic decisions, seeing James would not be an issue.

                I told her to have a nice life, we are no longer mates.

                Emma says she will bring me back something and to have a pleasant time thinking.

                I said thank you very much, this is why we're still mates.

                Exit mate and non-mate.

                And the thing is...okay, maybe it is a _bit_ cowardly—but legitimately so. I mean, the only thing worse than going down there and telling James about my decision is going down there and telling James about my decision in the wrong _way_. Which it totally would be if I did it now. The wrong way, I mean. Because I have no idea what I'd say. Or how I'd say it. Or how to cleverly dodge that whole 'snogging some sense into me' idea that I'm pretty sure James would have embraced just as readily as Grace insisted. Which would have been bad. I mean, seeing as he's an eight and everything. That's a dangerous sort of number.

                So I will sit here and think, just as Emma said. It is a good and solid plan and it's _not_ cowardly really, it's simply logical. And logic is wonderful. Therefore, this plan is wonderful. You know, by extension.

______________________________________________

**Later, Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 212**

                I blame Grace entirely. 

                Honestly, it's probably all her fault. I know I didn't exactly get the full story, seeing as I might have been a bit distracted, but I know that she was responsible somehow. She's such a clod. You should have seen her waltz back into the dormitory, smiling like the cat that caught the canary, all prim and smug and such. I had no idea what all the pomposity was for and was about to ask her what had her all up in airs when Emma walked in behind her and I saw what had her looking so satisfied.

                My rose tally is now up to five.

                He's being downgraded to a seven for this.

                I mean it.

                "What did you do?" I snapped accusingly, taking the rose from Emma's outstretched hand, mostly ignoring the bit of food she sat down beside me along with it. I glared at Gracie suspiciously. "You're behind this! I know you are! What did you do? What did he say?"

                "He asked where you were," Emma answered calmly, as Grace continued to look smug. Emma sent me a sympathetic look. "I just said you were up here."

                "Oh?"

                "Yes, but then—"

                "But _then_ he asked why you were up here," Grace interrupted, not even bothering to dim down the haughtiness. "And _I_ said it was because you were being stupid."

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                "Excuse me?" I bit out, my tone menacing. "You said _what_?"

                "That you were being stupid," Grace repeated, not backing down in the least. She grinned at me. "And then James said, 'Yes, I figured,' and we all had quite a laugh about it. You should have been there. Really, it was wonderfully entertaining."

                "Grace Reynolds, I swear I'm going to—"

                "Yes, I know. Kill me, maim me, toss me out the nearest window, yeah? Pish-posh. Go sniff your roses, Lil."

                I hate my life.

______________________________________________

**Later Later, Same Same Same**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 213**

THINGS THAT ARE STUPID  
1\. Generally most of the first year population.  
2\. People who shag in broom closets.  
3\. The word 'brouhaha'.  
4\. The very idea of the spork.  
5\. Voldemort  
6\. Clocks that don't work.  
7\. People who get caught in the trick step.  
8\. Split ends.  
9\. Transfiguration.  
10\. People whose names begin with 'G's and 'J's.

THINGS THAT ARE NOT STUPID  
1\. Crossword puzzles in the _Prophet_.  
2\. Coloured-ink quills.  
3\. Fudge for breakfast.  
4\. People who like Charms.  
5\. All things that pertain to the banning of Quidditch.  
6\. Rice.  
7\. The number thirty.  
8\. People who help other people.  
9\. Christmas  
10\. Lily Evans

______________________________________________

**Latest, Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 33**   
**Total Observations: 213**

                So, I'm going to sleep. 

                Yes, I know that I shouldn't be. I know that it's still early and that I'm still completely bereft about what to do about both James and Amos, but I really have no will to deal with any of that. I am exhausted. It's been an extremely tiring day. I am mentally/physically/spiritually/emotionally/etc. drained. I need a break. I need some sleep. So I'm going to bed, and that's that. Perhaps things will look better in the morning.

                Oh, who am I kidding? Of course they won't look better. But maybe they won't look any _worse_ , either, and that's really all a girl with my kind of karmic persuasion can ask for.

                Good night.

______________________________________________

**Sunday, October 19th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 213**

                Oh my god, I've got it.

                I've _GOT IT_!

                How did I not see this before? How could I have not realised that the answer was sitting right under my nose this entire time? I was so busy wallowing in my own pathetic misery that I didn't see the most obvious solution. But it was right there! Constantly, continually right _there_. How could I have missed it?

                I'll write him a _letter_.

                A LETTER! How bloody brilliant is _that_? I can write James—and Amos, too, for that matter—a wonderful, informative, lovely, brilliant letter! And then everything will be perfect! It will be utterly perfect! Everything I can't possibly say in person, I'll write down! Then they'll read what I have to say, digest it, accept it, and life can continue on!

                Merlin, and they called me _stupid_. Ha!

                I'm a bloody _genius_.

______________________________________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 214**

**** _Dear_ _To Dear James,_

_Hey.  Hi.  Hello. How are you? I'm writing you   I know that you  I'm sorry that I didn't come down to dinner.  I couldn't   I didn't want  Grace said it was shepherd’s pie. I know you like that.   I'm writing   I have to tell you   I'm sure you're wondering  The weather is really nice today.  Do you know what else was nice? Snogging you._

                Er...

                Okay.

                Merlin, who knew letter writing could be so bloody difficult?

______________________________________________

**Later Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 214**

_Dear John Amos,_

_Hello.  Hi. I had a really interesting  enlightening  fun time yesterday.  However   Even though you were  Despite the fact that  Did you?  You're a  lovely  honestly? Mostly pretty bloody rotten  fun date   even when you're not talking to me.  I just wanted to say   You're really sweet, but   Julie Little is really fun, too._

                Shit.

______________________________________________

**Later, Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 214**

 

** Lily Evans's Instructions to Proper Letter Writing **

 

** (In an Attempt to Aid Those Who Are Unfortunately Finding Such Things Difficult) **

                So you want to be a Letter Writer? Congrats! Welcome to the club! It's a fine, fine journey to embark upon. However, one should never take the job of a Letter Writer lightly. It is an _entirely_ serious profession. When done wrong, buildings could fall, bombs could explode, entire universes can be put into peril...or at the very least, you can thoroughly tick someone off. In any case, here is a fail-safe guide to Proper Letter Writing for the Beginning Letter Writer. Follow its instructions carefully in order to achieve your highest Letter Writing goals. Good luck and write well.

WARNING: WRITING LETTERS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

**1) Salutation**  
                Though seemingly a rather insignificant part of your letter, the salutation is actually quite an important bit of your correspondence. It is the first thing your reader sees and sets the ENTIRE TONE of your following letter. So don't make the mistake of addressing your letter the wrong way. "Dear" proves to be quite more than a three-letter difference from "Dearest," and "To" is eons away from "For." Consider carefully. You do this wrong, you might as well toss the entire letter out. You have already failed. Start again.

**2) Greeting**  
                So you've made it through your salutation—Huzzah! Pat yourself on the back. You deserve it. But your job is not even close to being finished. The greeting is practically just as important as the salutation. Here are your first words to your addressee—the first substantial thing they hear in your voice. The biggest mistake any Letter Writer could make is forgetting about the greeting and jumping into your letter's Main Point—for Merlin's sake, you'll shock your reader with your hastiness! Slow it down! Ease them into your letter with a bit of pleasantry. You can go with formality or casualness, but never abandon your greeting. A few "how are you"'s and intelligently placed pleasantries can go a long way.

**3) Letter's Main Point**  
                All right. Here's where things can get a bit tricky. Naturally every correspondence has a Main Point—a general reason as to the writing of the letter—which can be simple or complex or any degree of variant between. My advice? Ease _carefully_ into your Main Point. Transition from your greeting in as gentle a manner as possible. There are severe consequences for bluntness in correspondence. Beat around the bush for a while if you must. Don't be afraid to embrace the subtlety. It can get you far.

                But eventually, MAKE YOUR POINT.

                That's what truly matters in the end, after all, isn't it? If you don't make your point, then what the bloody hell _are_ you doing? A whole bunch of nothing, that's what. And while making your point can sometimes be a frightening thing—I know. I understand. I _feel your pain_ —it must be done. You cannot avoid it. So roll up your sleeves, put your inspiring botany aside, and just WRITE. Everything. Anything. Just MAKE YOUR POINT.

**4) Closing**  
Okay, so you've saluted, you've greeting, you've let your bomb drop...what now? Why, your closing, of course! Let your reader recuperate from the shocks your words have just thrust upon them. Throw in some nice, soothing comments. Now is not the time to be letting any other secrets loose—for Merlin's sake, you don't want to give your reader a heart attack! Have another secret? Save it for the next bloody letter, all right?—it's a time for cooling down. Just be nice. And concluding. Bring your correspondence to a calm and peaceful end. Got it?

**5) Signature**  
                You think you're done now that you've concluded? WRONG. So wrong. In fact, the signature of your letter is _vastly_ important—it can quite literally change the entire Point of your letter, so don't be taking it lightly! Consider carefully. You have a few options to choose from. You can go for the traditional sign offs—"Best Wishes" or "Sincerely.” You can go for the meaningful phrase: "Anxiously Awaiting Your Response" or "I Hope You Understand." But most importantly... _sign what you mean!_ Don't you  dare go putting down those four-letter words if you don't mean them! And if you don't know if you mean them...well, then go figure it out! This is not the time to be taking chances, for Merlin's sake! Have some sense!

**6) Signed, Sealed, Delivered!**  
You're done!  
                Now that wasn't so hard, was it?

**NOTE:** WHEN SIGNING, SEALING, AND DELIVERING, PLEASE MAKE SURE TO DELIVER TO THE PROPER PERSON. CONSEQUENCES OTHERWISE COULD BE DISASTROUS.

______________________________________________

**Later Later, Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 215**

Observation #213) When writing letters proves too difficult (despite your informative, witty, organized, instructional manual detailing exactly what you have to do), homework can for once become a wanted reprieve.

Observation #214) When even Transfiguration is looking appealing, there is something wrong.

Observation #215) I'm hungry. Where are my stupid mates with dinner?

______________________________________________

**Even Later, 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 215**

Animal Transfiguration pg. 342-345 #1-3

1) _What is the most important thing to remember when considering the spell 'habritus'?_

Habritus is a very complicated animal transfiguration spell whose properties allow for ( _Dear James,  You're important. Don't think that just because I can't be with you right now that you're not important) _the breeding of two different types of one species of an animal. It is extremely difficult to master due to the _(Amos,  I don't know why you did all the things you did yesterday, but--honestly?-- I don't really care anymore_) biological combinations being merged during the spell. Therefore, the most important thing to remember ( _Because I do eventually, James. I really, really...I mean, you know I do. I just...can't...now_) is to test the breeding compatibility with 'bepartia' before performing the spell ( _I don't think you much care, either--which is good, all things considered_). Doing otherwise can have disastrous consequences.

                Talk about your disastrous consequences.

                Psh.

______________________________________________

**Later, Same**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 216**

                Grace and Emma arrived back from dinner with equally hassled expressions on their faces, both directed rather unwaveringly in my direction. I looked away, feeling guilty over the fact that I was relatively sure I knew exactly who had been pestering them cross down there and exactly why he had been doing it. Emma came over anyway, placing an entire plate of food down on the bed in front of me. Two kinds of rice and some rather delicious smelling meat filled the platter full. My mouth practically salivated.

                "Oh, you're both saints!" I cried, instantly grabbing the fork Emma had brought and tucking in. I closed my eyes in utter contentment as I shoveled the rice in. _Yum_. "This is _glorious_ ," I sighed, smiling happily. "How on earth did you manage to smuggle out so much? You even took the bloody plate!"

                "We didn't," Grace answered simply, sitting down on her bed. "James did."

                I stopped chewing.

                _Bugger_.

                "Excuse me?" I sputtered.

                "It was all James," Grace told me again, shooting me a rather pointed look. Emma shook her head, choosing to stay out of it. "He said something about not supporting stupidity starvation. Quite nifty alliteration, actually."

                "He said that?" I asked, glancing down at my plate—my favorites—with a new sudden drop in my stomach. It rolled uneasily. I held back a sob of frustration. Bugger, bugger, _fuck_.

                "He did," Grace answered, looking quite pleased at my discomfort. Unsupportive hag. "He's quite the thoughtful smuggler, your James. Emma and I couldn't get nearly half that last night."

                "He's not my James," I muttered darkly, shooting her a glare, though it really was rather pathetically lackluster.

                "Oh, that's right," Gracie said, a false sort of surprise entering her voice. "He's not, is he?"

                "Grace—"

                "You have a good time writing your letters, all right?"

                Bugger, _bugger_.

______________________________________________

**Later Later, Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 217**

                I thought that eating and finishing my homework might be the distractions that I needed to finally concentrate on my letter writing, but I think I only made it worse. Because now all I can think about is bloody supporting stupidity starvation and how Transfiguration is a whole lot harder when you can't badger someone into telling you the answer, even though he likes to pretend that he won't eventually give it to you. Plus, now I have nothing left to distract myself with. It's all letters, all the time. Except I can't _write_ the damn things. They just won't come _out_.

                And, honestly, do you know what's _so_ not helping the situation? My worthless mates. Because I swear, if Gracie makes one more crack about my flowers or Emma gives me one more of her meaningful looks, I am going to crack. I'm just going to hex them all. And then maybe myself. It'll be a moment of mass destruction either way. I may end up in Azkaban. I really don't care.

                Merlin, it's nearly ten. Maybe I should just go to sleep? I mean, I do have class in the—

                Oh, bugger, _class_.

                I have bloody Ancient Runes tomorrow. Fuck, fuck, _shit_. And it's not as if James isn't in practically _every_ single bloody class with me. _Double_ fuck, fuck, shit. What am I going to do? What am I going to say? My letters aren't even started, let alone done! How can I face either of them if I don't have a letter to give them to explain myself? I mean, they'll expect me to explain myself _in person_.

                Shit.

______________________________________________

**Even Later (well, actually, it's officially tomorrow), Still 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 217**

We've hit midnight.

                Grace and Emma and the Prat Twins have gone to sleep. But I have to finish these letters. I have to finish them or I'm going to be forced to talk to James and Amos in person and I...no. Just no.

                So far I've got:

                _Dear James,_

...

                Whatever.

                It's progress.

______________________________________________

**Even Even Later (tomorrow), 7YGD**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 218**

                Perhaps I just need a change of scenery. I've been holed up in this prison-of-a-dormitory for the past thirty-six hours and it's clearly started to stifle my creative letter-writing juices. That's why these letters aren't coming out. My creative arteries are being clogged by this room. It's quite rude, actually. Something must be done.

                It's nearly two. No one is going to be in the Common Room this late, right? So I'll be fine going down there. It will be a welcoming change. It's still something different from this room and that's all that matters. I feel like my bed hangings are about to close in on me. So obviously travel is imminent. So I'll go. Now.

                Right.

______________________________________________

**More Later (tomorrow), Couch in the Common Room**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 218**

                _Dear James,_

_Hi. I know that this_ _I don't quite know how to_ _Sorry. It's late._

                Bugger.

                I mean, seriously? 'Sorry. It's late'? That's the best I can come up with? What the bleeding hell is _wrong_ with me? I changed scenery! I'm out of the dormitory! Shouldn't my letter-writing arteries be flowing perfectly now? Why aren't they? I mean, it's not as if—

                Oh, _bugger_.

                Who the hell—

                Oh.

                _Oh._

______________________________________________

**Latest/Earliest (tomorrow), Common Room**   
**Observant Lily: Day 34**   
**Total Observations: 218**

                "What are you doing here?"

                My heart was thumping frantically inside of my chest, the pulsing noise sounding loudly in my ears. I froze, each quick pulse sending a jolt of alarm speeding throughout my body, which is why I was rather amazed that I somehow managed to keep my voice steady. I forced the panic off my face, reminding myself that breathing was imperative as I quickly tucked my worthless letters out of sight, shifting uneasily on the Common Room couch. He just kept walking, one foot in front of the other down the boys' staircase. He didn't say anything, not even as he got closer to where I was sitting. I gulped. I had asked him what he was doing down here, but in reality, I wasn't really wondering. I knew that it couldn't possibly be a coincidence—he _knew_ I was down here. I know it—but I had pretty much given up on the whole he-just-shows-up aspect of our relationship. Maybe he has a tracking device on me or something. I really couldn't focus on that just then.

                Actually, I couldn't focus on much of anything just then. My brain was having another one of its off moments, it seems.

                _Bugger_.

                He didn't even crack a smile as he came closer, his face entirely blank, though I suppose I wasn't much expecting anything different. He was wearing what he had obviously intended to go to bed in, a gray shirt and a pair of plaid pajamas pants. He didn't have anything on his feet. I wondered if they were cold. His feet, I mean. It _was_ a bit chilly, even though I had attempted to stir the fire back to life when I'd first got down here. I thought maybe I should offer him the blanket I'd brought down with me...then realised doing so would mean that he'd have to come closer...then realised that he was getting closer, anyway...

                Shit.

                Focus, Lily. _Focus_.

                On something other than his apparel—or rather, lack therefore of—if you please.

                Psh.

                He still hadn't said anything by the time he (buggerbugger _bugger_ ) reached the couch, sitting down on the opposite end from where I was frantically huddled in my blankets. He just rather stared at me, his face remaining mostly expressionless, the blank look almost _daring_ me to try to explain myself. The words were sitting on the tip of my tongue, but the panic wouldn't let them out. I just sat there guiltily, wondering what he must be thinking of me—probably nothing good. _I_ wouldn't be thinking anything good, were I in his position. In fact, I'd probably be thinking something decidedly bad. Something really, really decidedly bad. Which was...well, not good. Really, really decidedly not good. But not exactly something I could change unless my mouth decided that it would like to start working. Which it didn't seem inclined to do. But I was a powerful witch. I could conquer its stubborn silence. I could.

                In the end, all I managed to get out was his name. But that didn't seem to matter, because as soon as I started talking, so did he.

                "James—"

                "You didn't come find me."

                That's all he said, those five small words.

                They hit like a ton of bricks.

                "No," I somehow got out, the word heavy on my tongue. I suddenly felt like bursting into tears. "No, I didn't."

                I didn't mean the words as any sort of rejection. When I said them, they were merely an affirmation, a resigned acceptance of what I had—or rather, hadn't—done. And while a normal person might have heard these words and not seen that, I suppose it says something remarkably telling about the pair of us that James instantly comprehended my meaning. Instead of looking all dejected and hopeless as one might imagine, he merely looked contemplative, staring at me with a questioning look, almost like he was trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle. 

                I think James is the puzzle sort. 

                I wished him luck with this one.

                "Well?" he finally said, and now he was looking at me all expectantly, his eyes bright behind his glasses, his eyebrow cocked. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, not able to look at him. I averted my face away, gazing towards the fire.

                "Well, what?" I asked, scratching at a nonexistent itch behind my head, wondering if he could see right through me. I wasn't all that surprised when James let out an exasperated noise.

                "What do you mean, 'well what'?" He stopped there, refusing to say more until I turned my head back to him. I thought about not doing it, but knew it was worthless. When I finally turned, letting his eyes meet mine again, it was only to find him sticking me with a decidedly pointed glare. "Are you seriously trying to pull this right now?" he asked quietly. "Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"

                "Er...happened when, exactly?"

                "Oh, I don't know," he scoffed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. His jaw tightened. He was really starting to get annoyed. "How about we start with your date Saturday? Then we can move onto the bloody self-exiling you pulled in your attempts to avoid me. How does that sound?"

                "Bad," I replied instantly, trying desperately to stop this, though I don't know why. It was utterly inevitable. "Boringly bad. Let's talk about the weather, instead. _Lovely_ night we're having, isn't—"

                " _Lily_ —"

                "I was writing you a letter," I finally blurted out, cutting off his warning tone with a panicked one of my own. The instant it was out of my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. It sounded even more stupid now than it had before. But instead of laughing like he really ought have, James paused instead, cocking his head to the side suspiciously. I felt my face heat up and cursed my own ridiculousness, but knew there was no turning back now. I forced more out. "I was...writing you a letter," I repeated dumbly, shrugging. "Explaining everything."

                "What does the letter say?" James asked, seemingly not the least bit fazed by my insane level of idiocy. I suppose he's used to it, hanging about me so much.

                "In which draft?" I asked flatly, shaking my head ruefully. When James only remained silent, I was forced to consider what exactly I was going to do next. There were two options, the way I saw it. And even though it was the highly more embarrassing one, I chose the option that made the most sense, the one that would force me to face this head on, despite my wishes to sprint in the other direction. As James looked on curiously, I hesitated for a moment, then told myself to man up and reached for this, flipping open to my latest pathetic attempt. Holding back a wince, I handed it over to him. James spared one more glance at me, then looked down at the open page. 

                A second later, he cracked his first smile.

                " _'Dear James_ ,'" he read dutifully, the smile widening. " _'Sorry. It's late_.'" He looked back up at me, the laughter shining in his eyes. I tried not to blush too hard, a small smile crossing my own face at my sad patheticness. It really was quite hilarious. "Wow," he marveled, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh, though I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. He handed me back the book. "Brilliant. Informative. Will you add a few concluding sentences?"

                "Dunno," I answered, pretending to consider it. I glanced down at the letter—Merlin, it can't even be called a letter, can it? It's barely a note—and wanted to laugh, too. "You know what they say about brevity."

                "That it's the soul of wit?"

                "That it's...er, brief."

                It was just what we needed to break the ice. A few of my naturally asinine comments, and we were both laughing like a pair of old loons, though a quiet sort that had my chest easing and no one waking up and questioning why in the hell the Head Boy and Girl were lounging about in the Common Room at three in the morning, falling all over each other in their laughter. It was all right. _We_ were all right. For the first time in quite awhile, panic wasn't the foremost emotion filling my every pore and particle. It was so relieving that I laughed even more, a new sort of contentment settling over me. James looked equally as relaxed, the blank look he'd been sporting before finally being replaced by the grin that I knew so well. I wanted to reach up and kiss him, pulling his head down to mine like he had so many times before, but I held myself back, knowing that there was a time and place. I let out a small breath as James shook his head at me, still laughing. Grinning, he crooked a finger at me.

                "Get over here," he said, already reaching out an arm to pull me closer. "You're too far away."

                Choosing not to comment on the fact that there was all of a meter of space between the pair of us, I fought the urge to do just as he asked and threw James a look, artfully dodging his swiping hands. "Oh no," I drawled, shaking my head firmly at him. "We are staying on _opposite_ sides of this couch, mister. I don't trust you for a second."

                James threw me a look of his own. "Be that as it may," he said, already shifting about threateningly. "The way I see it, you've got two options here. Either you scoot over here yourself, or I'm going to have to scoot for you. And I've got to be honest, Infallible...I'm a pretty powerful scooter. I don't know my own strength. I mean, sometimes people end up in other people's _laps_ and limbs get all tangled—"

                "Oh, for Merlin's sake, James!"

                Scowling fiercely, I gripped my blanket tighter around my shoulders and shuffled on my knees until James and I were almost touching. He grinned foolishly as I glared up at him, sitting cross-legged on the middle of the couch. "Satisfied?" I snapped.

                "Almost," James replied, and suddenly he lifted his hand to my cheek, rubbing gently at a spot near my chin with his thumb. My breath stopped in my throat. James's eyes caught mine. "Ink," he explained, though I seriously had my doubts. He dropped his hand and brought it back to rest on his propped up knee. The hand still swayed dangerously close to my arm. I couldn't bring myself to reprimand him for it. "All right, Infallible," he sighed. "Start talking."

                My spine stiffened.

                Suddenly, I was in no mood to laugh.

                "Talking?" I asked innocently, though I don't know why because I think we both knew it was worthless. I blame my mouth. It does what it wants. "About what exactly?"

                "Don't give me that," James warned instantly, his expression fierce. I knew this wasn't going to last very long. "I've let you put this off for two days, Lily. I even read your...letter, was it? Stop it. Tell me what's going on."

                "It was a work in progress!" I tried to defend, though it was pointless and stupid to even try to justify that ultimate failure of a plan. I crossed my arms over my chest and shot James a shrewd look, not ready to give in just yet. "Besides," I added, sniffing haughtily. "Haven't your _spies_ told you everything you want to know already?"

                I expected some sort of reaction to that. James had to know by now that I had talked to Remus and Peter, had discovered his sneaky little plan and tried to thwart it. But instead of making him feel guilty or ashamed or even remotely sheepish, my mention of his underhanded tricks only managed to make him laugh.

                Which says something remarkably significant, I think. 

                I mean, I _fancy_ this madman. 

                I know. Lunacy, isn't it?

                "My spies?" he repeated, a look of disgust crossing over his decidedly amused features. He shook his head at me. "If you mean the two dolts I formerly called my mates, it seems that _someone_ tempted them over to _her_ side. Any time I even hint at getting some bloody information about your bloody sodding date, all I get is, 'We didn't see her. Or perhaps we did. Perhaps we talked to her. Or perhaps we didn't.'" He shot me a little glare. "Thanks for that," he muttered.

                I grinned foolishly, deciding then and there that Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew were now officially my new favourite people. I think I shall buy them both special presents. 

                "I told them not to tell you anything," I giggled helplessly, ignoring James's disgruntled look. He didn't appear even mildly surprised by that admission. I socked him in the arm. He let out a grouchy 'Hey!', but I ignored it. "Serves you right for sending them after me in the first place! That was completely underhanded. You should have waited for me to tell you myself!"

                "Oh, yeah," James bit off sarcastically. "Because _that_ plan would have worked out so well—by next _year_."

                "Hey! It would not have been—"

                " _'Dear James, Sorry. It's late_.' And I waited two days for that!"

                "Don't you dare make fun!" I cried, bashing him hard in the arm again. When James only rolled his eyes once more, my anger rather wilted. I huffed petulantly. "I was going to add another sentence or two," I muttered.

                "Yeah," James snorted, a sudden grimace crossing over his face. "' _Thanks for the snog. See you around. Lily."_

                "I wouldn't write that," I answered, though—pathetically—it was actually better than most of the other rubbish I'd come up with. I shifted a bit, knocking into James's propped arm, our skin touching. I didn't move away. I didn't like that grimace on his face. I didn't like that he thought I was treating this so trivially. He had to know this was more than just snogging. He _did_...didn't he? "I wouldn't have written that," I repeated again, my voice quieter, more serious now. "I wouldn't."

                "Then what?" James asked, and he was sounding a lot more sober, as well, his face getting that determined look to it, his voice lower. He turned his hand that was still touching my arm and slowly skimmed his fingers up and down. I shivered, fighting the urge to close my eyes. James spoke again. "What would you have written?" he asked, leaning in close. "Come on, Lily. Put me out of my bloody misery, would you? What happened Saturday?"

                I let out a sigh, hearing the question and knowing that it was time to answer it. I knew that I could have kept this stupid banter going on for a while yet and, what's more, I think that despite our sudden seriousness, James actually might have let me, but I wasn't going to take advantage of that. It was too tenuous a situation to push. Delaying the inevitable seemed stupid and pointless and cowardly. James was right—I had been hiding from him for two days and all I'd got out of it was " _Dear James, Sorry. It's late._ " I still had no bloody idea what I wanted to say to him, how I was supposed to explain the way I was feeling, but I realised that James is hardly the sort to care if I blotched this up a few times. He would wait for me to find the proper words. I had probably known that all along, but was too panicked to admit it. The thing I was _really_ worried about was if he'd understand once I finally did manage to get it all out. If he'd wait for something more than words. If he'd wait...for me.

                He would, wouldn't he?

                My stomach clenched at the thought.

                I stared at him for a moment, taking in all his familiar features—his face so close to mine, his hair an even bigger mess than usual, his body heat warmer than the fire...then spoke.

                "I don't think...well, that's to say, I don't believe..." I gave myself a mental kick and propelled the words out of my mouth. They came out fast. "I'm not quite certain that Amos and I are much suited."

                There. Admission one out. 

                I shot a tentative look at James.

                He didn't miss a beat.

                "How not quite certain?" he asked, sounding restrained. I didn't hesitate when I answered.

                "About as certain as I am that the pair of you aren't much suited," I said.

                James stared at me suspiciously, apparently not quite believing me—or perhaps _afraid_ to believe me—looking altogether concerned over the possibility that I might, after he gave a nod and was all, "All right," suddenly jump up with a sudden "Gotcha!" and callously crush all his feelings. Which of course was not the case. And not only because if such a scenario did occur, any sudden jump on my part might result in me banging my head against James's chin, considering how close he was leaning.

                Which, you know, ouch.

                But so not the point.

                Sort of.

                "James," I said earnestly, blocking the head-chin-ow image out of my head. "I'm serious. It's over."

                James didn't move, his face still skeptical. "Yeah?" he asked.

                "Yeah," I whispered.

                There was silence then, one in which I could acknowledge every second passed by the loud, hard thumps of my heart against my chest. James wasn't saying anything, his face going blank, contemplative. And though I know that it shouldn't have bothered me—that I really had no _right_ to be bothered, considering what I was soon going to be telling this poor boy—after about ten counted thumps, I couldn't even look at him anymore, I was so upset. I mean, where was the wizard who had caught me up in his arms and snogged me silly at the mere mention of me not wanting to go yesterday? Where was the bloke who had pushed me up against that wall and made sure I wouldn't forget about him? _That_ bloke wouldn't be staring at me blankly, looking like he would be perfectly fine with me up and leaving and never seeing him again. _That_ bloke would have probably toppled me over, choosing to snog his happiness out rather than bothering with mere words. And while I know it isn't fair of me to expect this sort of reaction—I mean, hello? I wasn't _ready_ for any of that, remember?—that didn't make James's lack of response any less despairing.

                Oh, god, I wanted to cry.

                But I couldn't. Not in front of him. Not then. Not _again_.

                I felt something catch in my throat, a telling sort of burning prickling at the back of my eyes as I gazed fixedly at the fire, biting at my lower lip and still refusing to look at him. I drew in a sharp breath, trying to discover what the quickest way out of this conversation would be—could I make a run for the stairs? Would he catch me? Would he even bother to try?—when James finally spoke.

                "Lil?"

                I didn't want to turn my head. Tears were still an extremely real possibility and I couldn't make that worse by looking at him. I almost didn't, the beginnings of a lame excuse on the tip of my tongue, my feet already starting to move, my head still firmly averted, but before I could get to any of that, a gentle finger caught me under the chin and James took the decision away from me. He turned my head to face him, and when I finally bothered to lift my eyes from where I had them fixated rather determinedly down at his shirt collar, I discovered that James wasn't looking so blank anymore.

                Oh, yeah.

                The dazzling smile? Remember that?

                Making a very triumphant return.

                I very nearly burst into tears right then and there.

                "Good," he whispered harshly, about two seconds before his second arm caught me around the waist and he hauled me up on top of him, his mouth fitting swiftly against mine, interrupting any sort of emotional outburst I may have had.

                Oh...dear?

                Hm.

                I might have made some slight sound of protest—I really don't remember. James makes things a bit foggy—but if I did, it was rather halfhearted and quickly forgotten in lieu of my relief over the fact that James still _wanted_ to snog me, a fact that I had been utterly uncertain of all of a moment ago. Everything else just sort of...faded away. Including things that probably shouldn't have faded away. Like the fact that this was the very _last_ thing I should be doing when I had every intention of telling James that we could not do this on a regular basis. At least, not yet, anyway. But I forgot about that. It legitimately slipped my mind. So as he arched his back over the couch armrest, fitting me closer against his body, his mouth never stopping as it moved against mine, his hands threading through my hair, I really couldn't help but wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss even further, letting his glasses brush against my face and ignoring the slightly awkward position as I just kissed him and kissed him and kissed him...

                I may not be ready for a relationship, but that doesn't make me any less of a Rook Whore. 

                A girl has needs, you know.

                Plus, he _is_ an eight. You try pulling away from that.

                I don't know how long I let him (er, and participated in) kiss me for, sprawled there on the couch like a pair of over-hormonal animals indulging in their carnal vices. I don't think it was too lengthy, but it was long enough for him to have happily settled his hand on the small of my back underneath my t-shirt and certainly long enough for the taste of him to still be lingering in my mouth long after I finally managed to rip my traitorous mouth away from things it should not have been doing. Breathing a bit harshly, I leaned away, ignoring James's protesting groan as I attempted to put even a semblance of space between us. He wasn't making it easy.

                "Wait," I moaned, brushing away James's mouth as he carefully littered kiss after kiss on my cheek, my chin, my neck...oh, _bugger_. "James, _stop_. I have to...tell you...something..."

                "It can wait," he muttered, following me up as I attempted to sit, managing to somehow get me all but straddling him right there on the couch for all the world to see. I caught his face between my hands and pulled it up, locking him and his maddening mouth firmly in place. I shook my head.

                "No," I said, sighing heavily, though I think that might have been mostly because I was still out of breath. "No, it can't wait. It's important."

                "Importance is subjective," James insisted. "I mean, what one person might think is important, another could think—"

                "This _is_ important," I exclaimed, trying to ignore the fact that James's second hand had just decided to take a trip up the back of my shirt to party with its mate and was presently burning imprints on my lower back. I scowled at him, letting one of my hands down from his face in order to go and deal with his. "James Potter, I swear if you don't...oh dear, Merlin, what is _that_?"

                I froze in place, instantly forgetting about James's wandering limbs as my eyes locked on the thing my recently moved hand had just revealed. Leaning in closer, I stared at the slightly purpled bruise that swelled along the left side of James's jaw. It was a small injury, nothing truly damaging, but one that I was alarmed not to have noticed before. I suppose the dim lighting and then my...distraction...had hindered my spotting the bruise sooner, but now, up close and personal, I could see the darkened mark of skin bright and clear. I frowned deeply.

                "What's what?" James asked, regarding me curiously. I wanted to hit him for his stupidity.

                "This!" I all but shouted, gently brushing my finger against the small bruise, careful not to press too hard. I looked James straight in the eye, my concern rampant. "This bruise! Merlin, does it hurt? I didn't bump it when I was snogging you, did I? Oh, I'm so sorry if I did. I didn't notice you'd been hurt—"

                "I'm not hurt," James scoffed, apparently disgruntled that I had disrupted his snogging for something as trivial as his physical health. "It's a tiny mark, Infallible. I'm fine."

                "You're _not_ fine," I insisted, finally scooting off James's lap and sitting myself on the couch like a normal person—though I didn't really move all that far away. I sat up on my knees, cupping his chin lightly, regarding the bruise critically. "Merlin, men are so bloody stubborn. I can't believe you've been walking around with this for two days and never even—"

                "How do you know it's been two days?" James asked, catching my hand with his and pulling it down. He turned his head and regarded me curiously. I could still see the bruise in the dim firelight. "How do you know it didn't happen today? Or Friday?"

                "I just assumed..." I paused, wondering if I had just let something slip that I shouldn't have. It was too late to take it back, though. "Peter and Remus might have mentioned something about you and Sirius fighting Saturday," I confessed, shrugging slightly. "I just assumed it was from that."

                James regarded me quietly, a small frown settling across his face as he took that admission in. His jaw ticked a bit, and I could tell he was annoyed. I slumped down in my seat guiltily.

                "Well, weren't the lot of you a right chattery bunch?" he muttered, shaking his head, though I'm not sure it was really at me. He ran a quick hand through his hair, causing the front ends to stick up. "Couldn't get the ruddy pair of them to open their bloody traps for three seconds all weekend and yet you've got them telling their life stories. Wonderful."

                "It wasn't like that," I insisted, sitting up straighter. "I asked why you weren't...it wasn't intentional, I swear. It just slipped out, I think. Don't be cross with them. But James—"

                "Oh, great. _Here_ it comes."

                "Yes, of course, here it comes!" I snapped, shooting a glare at him. I crossed my arms over my chest and went into lecture mode. "You know very well that you shouldn't be fighting in the first place. It's stupid and childish and clearly you can get hurt! And you _especially_ shouldn't be fighting because of...of..."

                "You?" James finished for me, cocking an eyebrow. He shook his head slowly. "It wasn't because of you, Lily."

                "Don't lie to me," I said sharply, shooting him a look. "It _was_ about me. Peter told me about the 'fucking acid' rants. I shouldn't have told you about any of that in the first place. And it wasn't even Sirius's fault. I told you, he was just—"

                "It doesn't matter," James interrupted, trying to wave the whole thing off with a careless flick of his hand. I wasn't about to let him off so easily and he must have seen that because he let out a large sigh. "Look, maybe it was about you," he admitted reluctantly, jerking a casual shoulder. "But that really doesn't matter. Sirius and I have been needing an excuse to have it out for a while now. You were just my scapegoat."

                "'Having it out' does not have to include trying to pummel each other to death," I insisted stubbornly, still glaring. "Can't you use your words like civilized, adult wizards?"

                "We did use our words," James said, his face suddenly amused. "Colourful ones, in fact. We just accompanied those words with some rowdiness."

                "That's ridiculous."

                "That's how Sirius and I work."

                "That's even _more_ ridiculous."

                "I wasn't asking you for your opinion of it."

                "Well, you're getting it, anyway!"

                I couldn't believe that James was being so utterly childish about this, gazing down at me obstinately as I all but glared daggers at him. Couldn't he see that I was only worried about him? That I would rather not see his untimely death come at the hands of his mad best mate? I understand all the stupid differences between boys and girls and whatnot, but somehow, I just don't see how beating each other to bloody pulps is in any way acceptable—no matter _what_ your gender. And _especially_ when it was over me. Scapegoat or not, I didn't need that sort of responsibility. I mean, it was more than just them physically fighting—the fact that I had caused them to fight at _all_ didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to cause rifts between them. I'm not that girl. I don't tear friendships apart. Sirius is an arse sometimes, but I'd be completely dim if I thought that he wasn't as imperative to James as food or water or air. I didn't want to get in the way of that. I'd be mad to even try.

                And yet...somehow I was.

                Merlin, what a mess. 

                I sighed heavily, dropping my head down in my hand as I rubbed tiredly at my forehead, wishing for the days when things were so much simpler. I suppose James saw the fight filtering out of me and decided he didn't want to deal with it either, because he placed a comforting hand on my back and then pulled me close, letting my head drop into the crook of his neck. I closed my eyes and breathed him in.

                "Don't worry about it," he murmured, slowly skimming his fingers through my messy hair. I hummed contently. "Let Sirius and me deal with our own problems, all right? We've been fine for the last eighteen years, I'm sure we'll be fine for the next eighteen. He's got his own opinions, is all. He'll get over it eventually."

                "He hates me," I muttered, my words slightly muffled against James's neck. "How is he supposed to just 'get over' that?"

                James laughed, dropping a kiss on my head. "He doesn't _hate_ you," he insisted, ruffling my hair a bit. "He's got a few worries, is all. And sometimes...well, I can't say I really _blame_ him, actually. I've got a few worries myself."

                I listened as James's voice turned serious at that last bit, hearing the words—" _I've got a few worries myself"_ —and positively dreading them. Carefully, I pulled away from him, watching hesitantly as his face loomed solemnly above mine. I gulped silently, knowing that the time had come to try to blunder my way through my feelings. There was no more avoiding it. I didn't feel any more confident about muddling through them than I had two days ago, but that couldn't be helped. I needed to have this settled. If not for my own peace of mind, then for James's.

                _Bugger_.

                "James..." I said his name softly, breathlessly, trying to find the proper words to start. There didn't seem to be any. I shifted about nervously. "We need to talk. I need to tell you something important."

                "Yes, we do," James agreed, startling me with his ready compliance. He still looked rather somber, gazing down at me with intense eyes. "I have to tell you a few things, as well," he told me, his voice holding an odd tone. "Things I didn't get to tell you Friday night. Things you should know."

                I nodded, suddenly feeling the little fireflies of panic spring up inside my stomach for the first time in quite awhile. For some reason, 'things you should know' sounded entirely ominous. My head was going, "No, no, no, _no_ ," even as I heard my mouth saying, "All right. You can go first."

                "No," James said, and my head and my stomach and just about everywhere in between and after them did a little dance. "You go first. Mine can wait."

                "All right," I murmured, but then found that I was once again faced with the dilemma of explaining to James why I could happily snog him one second, but would refuse to be with him the next. Merlin, why did it have to sound so _horrible_ like that? "Look," I started, my voice beginning to sound mildly frantic. "I know you must think...well, I don't know what you must think, actually, but I can only imagine...and it's not that I...I..."

                James sighed heavily, cutting off my quiet babbling with his resigned noise, the sound loud and troubling to my ears. I shut my mouth, glancing up at him and watching the frown move across his face, hating that he already knew I had reason for him to put it there. I hung my head and turned red, embarrassed and upset.

                "Bloody hell," he swore, sounding tired and strained all of a sudden. Another sigh. "I _knew_ you were going to make this difficult. I _knew_ it."

                "Please don't sound like that," I pleaded desperately, hating his hopeless tone already and the fact that I had put it there. "Please don't be cross with me. It isn't what you think. If you'll just let me explain—"

                "Grace said you were being stupid," he interrupted, shaking his head. "I thought she just meant with the bloody isolation thing. I didn't think that it got even _more_ stupidthan that."

                "It's not stupid!" I cried, even though it rather was, but that didn't change the fact that it was how I _felt_. "It's not stupid, all right? Maybe it might sound like it to you, but it's not. Not to me. It's important to me. So if you would just listen, I'll explain it to you. All right?"

                James looked like he was quite ready to argue some more, though I'm not entirely sure against what considering he hadn't even bothered to let me explain what was wrong yet. But whether he wanted to bicker about what he didn't understand yet or not, I wasn't about to let him get away with it, so I suppose it was a good thing when instead of fighting more, James gave me a curt nod, agreeing to listen.

                It was a start.

                "Look," I began slowly, pulling nervously at the ends of my hair. James stared at me, still looking reluctantly silent. I sighed. "I wasn't lying before. I meant what I said. Amos and I are done. That's over. And you and I...I mean, you know that I—"

                "Care about me," James finished for me, sounding disgruntled. He crossed his arms over his chest and acted quite as if such a thing was a crime. "Yes, I know. We've had this conversation before, remember? Now I'd like to hear what the problem is."

                "James..."

                "Lily?"

                "I just...need some time."

                There.

                I said it.

                The second the words left my mouth, James's expression shifted from belligerently strained to mildly exasperated, which might have been a good sign, though I wasn't entirely sure. I wasn't really paying that much attention, actually, seeing as I was far too consumed by my sudden lightness, the admission lifting the anvil of pressure that had been weighing heavily upon me since Saturday afternoon. If there were any questions left regarding whether or not this was the right thing to do, they left the moment I felt how relieved I was. That amount of alleviation couldn't possibly mean anything other than I was right to be asking for time. I just hoped that James would understand that. 

                I wasn't terribly shocked when he...well, didn't.

                "Time?" He said the word with resignation, almost as if he'd been expecting it. He nodded as if accepting the answer, though I wasn't holding my breath over that one. "All right," he said flatly, looking at me expectantly. "Let's hear why you think you need time."

                I sent him a look, letting him know that I didn't like his dubious tone. "It's not what I think, it's what I _know_ ," I corrected, my voice firm. I launched straight into my argument, the words coming out surprisingly easily. "I'm not making this purposefully difficult. That not what it is. I just...if we're going to do this, we should do it right, shouldn't we? I want to do it right. And now...well, now it's not. Right, I mean. It's too soon, too fast. I can't jump into this. And you wouldn't want me to, right?"

                "We wouldn't be jumping into anything!" James argued, shaking his head. He let out a sigh. "Come on, Lil. You know that's rubbish. We both know exactly what we're doing. There isn't any jumping."

                "How can you even say that?" I asked, affronted. "Or have you suddenly forgotten that as of yesterday, I was dating someone else? Do you want to be a rebound relationship?"

                "Rebound?" James snorted loudly, rolling his eyes. "Lily, you went out on _one_ date with Diggory. It wasn't exactly a lasting relationship."

                "It was inside my head!"

                "So now I'm battling against your mad imagination?"

                "Yes!"

                James had the audacity to laugh at that, ignoring my fierce scowls as he hacked it up, finding my very serious arguments...well, not so. "That's mad, even for you," he said, giving me a pointed look. "You can't be serious, Lily."

                "I'm extremely serious," I huffed, shooting him a glare. " _You're_ the one who's not being serious. You obviously want this to fail."

                "I want this to start!" James shot back, still laughing. " _You're_ the one who seems to be having a problem with that."

                "I don't have a _problem_ with it," I insisted stubbornly, lifting my chin. "I simply have issue with the _timing_. I don't want..." I paused, trying to figure out how to explain this. "It's like this," I started again. "You and I...we're special, all right? We're really, really...and I don't want to ruin that! You're important— _too_ important. I couldn't...without you..." I took a deep breath, trying to talk in more than just useless fragments that made no sense at all. My mouth didn't want to cooperate, though. "I'm not going to lose you over this," I finally got out, my voice hard. "I refuse to. So we're doing it right or we're not doing it at all. That's it."

                James didn't speak for a few moments following my babbling rant, staring at me with a peculiar sort of look etched across his face, his jaw tense. I thought for a moment that perhaps his silence meant that I might actually have gotten through to him despite the argument's nonsensical nature, but I found out soon enough that that wasn't the case. In fact, it was quite the opposite. James remained quiet for a few more seconds, then shook his head at me.

                "Christ," he muttered, looking at me with far more astuteness than I was entirely comfortable with. "I knew you weren't fond of change, Infallible, but I didn't think it was _this_ bad. You don't have to be afraid of it."

                My mouth fell open, a noise of protest falling from my lips. "No," I stuttered. "No, it's not...I'm not _afraid_ of change. It's nothing to do with change. It has to do with—"

                "It has everything to do with it!" James bit off, his voice snappish. He looked like he wanted to yell something else, but suddenly stopped himself. His face lost its fight and when he spoke next, his voice was much softer. "You're not going to lose me," he told me forcefully, lifting a hand to run it slowly through my hair, coming to rest at the nape of my neck. I tried to ignore the pleasant feel of it. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. Being together wouldn't change anything important, Lily. We'd still be the same two people doing the same mad things—except now we could do them together. What could possibly be wrong with that?"

                "Relationships fall apart all the time," I whispered, giving into temptation and turning my cheek into his hand. "Things _will_ change. How could you not think so?"

                "Because we won't let them," James answered simply, smiling. "It's as easy as that."

                He said it so casually, his smile so bright and straightforward, that I desperately wanted to believe him. 'We won't let them' was about the simplest argument there was, though, and one my mind couldn't quite accept. And while I utterly refused to go along with these claims that I'm afraid of change, I'm not so oblivious that I didn't realise that I'm not entirely _fond_ of it, so perhaps that was what was making this so hard. But I couldn't help how I felt. Whatever my reasons for balking, it didn't much matter. Rational or irrational, it didn't make them any less present. I couldn't do this when the mere thought of it sent me into whirlwinds of panic. That would ruin it, no matter how much James or I tried to stop it. I wouldn't let that happen. I _wouldn't_.

                I don't know what it was or what exactly I was doing in the short time that all these thoughts were running through my head, but it must have been something telling or at least convincing because James's heavy sigh snapped me out of my thoughts, drawing my gaze back to his. When I looked, his mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes calculating, looking more green than brown as he regarded me carefully. They remained steady on my face as he opened his mouth to speak.

                "All right," he bit out gruffly, his expression unmoved. "Say...let's just _say_ that I agree to this time business. How long are we talking here? A few days? A week?"

                "Er." My heart soared inside my chest, my mind barely able to wrap itself around the fact that he might actually agree to this. "I don't...well, I don't really know..."

                " _More_ than a week?" James demanded.

                "Until the mere thought of it doesn't make my stomach explode in panic," I blurted out, the only answer I could think of. Oh, _bugger_. I wanted to slap myself in the face for my utter ridiculousness. James looked a bit startled by it, as well, but after a moment, nodded.

                "All right," he said flatly, grudgingly. "Didn't know it was like _that_."

                "Now you see why I'm so desperate," I muttered, grimacing slightly.

                I waited for James to say something more, seeing his own small grimace as I waited for him to give me a definite acceptance or to pick up the fight where he had left it off, back at 'we won't let them.' I glanced down at my lap, staring at my hands as I fiddled them anxiously. Would he agree? I knew it was a mad plan and I knew that I really had no right to ask him to wait around for me—hadn't he already been doing that for the past...however long? Who was I to demand even more?—but I hoped he would nonetheless. James had been more than accommodating to me and my madnesses before this, but how much more could he take? How much more would he _bother_ to take? I didn't know how much further I could push him. I didn't know if this would be the last straw. I didn't know what I'd do if it was.

                I was so lost in my own panic and distress, buried in my thoughts of how James couldn't _possibly_ be mad enough to want to take me on after this, that I didn't notice when he moved. In fact, I didn't notice anything at all until I felt him catch under my chin with his finger again, nudging my down turned head up until my eyes met his once more. I started suddenly, my eyes flashing to his. What I saw there nearly caused me to break down.

                Oh, thank _Merlin_.

                "All right," he whispered, giving me a tight nod. "All right, I'll wait. But there are a few conditions."

                "What?" I asked, but I was so relieved by that point that I think he could have very well asked me to go punt a few babies around the Quidditch Pitch and I would have happily skipped off to find some desperate mothers. Luckily, punting babies was not one of James's requests.

                "First," he said, holding up one finger, his look very serious, "there will be no more accepting Hogsmeade dates—or _any_ dates—from other blokes. I'm not going through that shit again. If nothing else, I have unofficial claim, got it?"

                "Agreed," I said instantly, giving him a nod. I bit my lip, then quickly added, "I wouldn't want to, anyway. I don't care about anyone else."

                James grunted appreciatively at that, but gave no other recognition to my telling admission. He simply went on to the next condition. "Secondly," he said, holding up two fingers, "we talk to each other. No more dancing around this. When you're ready, you tell me. If you...if you decide otherwise, you tell me that, as well. No more hiding in your dormitory for days on end or I swear to Merlin I'm going to grab my broom and come flying up there after you. Understood?"

                "Understood," I repeated, nodding again. The image of James barging into the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory on his broom made me want to smile, but I figured there's a time and place and this probably wasn't it. But I grinned internally. "That's fair."

                "And lastly," James concluded, ticking off a third and final finger. He paused at this one, his formerly serious face suddenly breaking out into a rather deviously mischievous expression. My eyebrows instantly shot up. Uh-oh. "I retain all rights to at all times try and convince you otherwise," he said, his very familiar grin shining big and dashingly at me. "However and whenever I deem appropriate."

                Oh, yeah _right_.

                "Objection," I instantly announced, more than a little suspicious of that sneaky grin. Psh. Thinks he can pull a fast one on me, does he? Think again, ponce! "Those are rotten terms and you know it, James Potter. It completely defeats the purpose of taking time if you're just going to spend most of it snogging me into submission, anyway. Alter your third term or you've lost, mister. There's no way you're getting consent for that one."

                "Snog you into submission?" James pretended to look offended, ignoring every other thing I said and naturally focusing in on that bit. He looked quite pleased with himself, even through his fake outrage. "Honestly, Infallible, do you truly think that's all I have to convince you I'm worth it? Decent snogging skills?"

                "I think you have an entire arsenal full of tricks and talents," I replied flatly, "and I think you know exactly which ones are the most effective."

                James grin widened.

                Stupid little git.

                " _Fine_ ," he gave in with a dramatic sigh, huffing and puffing and looking all put out, though he was probably anything but. I rolled my eyes at his pathetic antics. "I suppose number three can be altered slightly. What exactly are you so cross over?"

                "There can be no taking advantage," I insisted, crossing my arms firmly over my chest. "Convincing me is all well and good, but not if you're going to make it so we're practically together anyway. That'll just get me cross with you. None of this 'however, whenever' business. It has to be reasonable."

                "Reasonable by whose standards?" James asked.

                "Mine," I answered. "Society's."

                James seemed to think about this for a moment, though I'm pretty sure he was just doing it for show. I threw him a look, but he only grinned, letting out another dramatic sigh as he finally gave in. "All right," he grumbled, shaking his head at me. "You've got yourself a deal, Infallible. You can have your time—for now, anyway."

                "Wait," I interrupted, something suddenly coming to me. James looked questioningly at me. "I have another condition," I explained.

                "A fourth?" James seemed genuinely perplexed by this, as if the number four had never occurred to him. I nodded. "Let's hear it," he said.

                "This doesn't affect our being mates," I commanded, looking at James very seriously, my tone unyielding. "No matter what happens from now until...when this ends, we stay mates, all right? You said you wouldn't let that change and now I'm calling you on it. It can't. That's the fourth condition—you and I stay the same. Got it?"

                James listened to my fourth condition with an odd sort of expression on his face, something between exasperation and tenderness that I tried not to lose myself in too much. I tried to ignore it, just waiting for his compliance. I didn't care how mad I sounded—this was important to me.

                "Lily..." he finally sighed, but it was not the acceptance I was looking for. I instantly cut him off.

                "Promise?" I demanded. "Do you promise?"

                James opened his mouth to say something—probably also something I didn't want to hear—but seemed to change his mind at the last moment. After a second's hesitation, he closed his mouth and gave me a nod, quick and definitive. "Yeah," he finally said, his voice low. "Yeah, I promise."

                I gave him a nod back.

                We were quiet for a moment, both staring at each other with expressionless looks. I didn't know what James was thinking, but I was reveling in my sudden peace of mind, in the fact that—if it were possible—I think I had just started fancying this bloke even more. I didn't deserve him. Not in the least. But I wasn't giving him up, either. Not for anything.

                "James?"

                "What?"

                "Thank you."

                As I blushed fantastically, James only smiled, the half-crooked one that was decidedly discomforting for several reasons. The devilish look in his eyes didn't help. "Don't thank me just yet," he muttered.

                Er...what?

                "What are you—"

                Those were the only three words I managed to get out before I was snatched up from the couch and plopped right back on James's lap where—oh, bloody hell, was he _serious_?—mouths were quickly put to better use than for silly talking.

                Okay, had I been talking to _myself_ for the past ten minutes?

                _What was he doing_?

                "Hey!" I shouted, ripping my mouth away from his just as it was—regrettably—starting to get good. I would've glared at him, but I was a bit dazed. "What do you think you're doing, James Potter? Mates don't snog!"

                "I'm exercising my third right," James insisted, catching my mouth again, even though I tried to get away. His lips brushed mine. "This is Plan A," he whispered, breaking away only long enough to say the words. "Plan A, part one."

                Then he went at it again.

                Psh.

                Really, it's no wonder I'm so messed up. Look at the people I hang around.

                This time I was _sure_ I made a protesting noise, one that was drowned out in James's mouth as he kissed me. He held my face between his hands, tilting it to the side to get better access, not stopping even when my protesting noises turned into contented sighs. After that, I just sort of gave in, letting him ease me back until I was lying down with my back to the couch, my front to James's. I told myself that it was all right because this was the last time I'd be doing this—starting tomorrow, we were seriously going to be _just mates_. That's all. I was getting my time. So I should probably indulge as much as possible now, just to get it out of my system and such. That's what I told myself, anyway, needing approval for the fact that I was kissing him back just as ardently, or that _my_ hands were the ones sneaking up the back of his shirt this time, or that not speaking up when he finally gave my mouth a break and began nibbling lightly at my neck was the right thing to do.

                Yeah.

                Rook Whore. I know.

                James had just managed to rediscover my mouth after wandering around a bit to other places (though nowhere like _that,_ for Merlin's sake. I mean, I'm not _that_ much of a Rook Whore. It wandered respectable places. Or as respectable as places get where snogging is concerned), when, quite out of nowhere, he pulled his mouth away from mine. I thought he was going to go traveling some more and made a noise of disapproval as I tried to guide his mouth back to mine, but James wasn't having any of it. When his mouth was still nowhere to be found after a few seconds, I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, his face flushed and his breathing uneven. He had the bright sort of look in his eyes that I had—pathetically—already come to know rather well. I stared at him questioningly.

                "Are you properly flustered?" he asked me, his voice more raspy than usual. I barely heard his question, which I suppose gave him his answer.

                "Hm?" I hummed, words far beyond me at that point. James grinned, bending down to kiss me again. It was a quick kiss, though, there and gone in a second. I wanted to sulk. What was he doing?

                "Good," is what he said, just after the quick kiss. He gave me one more, but didn't back away this time. His mouth moved towards my ear. I wondered what he was going to do over there.

                "James," I groaned, wishing he'd stop teasing. I heard his deep chuckle sound in my ear about two seconds before he spoke again.

                "Lily," he whispered, his voice gruff in my ear. He chuckled again. "Welcome to Plan A, part two."

                And then—and I swear, this _actually happened_ —he chuckled some more, gave me one more quick kiss, then got right up off the couch, and left.

                He _left_.

                He got up and _left me on the couch while we were snogging_.

                _Left_!!

                It took me a second to comprehend it, feeling his weight lift off me and the sudden coldness that the absence of his body heat left in its wake, but not fully realising that he'd left—actually _left_ —until I somehow managed to turn my head just as he was striding away, already halfway to the boys' staircase. My mouth fell open. My brain clicked back on.

                "H-hey!" I sputtered, shooting up from my lying position, trying to get my heart rate back to a normal beat as I watched his retreating back reach the foot of the stairs. "W-where are you going?"

                James turned, the snarky grin on his face letting me know that the prat knew _exactly_ what he was doing and _exactly_ what it was doing to me. I scowled fiercely at him, watching as he gave me his most casual smile, trying to act like this was all very cool and normal and not at all like he had just been snogging me like a starving madman and was now on the other side of the room, without a single word.

                If I'd had my wand on hand, I would've hexed him. As it was though, I merely had to settle for glaring.

                It was nearly as satisfying.

                "I told you," James had the audacity to say, stopping next to the boys' staircase and leaning against the wall that stood just next to it. He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's Plan A, part two."

                "Plan A, part _what_?" I snapped.

                James chuckled, a sound I was quickly getting quite sick of. Looking far too smug than any one person had any right to, he pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps back towards me, regarding me with a most amused expression.

                "My mother," he started carefully, crossing his arms back over his chest. "She's a very smart woman, you know. And she taught me this thing that I've never forgotten, though it hasn't been much use to me until now."

                "Oh?" I asked through clenched teeth, wondering why the bloody hell he was bringing up family anecdotes _now_. "And what would that be?"

                James grinned.

                "Well," he answered. "One day, she sat me down and she told me, 'Do you know what, James? Here's an important lesson for you to learn about members of the opposite sex.'" James made a dramatic pause, stopping for only a moment in order to shoot a pointed look at me. Then he told me what his mother had said. "'No one is going to buy the cow,'" he recited dutifully, "'when they can get the milk for _free_.'"

                Oh, dear Merlin.

                Cow? Milk? 

                Was he _serious_?

                He was.

                "So _then_ ," James went on, now looking even smugger than before. He started to say more, but then suddenly paused, closing his mouth mid-sentence. He scrunched his face up in thought, the smugness going away for a moment. He scratched his head. "Er," he muttered, wincing a bit, "Actually, I think maybe _I_ was the one who wasn't supposed to be getting the milk for free. I can't quite remember..." He stopped again, then tossed away the problem with a careless wave of his hand. "Whatever," he said, shaking his head. "The point _is_ "—he looked straight at me—" _you_ , Lily Evans, have officially been cut _off_."

                "Excuse me?" I sputtered.

                James looked utterly pleased with himself.

                "Cut off!" he cried again, giving me a firm nod. He pointed an accusatory finger at me. "I know your game," he said. "You're the consumer and I'm the cow and so long as I'm providing, you're content, so you'll never see the need to buy. Well that ends now. This cow's milk is _officially_ off the market."

                "You have _got_ to be kidding me," I muttered, staring at him in disbelief. James only grinned some more.

                "Not in the least," he declared pompously, putting on haughty airs. He cocked his head towards the couch. "You want more of that milk? Well, then buy the cow. That's how this is going to work, Infallible. Take all the _time_ you need."  
                 
                My mouth dropped open, words not even remotely able to come out. I couldn't believe him. What nerve! What audacity! That whole snogging bit had just been part of his stupid milk plan! He'd _meant_ to frazzle me and then ditch me! He'd _meant_ it! And now I was supposed to go and buy his stupid, no-good, high-handed, bastard cow? After _that_?

                Ha!

                I think _not_.

                I crossed my arms over my chest, my temper rising as I stared at James and his stupid superior grin. I glared daggers at him, suddenly wishing for something big or heavy or sharp.

                Stupid _jerk_.

                "Hmph!" I scoffed, tossing my hair over my shoulder and sticking my nose in the air, refusing to even waste any more of my time glaring. Though I _did_ shoot him a quick, dirty look as I muttered contemptuously, "You know, I always thought I was rather lactose intolerant."

                James laughed—just out and out laughed—at that, nodding appreciatively, even as his voice still held a highly amused tone. 

                "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, grinning at me. "Though I think there's some sort of potion for that now, isn't there?"

                "Psh," I sneered, turning back only to glare some more at him. I decided it was worthwhile. "Who needs a potion? I've suddenly decided that there are some things a girl can do without. I'm thinking milk is one of them."

                "Ha!" James laughed. "You'll cave. You just wait."

                "Someone is a bit arrogant, isn't he?"

                "Some cows have every right to be."

                "Some consumers know better."

                James grinned again. "Quick as a whip even going on three, aren't you, Infallible?" He smiled at me admiringly. "That's why you're worth it."

                I could feel my face start to heat up, my anger starting to melt away as he kept looking at me with that same warm look. I shifted stubbornly in my seat and shot him another look, refusing to give into the urge to just up and tackle him, milk and cows be damned. "Maybe _you're_ not worth it," I muttered petulantly, even though that was about the biggest lie ever. Instead of being wounded or offended, James simply laughed some more.

                "Lies," he claimed, sighing lightly at me. "Lies, lies, lies. I thought you were quitting that?"

                "Old habits die hard."

                "Tell me about it."

                James had started making his way back towards the boys' staircase as we traded our mindless banter, his feet moving in time with our silly quips. He had just managed to reach the foot of the stairs when his last one came out, and something in my chest suddenly went off, calling for action. Before I really had any time to think about it, my mouth was already off and running.

                "James!" I called.

                He turned, a questioning look on his face. I felt myself flush, though that didn't stop the words from coming out. They were once again entirely out of my control.

                "Tomorrow," I heard myself say, and Merlin be damned if I didn't suddenly sound entirely, pathetically, desperate. James must have heard it too because his look turned a bit concerned. My mouth kept going though. "Tomorrow," I said again, "you can't forget. We're still mates. Nothing's changed. Remember?"

                James's face turned even warmer than before at my words, that familiar little smile of his creeping onto his face, just for me. All for me. He nodded his head.

                "I remember," he said, his voice low. He looked like he wanted to say more, but then stopped himself. Instead, he merely lifted a hand and whispered, "Good night, Lily."

                "Night," I muttered back, lifting a hand in return.

                I watched him turn, his back suddenly towards me, his feet moving once again as he made his way back up the stairs, disappearing into the darkened staircase. I let out a large sigh, letting myself fall back down on the couch, closing my eyes as the entire night's (or rather, morning's) events mixed in my head. I couldn't have been lying there for five seconds before the quiet sound reached my ears.

                Mooing.

                Someone was mooing.

                That was how I ended up lying on the Common Room couch at three in the morning, nuzzled with my blankets and flushed in the face, laughing quietly but madly until I could barely breathe, the world suddenly looking a whole lot more wonderful than it had only an hour before.

                For once, I won't go to bed cursing my wretched life.

                It's a rather refreshing change.

______________________________________________

**Monday, October 20th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**   
**Observant Lily: Day 35**   
**Total Observations: 219**

                 
 _Dear Lily,_

_What a lovely note. It's always so good to hear from you, what with you being so busy and so far away. This one came just before breakfast. I just love having something to glance over during morning tea, don't you? It starts the day off just right._

_Just thought I'd tell you that I've taken the liberty of looking into a few of these 'remote hospitals' you've taken a fancy to. Some of them sound quite nice. However, you already have a lovely castle that you're presently living in_ — _why not think a bit more about that move, love? Just a suggestion._

_How was your date? Lovely, I'm sure._

_Say hello to James for me._

_I love you, Lily._

_Mum_

____________________________________


	19. October 20th: More or Less Mates with Potential

**Author's Notes:** Ah, so here we are again. Late, as always, but still here, so let's cheer for that, right? Here is chapter nineteen--or the end of part one, as I've recently dubbed it. I thought I was halfway through before, but that was a bit of a lie. This is the true halfway point. I hope you enjoy it. There are a couple of laughs, some petty drama, and one delicious, dirty pun. Many, many thanks go to my betas, Andie and Ben, who are magnificent always and help more than I can say. And, of course, to every reader and reviewer. I appreciate you all. You have no idea. Hopefully it won't be seven years until chapter twenty, yeah? =P

__________________________

“Sometimes life seems like a dream, especially when I look down and see that I forgot to put on my pants”�

-Jack Handy  
__________________________

**Chapter Nineteen: October 20th:** More or Less Mates with Potential

______________________________________________  
**Monday, October 20th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 219**

                Thinks she's so clever, does she?

                "Think a bit more about that move?" "Lovely, I'm sure?" "Say hello to James for me?"

                Ha.

                Pardon me if I don't clutch my stomach in uncontrollable mirth, Mum. Perhaps your charming and stellar wit is simply lost upon me.

                Can one disown one's parent?

                I suppose I'll have to look it up.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Still in the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 220**

                Despite the fact that I'm still considering whether or not I would really mind living eternally sanso one parental unit (my conclusion? I'd survive), I've found that I am nonetheless relatively content with my present place and self. This contentment might have something to do with the fact that I'm actually leaving Gryffindor Tower for the first time in two days, but I'm relatively certain that it can mostly be attributed to the fact that I'm embarking upon this solo-exodus without the least bit of trepidation about anyone that I may come across out there. 

                Something new for me, isn't it?

                It's quite exhilarating, actually. To not be utterly terrified of leaving my room because of the people roaming about out there, I mean. That's usually quite the problem for me. But since I have the whole thing settled with James (even if he's suddenly decided to become some sort of greedy bovine) and though I haven't exactly officially ended things with Amos, I think perhaps that Grace is right–I don't _really_ need to have this whole to-do about breaking it off with him. I mean, it _was_ only one date and it _had_ been rather final there at the end. Maybe I'll just give him a bit of a platonic smile as we cross paths in Runes or something. That's really all that's necessary. 

Everything's fine. What's there to stress over, hm?

                Nothing much, and that's my point. Huzzah, hoorah for me!

                Breakfast time, I think.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 220**

                The walk from Gryffindor Tower was a rather jaunty affair, with an extra bit of skip in my step and some (perhaps slightly off-key) happy humming along with it. By the time I made it into the Great Hall, my grin was probably rather obnoxious, but I honestly couldn't muster up enough self-consciousness to care. There was a small dent in my bubble of giddiness when I saw that James wasn't down yet, but I perked right back up when I reminded myself that he'd be there soon enough and that, more importantly, it was considerably pathetic for someone who is presently _still_ just mates with someone else to be so disheartened over the fact that that person isn't constantly hanging about. So I should really stop that. Or at least try. Hard. So with that thought in mind, I caught Marley's eye as she spared a brief glance up from her _Prophet_ and gave her my biggest grin and a wave as I flounced over.  
                 
                "Hello, sunshine," she said, giving me a returning smile as I slid into my seat across from her. Her eyebrow was slightly cocked. "You're in quite the bright mood this morning."

                "What's not to be bright about?" I asked, plunking my bag down on the floor and reaching out to snag the pumpkin juice. Marley's eyes widened.

                "Oh, boy," she said, and dropped the _Prophet_ down onto the table. "Who'd you snog?"

                "What?" I froze with the pumpkin juice stopped midair halfway to my cup. I absolutely refused to blush. "Why did I have to snog someone? Can't I just be in a bright mood?"

                "It was either James or Diggory," Marley speculated, completely ignoring me. "Now the question is, which one?"

                "Oh, for Merlin's sake–"

                "You frowned when you first walked in." Marley tapped at her chin contemplatively. "James isn't here. Which means–"

                " _Marley_ –"

                "Sweet Merlin, it was James!" If it was possible, Marley's grin widened even further. She was practically hooting with delighted laughter. "You were completely over Diggory Saturday, I saw it! Lily Evans, you little tart! You snogged James! When? Saturday? Yesterday? Holy Harpies, this _morning_?"

                "Can you keep your voice down?" I hissed, and I _know_ my face was completely blotched with red now despite my every attempt to control it. Bloody hell, why am I so utterly transparent? "It's not what you think, all right? Yes, I'm over Amos, you were right about that. But James and I...well, we're still just mates. For now, anyway."

                "Mates who snog?" Marley asked.

                "No!" I rolled my eyes and tried to look all put out, but I don't think I managed it, seeing as I was tomato red. "What's with the snogging? Why did we have to snog? I never said we snogged. We didn't snog!"

                Marley cackled.

                "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

                "Me thinks shut _up_."

                Marley let out another loud laugh, which only caused me to turn redder. 

                "Oh, this is priceless!" she cheered, clapping her hands together in glee. "Just perfect. Completely adorable!"

                "Are you even listening to me? I said we're not together!"

                "I don't believe you."

                "Why not?" I demanded, all but throwing my hands up in frustration. "I should know, shouldn't I? And look, I'm not saying that it might not happen _somet_ ime, but trust me when I say that presently, James and I are _only_ mates. Really. It's strictly platonic...with potential. Yes, that's it. Platonic with potential. That's all."

                "Platonic with potential?" Marley repeated dubiously. When all I did was nod definitively, Marley's nose crinkled. She let out a sigh of defeat. "Well, all right," she muttered, not sounding pleased about it. "I suppose you should know. Don't really understand it, of course, but if you say so–"

                "Morning."

                The sound of James's voice, sudden and close, startled me a bit, but I think my abruptly quickened heartbeat and slight swoop of the stomach was due more to his mere existence than because of the suddenness of his appearance. Recovering (sort of), I spared him a short glance over my shoulder as he walked towards us before turning back to Marley with a “See? Told you. Watch”� sort of satisfied look.

                Then James swooped down and pecked my cheek as he took the seat next to me.

                My mouth dropped open.

                Marley snorted into her _Prophet_.

                Dear Merlin, I was going to kill him.

                "Good morning," he said again, and grinned winningly at me. I barely suppressed the urge to smack it off his smug face.

                "What. Are. You. _Doing_?" I hissed through clenched teeth, shooting him my darkest, most menacing glare. He had the audacity to feign innocence.

                "What?" he asked, dropping his rucksack on the floor next to mine. He grinned again. "Can't a bloke kiss a mate good morning?"

                Oh, _hell_.

                "I didn't see you kissing Marley good morning," I bit out, as the girl in question all but convulsed in laughter across from us, the paper in front of her face shaking tellingly. James glanced over at her just as the _Prophet_ slipped through her unsteady fingers.

                "Oh, terribly sorry, Marley," he said with a conspiring grin (as if I couldn't _see_ it). "Did you want a kiss good morning, as well?"

                "Oh, no," Marley somehow got out through her suppressed laughter. "Quite all right, James. I'm fine, thank you. You can give Lily mine if you'd like."

                "Why, Marley, what a lovely–"

                "Don't you _dare_."

                "Oh, look!" Marley shouted loudly, rising from her seat suddenly. She was glancing towards the Hufflepuff table. "There's my mate, Ted. I should go say hello. Haven't seen him in the longest. Be right back!"

                Then she dashed off–the bloody traitor–with an entirely less-than-subtle wink.

                I had thoughts of killing her, but decided to take it out on James instead.

                I turned on him, glaring.

                He laughed.

                "What the bloody hell are you doing?" I cried shrilly, scowling dangerously. "Didn't you listen to a bloody word I said last night?"

                "I listen to everything you say," James answered.

                "Then what are you _doing_?" I demanded again, trying not to scream. "What's with the...the...mates don't kiss other mates good morning and you know it, James Potter!"

                James grabbed a piece of toast off the plate in front of him and took a bite, appearing to consider this as he chewed. "Well," he said finally, giving me a shrug, "perhaps my mates are just a lot more affectionate than yours."

                I smacked him upside the head.

                "Ow," he said dully, then took another bite of toast. He ducked his head down, but I saw the stupid grin. I scowled bitterly.

                "I can't believe you," I muttered, glaring down at my plate because I refused to look at him. "You agreed to my terms. You promised. And what about your stupid cow plan, hm? I thought you weren't giving out any more milk, you dirty hypocrite."

                "I know what I promised and I haven't broken it," James insisted, and I could feel him shift closer, felt his mouth move towards my ear. I may have caught my breath a bit, but I refused to give him the sort of woozy reaction I knew he wanted. "And by the way," he whispered, practically nuzzling against my neck now, "if you think _that_ pathetic sort of morning peck was milk, Infallible, it seems that I have a lot to teach you."

                Oh, bloody hell.

                "Shut up," I muttered, hating how my voice was all croaky, hating how he could set an endless stream of the worst sorts of images in my head without even trying. "Shut _up_. I am so cross with you right now, I could scream. You have some nerve."

                "Why?" James asked, and the way he said it, all taunting and sort of put out, I had to look at him, even though I hated to. The boy was too attractive for his own good. He made me forget I was seething. "What're you so cross about? I told you, I haven't broken my promise. We're still mates. I'm giving you time. But I'm not giving up, Infallible. There's a difference. And _you_ agreed that I have every right to try and convince you that you don't want this mate business in the meantime, didn't you?"

                "Yes, but within reason–"

                "Well, I haven't _mauled_ you or anything, have I?"

                "That's not–"

                "It's exactly the point. Now quit arguing with me. You're ruining my breakfast."

                I threw him a look, one that said he wasn't off the hook, even if he _maybe_ had a bit of a point. I mean, I _did_ agree that he could try to convince me otherwise. And I suppose society in general really couldn't find that big of a fault with a semi-innocent peck on the cheek, even if he did follow it up with all that seems-I-have-a-lot-to-teach-you innuendo rubbish. 

                Which _was_ rubbish, by the way. 

                Much to teach me, my arse. I know plenty. More than plenty. I bet I have things to teach _him_.

                Maybe.

                "I have to think about this," I muttered, shooting him another look as he began filling up his plate with various breakfast foods. "We may have to renegotiate our terms."

                "That was a firm verbal agreement," James argued. "What if I don't want to renegotiate?"

                "Of course you want to," I said. "You're a very flexible bloke."

                "The only way this deal is changing is if you're giving in." James turned and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are you giving in?"

                "No."

                "Didn't think so."

                I rolled my eyes as James only laughed, somehow amused by this whole transaction. I shook my head and sighed, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into and why only ten minutes ago I'd thought everything was bright and happy in the world. I must have forgotten that this is _my_ world. When is anything ever bright and happy there?

                I was about to make a remark to James that probably would have gone something along the lines of, "Why do I fancy you, you stupid berk?" when Marley came flouncing back over to the Gryffindor table, obviously figuring that she'd visited with 'Ted' long enough. She sat down with the biggest cat-that-caught-the-canary look directed unwaveringly at me, making it rather hard to ignore. I held back my sigh.

                "Hello," she said, grinning some more. "How goes it?"

                "Just fine," I answered, shooting her an I-know-what-it-looks-like-but-you've-got-it-all-wrong pointed stare. "How was Tom?"

                "Oh, Tom was fine," Marley answered, and I could tell by her grin that she knew very well that 'Tom' had been 'Ted' all of ten minutes ago. As she picked up her previously abandoned _Prophet_ once more, her grin still entirely too snarky for my liking, she asked, "Are you not eating this morning, Lily?"

                "I'm eating," I insisted, eyes narrowing. "Just haven't had the chance to fill my plate."

                "Oh, good," Marley said, and her snarky smirk went sharp. She winked. "Balanced breakfast and all."

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

                "Marley–"

                "Milk?" James offered, thrusting the jug in my face. He winked, too.

                This is why I'm not making it to eighteen.

______________________________________________  
**Still Later, Ancient Runes**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 220**

                James flat-out insisted on walking me to Runes, not taking no for an answer even though I told him he was being a prat and even though he was undoubtedly going to be late to Arithmancy because of it. I gave him endless hell all the way to the classroom, but he didn't seem to care, which just goes to show how mentally stable the boy really is.

                "You're about the worst mate ever," I told him as we walked, still trying to snatch my bag–which he'd stolen back in the Great Hall and had insisted on carrying, even though I'm hardly an invalid– off his shoulder. I gave him my dirtiest look as he easily evaded my grasping hands, hating how he could just stand there and grin as if I were nothing more than an insignificant buzzing fly dodging about his person. I scowled fiercely. "First the whole kissing good morning thing, then walking me to class, now carrying my books...is this plan A, part 3 or something? Because if so, I object."

                "You object to everything," James retorted, shooting me a sidelong glance. "Why would I start listening to you now?"

                "Um, because you're trying to get in my good favour, remember?"

                James snorted. "I'm already in your good favour, Lily. I'm just trying to get you to admit it."

                "Pah!" I scoffed bitterly, crossing my arms over my chest. "You're wrong. I hate you."

                James only laughed.

                I should have been–and tried to be–cross over the fact that he seemed to be completely disregarding the fact that we were supposed to be _just mates_ from now until whenever, but I suppose it says something remarkably pathetic about me and my resolve that all I could manage to be was minimally annoyed–and that was mostly because he knew exactly what to do to push my buttons. Even as he strolled along beside me, grinning like a stupid, arrogant loon, I couldn't muster up a proper disdainful glare. It was really quite inconvenient.

                It wasn't until we were standing outside the Runes classroom that James finally slipped my bag off his shoulder, passing it over to me with a knowing sort of twinkle in his eyes. I snatched it back with as much of a sneer as I could manage.

                "You're welcome," he said cheerfully, grinning wickedly at my pathetic look. "I very much enjoyed our walk, Infallible."

                "Like hell you did," I shot back, tossing my bag over my own shoulder and huffing perhaps a bit petulantly. "And now you're going to be late to Arithmancy and I don't feel the least bit bad about it."

                "You're serious?" James let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Arithmancy is all of two minutes from here, Lily. Besides, I could teach that stupid class. I won't miss anything."

                "You could get detention."

                "What else is new?"

                "You are so _frustrating_!" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air as James continued to laugh. "Must you and that stupid mouth of yours have an answer for absolutely everything?"

                James grinned.

                "Well," he said, "I _could_ think of a few better things me and my mouth could be doing...oh, wait. Mates don't do that, do they? Nevermind."

                Oh, ha _ha_.

                "I'm going to class," I huffed, ignoring James and his stupid mouth and his stupid laughter and his stupid everything-else-about-him as I spun on my heels and gave him my back. "Maybe you can try and remember how to be a proper mate in the meantime.”�

                "Don't miss me too much," James replied. "We'll be together again soon."

                I shot him a particularly rude hand gesture (that I probably learned from him in the first place. Corruption, that's what this is!) and stomped straight into the classroom, ignoring the sound of his laughter behind me.

                Stupid bastard.

                Honestly, he's such a ponce. 'Don't miss me too much.' Psh. As if I would even spare him a thought! As if he'd even get a modicum of my attention! Ha! He wishes! And just because–

                "'Scuse me, Evans. Can we have a chat?"

                Oh, dear Merlin, Hyena Boy, don't you see I'm in the _middle_ of something?

______________________________________________  
**Still Later, Still in Ancient Runes**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 221**

                Shit.

                _Shit_.

                Okay, must calm down– _must_ calm down. It will be all right. Breathe. Just breathe. We'll sort this whole thing out. Everything will be just fine. I mean, it probably didn't even mean what I thought it meant, right? It totally didn't. It was probably just...you know...

                Oh, hell, of _course_ it meant what I thought it meant! What the bloody hell _else_ would it mean?

                I _knew_ I should have written that letter! I knew it!

                Oh, god he's going to _kill_ me.

                When the Human Hyena interrupted my James-rant to ask for a chat, I had no idea that it would all end up like this. In fact, I just turned to him with a look of suspicion (this _was_ the Human Hyena, after all) and tried to hide the fact that I was rather annoyed that he had cut in on my very therapeutic ranting time for something as utterly worthless as conversation. Things got even more leery when I saw that Hyena was standing there with a particularly toothy grin directed straight at me.

                Lovely. Just lovely.

                "Yes?" I asked warily, seriously pondering whether or not my very person was soon to be in danger. "What can I do for you?"

                "Switch seats with Penny," Hyena ordered instantly, not even bothering with preambles. Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Please."

                I stared at him.

                Psh.

                Bloke-Animals. Deluded, all of them.

                "Um, no," I answered. Then, "Thank you."

                Hyena stomped his foot like a child in a temper. "Oh, come on, Evans!" he whined. "What's the problem?"

                "Tim," was all I said, very firmly. "No."

                "Why are you being so difficult?" he demanded, seemingly aghast at my audacity for refusing. "Don't you want to sit next to Diggory? Didn't you go out with him Saturday?"

                "Didn't you break up with Penny Saturday?" I shot back, almost wanting to laugh because, all of a week ago, Tim's logic would have been just the ticket to my instant compliance. Funny how things change, isn't it? 

                (And funny how, oh yes, I'm not _afraid_ of that change, am I? No, certainly not, stupid, mental, bovine Bloke-Animal)

                "Exactly!" Timmy cried, startling me a bit because I'd reverted back to James-ranting inside my head and had rather forgotten that I was in the middle of a conversation (terribly inconvenient). When I gave my attention back to him, Hyena was staring at me as if I'd gone more than a bit daft.

                "What?" I muttered, wondering what I'd missed.

                "That's why you've got to switch seats with me!" he said, possibly for the second time. "This is the only way. She won't let me talk to her."

                "Don't you think there's a reason for that?"

                "Oh, for fuck's sake, Evans–"

                "Hey, Lily, Ricks. What's going on?"

                I turned in my chair, startled to find Amos suddenly standing right there behind us, grinning all casually and looking all calm and normal, obviously not experiencing the same onslaught of awkwardness that was suddenly taking over _my_ entire person. I instantly felt a little breathless–not in lust or love or anything like that, of course, just more of an oh-bloody-hell-this-bloke-was-my-awkward-date-three-days-ago sort of thing–but tried to hide it behind my friendliest grin. 

                I mean, if he could do the whole let's-be-casual-and-platonic-after-our-dating-disaster bit, so could I, right?

                While I was stressing over giving Amos my friendly grins, Hyena was practically clapping his hands in delight, thrilled at Amos's presence for whatever mad reason.

                "Diggory!" he cried jovially, giving Amos a welcoming slap on the back. He was grinning maniacally. "Do a bloke a favour, would you? Go–"

                "He wants to switch seats with you so that he can badger poor Penny," I interrupted, shooting Hyena a nasty look. Honestly, does the stupid boy ever give up? "Don't you dare let him do it, Amos. Hasn't Penny been through enough? You know how long she was crying to you for Saturday."

                I didn't mention the fact that _I've_ been through enough and that sitting next to him for an entire class trying to be platonic was probably going to be the end of me, but I thought it. As my former supposed life partner, Amos should have picked up on it.

                I grinned happily when Amos shook his head.

                I knew our previous connection was worth something!

                "Sorry, Ricks," he said, looking entirely skeptical. "The last time I talked to Penny, she didn't want to talk to you. Ever."

                "Yeah," I said, grinning smugly. " _Ever_."

                Hyena looked wholly disgusted with the pair of us.

                "Are you serious?" he spat, most of his outrage directed at Amos. He threw his hands up in frustration. "She's Penny! What the hell does she know?"

                "Wow, Tim," I muttered dryly. "And you say she won't talk to you? Shocking."

                Hyena looked ready to lash out violently at me, and I think he would have done it, too, if not for the sudden entrance of a very red-eyed and cautious-looking Penny into the classroom, with Julie Little tagging along in what I assume was supposed to be a supportive manner at her heels. Timmy shut his big mouth and with one last nasty glare at me (I suppose he didn't blame Amos any longer), threw himself down into his chair next to me, brooding crossly. When Penny saw Hyena sit down, she relaxed visibly. We all watched as she and Julie shuffled by.

                That's when all the trouble started.

                "Penny!" Hyena cried abruptly, shoving his chair back noisily and jumping to his feet just as Penny reached our desk. He hopped straight in front of her, blocking her and Julie's path. "Stop this rubbish!" he demanded, reaching for her. "Let's just–"

                "Don't touch me, Timmy!" Penny wailed shrilly, jerking away from Hyena as if he were on fire and quickly shifting precariously close to an emotional breakdown. As Hyena started striding back closer, whining his sad and pathetic apologies in a volume that could only be called a yell, I was so enraptured by the front-seat view of the drama–what a brill improvement to the morning, eh?–that I had quite forgotten that Amos was still standing right there beside me, watching the madness ensue, as well.

                Or at least, that's what I _thought_ he was doing.

                Turns out...yeah, not so much.

                What was he doing instead, you ask?

                Oh, nothing really. Just hooking a finger under my chin, turning my head away from Penny and Hyena and up towards his, and dropping an entirely UN-platonic sort of kiss right there on my lips in the middle of the Runes classroom.

                Yeah.

                I know.

                WHAT. THE. HELL?

                "I like a bird who stands her ground," he said, grinning brightly at me. "See you later."

                And then–oh, _god_ –he kissed me _again_ , a shorter sort of peck this time, before straightening out. I sputtered–that was the only thing my stunned self _could_ do–spitting out the beginning of a million protests that I couldn't quite form into something coherent. I was still blabbering gibberish as Amos stepped away, striding right past a frantic Hyena, a wet-eyed and shrieking Penny, and a stone-faced Julie, heading straight for his desk in front of me. 

                It was a good twenty seconds before my mind registered that something was clearly very, _very_ wrong and that I should be doing something about it.

                "Er, hey, Amos–"

                "Seats! Everyone, take your seats!"

                My heart sunk deep inside my chest as Lundi strode loudly into the classroom, cutting off and effectively drowning out my shell-shocked sputterings to Amos. As everyone quickly filed into their chairs (a partially-sobbing Penny O'Jene and a glaring Hyena Boy included), my breath caught in my throat and I tried in vain one last time to get Amos's attention, but he was too busy consoling Penny with Julie Little to pay me any mind.

                Oh, god.

                Oh, _god_.

                That's all I could process.

                That, and the little, tiny, ever-so-microscopic dilemma of James _strangling_ the very life out of me sometime in the near future.

                Shit.

                Double bloody fucking _shit_.

                But it's not my fault! It's really not! How was I to know that Amos didn't realise that our relationship is over, despite our utterly horrific date and our rather final, platonic parting Saturday afternoon? I mean, it was perfectly clear to _me_ that it was over–I think it was perfectly clear to most people who came across the pair of us that day.

                So how the hell did Amos miss it?

                It doesn't make sense. It really doesn't. I mean, what about Julie, hm? Wasn't Amos going to go shack up with her for the rest of his life? I liked that plan. I thought it was smashing. That plan did not include him kissing me in front of our entire Runes class, however. So what gives?

                All right. Just...I'll just talk to him. Yes, that's right. I'll just talk to him and we'll sort this whole thing out. I'll be very kind but very firm, being all, "So sorry for the confusion, Amos, but I really think we're better off being just mates. It just wasn't there, you know? Plus, I'm rather sort of on the verge of dating James Potter, and he'll probably kill you or me depending on who's closest if we were to continue on with this relationship. Much thanks. Bye," which I think will work out just fine when–

                Wait a second.

                No!

                No, you stupid prat, what are you doing? Dizzy, my arse, you do _not_ feel dizzy! Sit back down! You can't leave class! I need to _talk_ to you, for Merlin's sake!

                I NEED TO TELL YOU WE'RE NO LONGER DATING!

______________________________________________  
**Still Still Later, Still Still in Ancient Runes**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 222**

                Great. This is just bloody _great_.

                How could Lundi have done this to me? How could he have let Amos go? I mean, for Merlin's sake, "I'm feeling dizzy?" That's the lamest, most fake excuse in the book. Who falls for that?

                What am I supposed to do now? Class is nearly over, Amos still isn't back, and I don't have any more classes with him today. James, on the other hand, I see next class. And then lunch. And the class after that.

                Holy hell, what am I going to _do_?

                What if James hears about this? What if someone bumps into him on his way to Charms and is all, "Oh, hey there, James. Did you hear what Lily and Amos Diggory were up to in Runes?" What happens _then_? I'll tell you what happens–I die. Yes, that's right. Probably slowly and painfully. With knives. Or sharp quills. Or perhaps paperclips.

                Merlin. Now _I'm_ starting to feel dizzy.

                This really isn't fair. I mean, for once I was actually going to _fix_ my problems without having them explode in my face, and now Amos dashes off before I have the chance to! And even if it isn't exactly my fault, I'm pretty sure letting Amos snog me (however briefly and however too stunned to pull right away I was) is a direct violation of James's first rule. And even though he's already broken _my_ rule...well, it's not as if I really _expected_ him to just give up. I knew he was going to pull something mad like this morning. I probably would have been disappointed if he _had_ listened to me. I mean, I do want to be just mates, but...well, I want to be something else, too. Just not right now. So I don't suppose I was really entirely devastated when James mostly ignored my dictate. Even if it was a bit frustrating. I mostly just like the excuse to yell at him.

                Something tells me that James won't feel the same way about my violation.

                Damn.

                Damn, damn, _damn_.

                I suppose I could...talk to James instead? I mean, before anyone else gets to him and tells him all these lies? For all I know, the gossip mill could have Amos and I shagging on my desk before I have any chance to get the true story out, and then James will be furious for no reason whatsoever. And I _did_ promise to talk to him about these things. I mean, I wasn't intending on hiding out in my room or anything, but I suppose that it doesn't have to reach that pathetic point in order to be a violation. And I'll still say my piece to Amos, of course. Just when I can. When the coward gets over his "dizziness.”� Psh.

                Right. Okay. It shouldn't be too hard to intercept James. Or I could just loiter outside the Charms classroom and drag him off before class starts. Actually, that plan works out best, because then I can warn Grace and Emma– _Merlin_ , do I have a lot to tell them!–and put them on rumour control, just in case any of this snogging-in-the-Runes-classroom business gets out. Which I'm sure it won't. I mean, with all the Penny-Hyena drama, Amos and I were clearly upstaged. I hope. Or at least–

                Oh, bloody _flistering_ hell. Is class over?

______________________________________________  
**Later, Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 222**

                I was so consumed with my planning and plotting because that pansy-arsed coward Diggory still wasn’t back from wherever he’d run off to that I didn’t realise that class had ended until Professor Lundi was all, “Staying for fourth-year remedial, Mily-va-Lily?”� and I looked up to find half the class already out the door and Lundi grinning all knowingly (he knows nothing) at me. Swearing under my breath, I shot Lundi a quick half-smile as I jumped to my feet, grabbing my things and shoving them in my bag before dashing out of the classroom. My plan would only work if I arrived at Charms before James and already I was behind.

                Disregarding most of Hogwarts’s corridor traffic regulations and common courtesies, I ran, shoved and weaved my way through the plentiful masses, shooting apologies behind me when I could, but mostly just hoping that I wasn’t shoving the wrong person and that I wouldn’t end up a crumpled heap of hexes upon the corridor floor. I’m not quite sure how I managed it, but I somehow pulled off making it to Charms in under two minutes with–the real shocker–all my limbs and other such extremities unhexed and intact.

                Swift as lightning, that’s me. Perhaps I should look into marathons or something.

                I poked my head into the classroom only long enough to discern that James was not there yet, though Remus and Peter were seated in their usual places towards the back of the room. Emma was already sitting in her seat, as well, so I figured James couldn’t be too far behind, seeing as they were coming from the same place. I popped my head back out before I was spotted by Flitwick or Emma or anyone else who could interfere with my plans and moved back out into the corridor, anxiously loitering about outside the classroom door. I watched most of our class make their way inside as I tangled my fingers together fretfully, my head never stopping its moving rotations to check every possible location for my messy-haired target. When I saw Grace round the corner, spotting me almost instantly with a “What’s this?”� sort of look, I waved her over with what probably appeared to be some rather frantic gestures, but that couldn’t be helped. I mean, it was a rather frantic moment.

                “Can’t talk now,”� I blurted out when she stopped in front of me, cutting off anything she might have meant to say first. “I need to find James. But oh dear _Merlin_ do I have things to tell you.”�

                “Isn’t it a bit early for Lily drama?”� Grace asked, though her snarky grin told me she was anything but disappointed by the morning madness. “It’s barely ten, Lil.”�

                I shot her a look that let her know that this was so not the time. “This was not my fault,”� I insisted. As I said it, my gaze had already switched off Grace and back to the areas just beyond her head, my eyes scanning the corridor once more. James was still nowhere in sight. “I’ll have you know that this was all stupid, cowardly Amos’s fault and not mine. However, he ran off, so now I have to do damage control. Just in case.”�

                “Well, now.”� Grace sounded pleasantly surprised by my abridged explanation. Her grin widened. “This seems like _quite_ the story, my meddlesome mate. I haven’t got all the details, but I’m of the opinion that whatever’s finally got you speaking to James instead of writing him stupid bloody letters and rubbish is all right by me.”�

                “And _I_ say that you’re rubbish because I’ve already spoken to James. Last night.”�

                “Last night? When last night?”�

                “Er…three.”�

                “Lily, that’s not last night. That’s this morning.”�

                “Same rubbish.”�

                “Same rubbish? That is not ‘same rubbish’. That’s an early morning rendezvous if I’ve ever heard one. How utterly slaggish of you, Sue! I’m quite proud.”�

                Honestly, why can’t I have normal, supportive mates? Just once?

                I spared a second of searching to glare. “For Merlin’s sake, Gracie, it was not–”� 

                Oh, god. There he was.

                Over Grace’s shoulder, coming around the same corner she had rounded all of a minute ago, James walked with Sirius, his dark head bent close to his mate’s, looking rather deep in conversation. Under other circumstances, I might have put off my admissions and let the pair of them talk, but I couldn’t do that now. Something inside me spurred me forward. I could feel my heart crashing in quick time against my chest.

                “Must go,”� I muttered to Grace, practically as I was shoving her aside. I threw her a glance over my shoulder as I rushed forward. “I’ll explain later!”�

                “You’d better!”� she called, but if she said anything more, I didn’t hear it. I was too focused on James.

                Breathe.

                Just breathe.

                It may be the last time I have the chance.

                Pushing all those morbid thoughts aside (though with James looking so serious, my chances of survival had just plunged about seven points), I ignored my slightly caught throat and my still pounding heart and purposely strode towards the two boys. Sirius was the first to spot me, and his grimace was hardly encouraging. James turned a moment later, his expression slightly more welcoming. I latched onto his slowly lifting smile with hope.

                “Come to walk me to class?”� he asked, his quirked grin shining brightly now. “Better late than never, I suppose.”�

                “I’m not walking you anywhere,”� I told him, though after I said it, I figured we’d probably eventually be doing some walking, even if it was only to the side of the corridor. I chased those stupid thoughts away with a shake of my head. This was really not the time for nonsense. I looked up at James, determined. “I have to talk to you. Can I talk to you?”� I turned to Sirius, whose face had turned impassive. “Can I talk to him?”�

                “I’m not his mother,”� Sirius answered, though he was suddenly looking at me with a guarded sort of hostility shining in his eyes. “Do whatever you want.”�

                I hadn’t spoken to Sirius since our brief exchange in the corridor when I was so exhausted Friday afternoon, but time hadn’t seemed to lessen his feelings from our detention Thursday night. I’d thought we’d ended on a rather balanced foot there–he’d called a truce, hadn’t he? Because he made me cry? Remember when he opened the door?–but I suppose the fact that I clearly had not complied for long with our leave-James-alone plan had put me back on his bad side. Not to mention the fact that he and James were fighting because of me–I hadn’t forgot about that, either. I wondered if I had just broken into yet another terse conversation about myself. I suppose if I had, the fact that there were no punches being thrown was a good sign. Still, even now I could sense a sort of tension between the two, one that I knew James at least was trying to hide for my sake. I hated that. I hated that there was something to hide. I hated that I was the cause. I hated that Sirius hated me.

                Merlin, how can anyone around here be expected to start up a stable relationship with all this other rubbish getting in the way? Psh.

                James didn’t even have to say anything to Sirius to let him know the sarcasm wasn’t appreciated. He just looked at his mate and cocked his head to the side, his grin fading ever-so-slightly. As if to prove that he didn’t give a damn about hiding whatever was going on between the pair of them from me, Sirius sneered at James, looked at me, then turned back at James again. I obviously didn’t know Sirius as well as I knew James, so I couldn’t even begin to imagine what the withering look and sharp smirk he shot James before he strode off meant, but I didn’t think it’d be too far off to say that it was probably something along the lines of, “This girl is worthless. Look what’s she’s doing to your life. Toss her. Now.”�

                And do you know what? I can’t say I even really blame him.

                And what does _that_ say?

                We both watched Sirius go, his robes billowing a bit behind him as he all but swept into the classroom, elegant in his anger in a way I’m sure only someone entirely used to the emotion could be. Turning back to James, I saw the haggard look on his face a moment before his gaze shifted back to me and his expression visibly eased. Suddenly, my Amos dilemma didn’t seem like such a big deal.

                “Go,”� I said, waving him off. “Go talk to him. I can…I can wait. This is more important. I don’t want you–”�

                “Don’t worry about it,”� James said, cutting me off. He lifted his hand, grabbing a stray piece of my hair and pushing it behind my ear. I wonder if the simple touch was as comforting to him as it was to me. “He’s in no mood to be reasonable. There’s no talking to him when he’s like that. Now, what is it?”�

                I bit my lip, torn between ordering him again to go fix things with Sirius–no matter his mood–and telling him about Amos. Would he take it worse because he was already stressed? Would he listen, or just attack? Was I better off telling him later, when perhaps I could grab some of that fudge I’d brought at Honeydukes to appease him with?

                Merlin, life was complicated. What had happened to my simple plan?

                I don’t know what about my expression or demeanor let James know that something was wrong, but his eyes suddenly narrowed on me, his expression growing half-shrewd, half-concerned. I let out a long breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in.

                “Uh-oh,”� he said. His hand dropped away from my face and back down to his side. “What happened?”�

                “I’m going to fix it,”� was the first thing I blurted out, my overburdened mouth making the to-tell-or-not-to-tell decision for me. At my words, James’s eyes narrowed even further. I rushed to explain more. “It wasn’t my fault and I swear I would have fixed it right then and there but I was rather shocked and then the bloody coward ran away and I couldn’t do anything and I should have sent the letter and I know it seems like a number one violation, but it’s actually just a number two compliance because I’m communicating and not hiding in my room and in the end it doesn’t matter because I’m going to fix it anyway.”�

                Lovely, Lily. How articulate.

                Kill me _now_.

                “What?”� James asked, not all that surprisingly. He looked torn between being utterly suspicious and entirely confused. “Could you try that one more time? Slower? And with a few more details?”�

                I let out another heavy sigh, knowing that I hadn’t made the least bit of sense and also knowing that if I was ever going to make it to Charms (actually, we were probably already late), I was going to have to tell him everything and try not to sound like a completely mentally-stunted loon while doing it. A difficult task certainly, but one I thought I could manage.

                Hopefully.

                “Yes, all right. Sorry,”� I muttered, fretfully tangling together my fingers once again. It seems I’d acquired yet another horrid nervous habit. James must have spotted that as well, because he covered my hands with one of his own and looked at me as if to say, “Stop it. I’m here. Talk and don’t panic,”� which was quite lovely of him and quite what I needed to finally get the story out. “All right, this is what happened.”� I breathed, then forced the words out. “I was sitting in Runes, right? Minding my own business and such because that’s just the sort of person I am, when all of a sudden, Hyena comes up to me and says–”�

                “Who?”�

                “Hyena. Oh. Timmy Ricks, I mean.”�

                “Hyena.”� James cracked a smile at that. Then a laugh. “Hey, that’s pretty funny. Ricks _is_ rather hyena-like, now that I–”�

                “Can we _focus_ , please?”�

                James smiled at me again, then nodded. “Right. Focus. Sorry. Go on.”�

                I shot him a withering stare, but continued. “So _Tim_ comes up to me and is all, ‘Hey, Evans. Switch seats with Penny,’ to which I was clearly all, ‘No, Tim, and leave poor Penny alone. The girl has had enough.’ Because that’s why he wanted me to switch, you see. So that he could sit next to Penny and browbeat her into getting back together with him.”�

                “They broke up? Again?”�

                “Didn’t you hear? Quite the huge ruckus Saturday. Something about Deb Hess and knickers. Explosive.”�

                “I can’t believe I missed it. Sounds like a good one.”�

                “I’ve seen better. They had one quite similar–oh!”� I threw James a dirty look. “Quit distracting me! I have to tell you what happened!”�

                James didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, because he was all jokes and smiles as he went, “So sorry. Continue.”�

                Something told me he wouldn’t be so jovial soon.

                With that thought in mind, I sobered quickly, starting to feel anxious again. I made myself continue anyway. “I sit next to Tim, and Penny sits in front of us.”� I paused a moment and bit at my lower lip before adding, “And Amos sits next to her.”�

                James’s smile dropped.

                Here we go.

                “I kept telling Tim no,”� I explained before James could say anything. “And then…well, Amos walked in and came over to us and so Tim went after him instead. But Amos kept saying no, too. Tim was getting quite cross at the pair of us, but I suppose Amos was as inclined to get in the middle of that mess as I was, so he didn’t give in. Tim might have kept on with his badgering, but then Penny herself walked in and I suppose Tim decided she was the easier target, so he jumped straight in front of her path and started waxing all his apologies and such right then and there. And…well…I was watching them fight, of course…and I didn’t realise…but then…”� I stopped. Then blurted it all out. “AndthenAmoskissedme.”�

                 Oh, god.

                OhgodOhgodOhgod.

                “Excuse me?”� James whispered.

                “I said…and then Amos kissed me. Twice.”�

                The second the words left my mouth–the slower, coherent time, of course–I felt my heart catch in my throat, my eyes remaining locked on James, whose face had suddenly turned entirely blank. I watched as his eyes flickered across my face, seeming to be searching for something, though I’m not entirely sure what. For my part, all I could do was grimace, looking I’m sure entirely pathetic and undoubtedly guilty. I wanted so badly to touch him, just to barrel straight into his chest and wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck and tell him how sorry I was for letting it happen and how it hadn’t meant a thing and how he was entirely foolish if he thought I wanted to be with anyone but him. But somehow, I just couldn’t do it. And worse, I don’t think he’d have let me even if I’d tried.

                It was a rather disheartening revelation to behold.

                I opened my mouth to say something–anything–that would get that blank expression off his face, but James beat me to it.

                “Christ, Lily,”� he muttered, and my heart sank further as he glared at me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”�

                “I’m sorry,”� I said quickly, earnestly, fighting back my cowardice and taking a step closer to him. I took it as at least the smallest of good signs that he didn’t instantly shuffle back. “I shouldn’t have let it happen–I didn’t _want_ it to happen, and if you don’t know that, we have a bigger problem here than Amos’s misguided affections. I wasn’t paying attention to him, and then I was so shocked that he’d done it…and I tried to say something to him, really, I did! But Lundi came in and started class and I couldn’t. And then before I could write him a note or even get his attention, the stupid coward told Lundi he was feeling dizzy and left class–which just goes to show that he _knows_ he was off because ‘I’m dizzy’ is about the most rubbish excuse there is and everyone knows it!”�

                I watched carefully to see if my rants and explanations had any impact, but James’s face remained impassive even as I stared imploringly up at him. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but he wasn’t letting anything show. I thought then that I should probably keep going. I didn’t know what else to do.

                “I’m going to fix it,”� I said again, trying to be convincing about it. “I don’t know why Amos thought that we were still…I mean, it was entirely obvious to _me_ that we hardly suit, and I thought he knew it, too. There’s clearly something going on and I don’t know what it is, but I’ll find out and I’ll fix it. I don’t have any more classes with him today, but I figure the bloke has to eat, right? I’ll corner him at lunch. I’ll find out what’s going on and set him straight. No harm, everyone’s happy. It’ll be as if it never even happened. I swear it.”�

                I finished off with a wobbly sort of smile, knowing even as James’s face remained stony that there was nothing left to say. He was either going to accept what I was telling him, or become furious and storm off, neither of which was having a visible advantage at the moment. Inside my head, a million scenarios had played out as to how James was going to react when he heard about my Runes drama, but I can’t say that heavy silence was one of them. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

                I couldn’t take his blank stare anymore. Refusing to give up and walk away, I settled for letting my gaze drift down from his, trying not to look too dejected even though I felt it. After a few more moments of continued silence, I started reconsidering my resolve to remain in the corridor. I was just about to turn around all miserably, wondering just how in the hell I was supposed to fix _this_ mess when…

                A sigh.

                A long, exaggerated sigh.

                My eyes darted up.

                “You,”� James said, with no small amount of dryness in his voice, “are the only person I know who has this sort of rubbish happen to them. All the time. Every day. The only person.”�

                “It’s karma,”� I somehow got out, through my voice was slightly croaky. I tried not to appear too hopeful. “I think I was some sort of evil dictator in a previous life. It’s the only explanation. I’m paying for it now.”�

                James let out a laugh at that; not exactly joyful, but ruefully good-humoured if nothing else.

                I’d take it.

                “Yeah, maybe,”� he said, running a hand through his hair. He sighed again, squinting slightly as if in thought. I shifted in front of him nervously.

                “Are you…angry?”� I asked quietly, knowing that just because he wasn’t raging like he sometimes did, it didn’t mean that he was fine. James glanced at me, then shrugged.

                “I don’t know,”� he answered, saying the words slowly. His hand swept through his hair again. “I’m still deciding. I suppose it all depends on whether or not you actually talk to the bastard.”�

                “What do you mean?”� I asked.

                James threw me a pointed look. “You know exactly what I mean, Lily. You’re not exactly entirely reliable when it comes to things like this, are you?”�

                My mouth dropped open in outrage. Not entirely reliable? _What?_ “What is that supposed to mean?”� I raged, glaring at him. “Are you saying that you think I _want_ Amos kissing me? That I want our charade of a relationship to keep going?”�

                “No, I’m saying that you’re a soft touch,”� James answered, looking more resigned than upset now, but that was just fine because I was cross enough for both of us. The _nerve_ of him! “All Diggory has to do is look at you all miserable and blather on about how he had such a brill time Saturday and you’ll put off setting him straight simply because you’ll feel badly! You don’t like upsetting people and that’s all good and well, but not in this case. This needs to end. Now.”�

                “I _know_ that!”� I snapped, though there was far too much discomfort and far too little anger in my snap to satisfy me. At that moment, I despised the fact that he knew me so well. “And even if I…it’s not a crime to not want to hurt people! But in this situation, I’m aware that it’s either you or Amos, and if you think for a second that I’d choose Amos…well, then to hell with you, James Potter! It’s a bloody good thing I didn’t–”�

                “Hey. Hey!”� James caught my wrist as I turned to go storm off, hardly believing that it had come to this. Hadn’t _James_ been the storm-off-in-anger risk all of two minutes ago? How had the tables turned so quickly? “Will you quit it?”� he demanded when I refused to go to him peacefully. I struggled and glared with a vengeance. James pulled and glared back. “Listen to me, will you? I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you. You caught me at a bad moment and this whole thing just got entirely more complicated than it needed to be and I took that out on you. All right?”�

                “This wasn’t my fault,”� I insisted bitterly, though I’d stopped struggling and turned my glares down to tamer, narrowed glances. I looked up at James with cross stubbornness. “If I’d known there were questions about it, I would have spoken to Amos before. But I didn’t. I had no idea that he thought there was still something between us. And I’m sorry that I had to accost you with the news when you were already cross with Sirius, but I thought it was better to tell you than to hide it. But if you’re not going to trust me–”�

                “I will,”� James insisted instantly, grabbing hold of my waist and pulling me closer. “I do.”�

                “Good,”� I said, and crossed my arms over my chest. My eyes drifted down to James’s shoulder. “I know that I’ve made things…complicated with us. Our whole relationship is complicated. But I’m not about to sabotage it. When I say that I’m going to talk to Amos, I will. Maybe I am a soft touch, but I’m as sick of this whole Amos thing as you are. So I’m going to fix it. Do you believe me?”�

                “Yes,”� James answered, and I let him pull me even closer…you know. Just because. He ducked his head and caught my eyes with his once more. He was grinning. “You can go talk to him. Or, if you’d rather get the whole thing over more quickly, I could go find the ponce right now and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Quick and firm message.”�

                “James,”� I said warningly, throwing him a look. “Stop it. Don’t joke.”�

                “Who’s joking?”�

                “You are not fighting Amos,”� I said firmly, and gave him a little glare to get my point across. Honestly, and the boy calls _me_ violent? “This is my mess and I’m cleaning it up. You’re not to be involved.”�

                “Yeah, but you’re _my_ mess,”� James answered with a grin. His second hand joined his first on my waist. “A bloke’s got to take responsibility for his mess’s messes.”�

                “His what’s whats?”� I laughed, shaking my head as James continued to grin.

                “Shh,”� James murmured, leaning closer. “No talking.”�

                Then he kissed me.

                “Ah!”� I cried, pulling away with a helpless giggle, though not after I (admittedly) got to enjoy it a little. “Fickle cow! Milk much?”�

                “Not milk. Mouthwash.”� James grinned again as he leaned in closer once more. “You must have some rotten taste in your mouth. I’m helping get rid of it.”�

                “It was a two-second peck!”� I cried, shaking my head at him. “He didn’t get anywhere near the inside of my mouth, thank you very much!”�

                “One can never be too careful about these things,”� James insisted. He positively leered. “In fact…”�

                “James–”�

                But I let him kiss me again, slag that I am.

                Whatever. The cow could dry up at any moment. I’m intelligent enough to take advantage when I can. Even if we are just mates. Actually, it’s mates with potential. That’s entirely different.

                That’s what I told James, anyway, right before he said that ‘mates with potential’ sounded like improvement so he’d take it, and then proceeded to berate me for making him late for Charms and blathering on about how I was hindering his education and ruining his fine reputation. I just told him to shut it and he was lucky that I was going to cover for him with Flitwick because, let’s be honest, the man loves me and not James and when we walked in and were all, “Head duties,”� he only believed it because it was me–which I conveyed to James through a triumphant sort of look. He only winked.

                And the thing is, I could waste a lot of time and energy being cross over the fact that James was being a prat before and didn’t think I’d actually take care of Amos, but…well, I mean, he does sort of have a point. I suppose I can sometimes get a bit flakey when emotions get involved and people get upset…but that’s completely natural! What sort of unfeeling clod would be all right if they were the reason that someone else was hurt? A dastardly unfeeling clod, that’s who. Which I’m not. Clearly. So maybe James did have a point, but he still should have trusted me. It’s something to work on, obviously.

                And I _will_ take care of Amos. I don’t care if I have to knock him over the head and drag him into a broom closet, we’ll get this thing sorted out. Just see if I don’t!

                Right.

                So there.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Still in Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 223**

**Are you done yet? —GR**

Done with what? —LE

**Ranting out your emotions in written form. There are some people still out of the loop here, if you’d care to recall.**

Oh. Sorry about that. I suppose I did forget for a moment.

_We figured as much. Now why were you and James late? —EV_

We were talking. I had to tell him something.

**That you love him and adore him and wish to harbor his future generations?**

Um. No.

**Coward.**

Shut it, will you? Or else I’m not saying anything more.

_Did you really talk to James last night? Grace said you had some sort of sunrise meeting._

**It wasn’t a sunrise meeting. It was a three a.m. rendezvous.**

It was neither. It was actually… oh, hell. I can’t explain it like this. Anyone up for skipping Divination?

**Rebel. I like it.**

_We probably shouldn’t._

**Live a little, will you, Emmeline? If Lily can overcome her strict moral code to bail, so can you.**

I think I resent that.

**You don’t know any better.**

You know, one of my Shrinking Charms could accidentally ricochet over towards you. You’d be so small, no one would ever find you. If we didn’t step on you, that is.

**I’d like to see you try, Slaggy.**

You just wait.

_Will the two of you stop it? Flitwick is already looking over here. And it’s not ricocheting if you’ve got your wand at her throat, Lily. We’ll skip Divination. Just cut it out._

**Emma’s getting testy in her old age.**

Self-inflicted heartache will do that to a girl.

_I despise both of you._

______________________________________________  
**Laterish, Prefect’s Lavatory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 224**

                For old time’s sake (and mere convenience), Grace, Em and I dashed off to the Prefect’s lavatory after Charms, quite lucky to discover that we only had to wait a few moments for John Abbott to finish his business before rushing inside and locking the door, efficiently securing ourselves a proper skiving hideaway. Though brief arguments were made by those of our group who clearly have some sort of love/hate relationship going on with their bums (Grace), the group as a whole opted to reject the conversation location of the bathtub and selected instead to lounge about comfortably on the red couches so cleverly placed therein. Once situated happily there, I quickly proceeded to relay the maddening events of both last night and this morning, leaving out only the specific details that are of a more personal nature, because I may be a slag, but I’m no exhibitionist.

                Well, yet.

                “What a sneaky bastard!”� Grace cried as I’d just finished my retelling, though she didn’t look too outraged by the whole thing if you ask me, despite her words. How utterly unsympathetic of her. “What a downright, sneaky _bastard_!”�

                “I should probably talk to Amos before we start slandering him,”� I replied reasonably, though I was actually of a mind to agree with Gracie’s assessment. “Who knows? There could be a perfectly logical explanation–”�

                “Not _Amos_ ,”� Grace interrupted, looking disgusted at the miscommunication. “I meant James. _James_ is the sneaky bastard. This cow business is really quite devious of him–I mean, taking advantage of your Rook Whore ways like that…it’s quite ingenious, actually.”� She paused, pulling a face. “Though it _does_ appear as if his resolve is just as wavering as yours–snogging in corridors and such–”�

                “What do you mean, as wavering as mine?”� I demanded, offended. I was not nearly as surprised as I ought have been that Grace would naturally overlook my entire Amos dilemma and focus in on the kissing scene that was–at this point, at least–highly irrelevant. “I haven’t wavered! _He’s_ the one doing the kisses good morning and the snogging in empty corridors! That wasn’t me!”�

                “Well, you did let him,”� Emma put in, being really entirely more insignificant-detail-focused than was really appropriate, I think. “It wasn’t as if you said no.”�

                Fine. Just fine. Call a girl out on her slaggy tendencies. How _nice_.

                Psh.

                “Oh, don’t look at us like that,”� Grace scoffed after I shot the both of them some rather hostile (but utterly well deserved) glares. She gave me a quelling look. “You know that neither of us was behind this ‘mates with potential’ business in the first place. In fact, I’m surprised James gave in–even if he _does_ clearly have some sort of plan brewing underneath. You can’t blame us for picking at a few of your plan’s flaws. Like the fact that neither of you want it and are pretty much ignoring everything you talked about during your rendezvous this morning.”�

                “That is not true! There are no flaws–zero flaws!”� I huffed indignantly, crossing my arms over my chest. I chose to ignore the ‘Oh, come _on_ ,’ looks I was receiving from even Emma, because I was really not in the mood to be dealing with that nonsense now. I mean, so what if James and I snog a bit? The no-snogging rule was _his_ deal, not mine. I’m perfectly content with a bit of snogging. Mates with potential can snog…er, I think. But whatever. That wasn’t the problem here! I couldn’t quite fathom why I was the only one seeing that. “Can we please stop talking about James for a second? I’m not worried about James. I can handle James. It’s _Amos_ that has me in conniptions!”�

                “What do you mean?”� Emma asked, and she had the audacity to look genuinely confused. “I thought you said you were going to talk to him at lunch? That’s what you told James.”�

                “I know. And–”�

                “If you don’t talk to him, you’re giving James a reason not to trust you,”� Grace said warningly, her face suddenly looking serious. “No sort of relationship is getting anywhere without trust.”�

                “I know that!”� I cut in before either of them could break out into some sort of mini-lecture on the dos and don’ts of trusting relationships. Merlin, spare me. “Don’t you think I know that? I never said I wasn’t going to talk to him. I’m going to talk to him. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about the actual conversation! What am I supposed to say? What is _he_ going to say?”�

                “Why not try, ‘Oy, Diggory, what’s with the snogs?’”� Grace suggested, grinning. “I think that works well.”�

                I threw her a look. “Grace. Be serious, please.”�

                “Who’s not serious?”� Grace asked, giving a shrug. “You don’t have to make a production out of this, Lil. In fact, the more you do, the worse it will probably get. I know it’s very difficult for you not to complicate things to an unimaginable degree, but if there were ever a time for simplicity in your life, I’m thinking this would be it.”�

                “Grace is right,”� Emma agreed before I could defend myself. “Don’t overcomplicate this, Lily. If you want to end it, end it. Whether Amos says he wants to or not.”�

                “So I’m just supposed to disregard his feelings?”� I asked, flabbergasted. “You think I can be that much of a shrew?”�

                “It’s not being a shrew,”� Grace said, rolling her eyes. “You said yourself that you think something’s off with it. You said it felt final on Saturday, right?”�

                “It did,”� I admitted, shifting about uncomfortably on the couch. I was quiet for a moment, wrestling with the idea of telling them about a recent suspicion that had just occurred to me during my retelling. However mildly embarrassing, I suppose it had to come out. “Julie Little was there,”� I told them quietly, twirling an errant strand of hair with my finger. “You know I thought…I mean…do you think he did it to make her jealous?”�

“I forgot you thought he fancied her,”� Emma said, looking pensive. She pursed her lips. “I suppose it’s possible. And it would make sense, seeing as you thought it was over.”�

                “There have been a few rumours,”� Grace confessed tentatively, and I glanced up at her, surprised. “I didn’t want to say anything before,”� she told me quickly, cringing a bit guiltily. “They were just whispers, anyway. Plus, you were already starting to doubt Amos and I didn’t want to influence you one way or the other. And you sort of knew, anyway–what with the argument they had in front of you and all. Are you cross with me for not saying anything?”�

                “No,”� I answered, and even though I wasn’t, I did feel a bit strange. Honestly, I didn’t know quite _what_ to feel at the moment. I mean, I was perfectly all right with Amos and Julie–I had no claims on him now and I didn’t want them–but the fact that he would use me to get to her… _that_ was rather shady, wasn’t it? I hated to think that our relationship–however successful or unsuccessful it turned out to be–had come down to that. It made the whole thing rather fake, ending it on a manipulative note. But what could I do? Yes, I might be a bit disappointed that Amos would do such a thing, but at least that meant I wouldn’t be hurting him when I broke it off officially. I could tell him that he was free to be with Julie Little if that’s what he wanted, but to leave me out of it.

                Yes, that’s what I’d say. Take her, but leave me. No mess, no foul. Simple. Very simple.

                I think.

                I suppose Grace and Emma must have taken my contemplative silence as a sort of signal that I was upset over this revelation because both looked a bit worried (and a bit guilty on Grace’s part) when I finally looked up and focused back in on them. I shook off the remnants of my messy thoughts and gave them both a reassuring smile, waving off the issue with a careless flick of my hand.

                “I’m fine,”� I told them, and meant it. Mostly. “In fact, this makes things much easier. If it was just to make Julie jealous, then I don’t have to worry about hurting his feelings when I break it off. I just have to talk to him and find out. Which I’ll do. At lunch.”�

                “Are you sure?”� Emma asked, and though she looked mostly assuaged by my words, I think she was still a bit concerned. I nodded, feeling more confident as the moments wore on. And even though I am a strong and independent woman who doesn’t need a man to give her life meaning or conviction, I can’t say that thinking about James didn’t make the whole situation a bit easier. 

Or a lot easier. 

But whatever. Technicality.

                “Positive,”� I answered firmly, almost sighing at my own slaggishness. Its intensity is quite disturbing sometimes. “I’m over Amos. I just want it to end so I can…move on.”�

                “I don’t think moving on is your problem,”� Grace put in dryly. “I think it’s the admitting-that-you’ve-moved-on-and-entering-a-serious-relationship bit that you’re hung up on.”�

                I threw her a look that let her know I was anything but appreciative of her crap mately support. “Shut it, will you? I’ve progressed to mates with potential. Isn’t that enough?”�

                “I’ll be happy when you’re happy.”�

                “I’m happy.”�

                “No. You’re content with potential.”�

                Have I mentioned recently how _useless_ my mates are? Like on a scale from one to ten, they’re a negative seventeen? Yeah, well, they are.

                Psh.

                I was about to open my mouth to say some rather brilliantly cutting remark about how that was just fine because Grace was clearly mentally deficient with potential, when Emma–I suppose she’s not quite as useless as some others. Perhaps a negative eight or nine–saw the storm brewing and cut in with a forcefully.

                “There’s no need for any of this!" she cried, shaking her head. She turned to Grace. "Gracie, you may disagree with Lily’s plans, but that doesn’t mean you should try to force her into anything. She says she knows what she’s doing, so I’m sure she does. Let’s just be supportive and see how it plays out.”� Next she turned to me, a sudden curious expression spreading across her face. “You forgot something,”� she said, and I cocked a questioning eyebrow. “In your story, I mean. What did James have to say?”�

                What did James have to say? I stared at Emma as if she might have recently acquired some sort of concussion. Grace was doing the same.

“Er, Em?”� I started warily, eyeing her carefully. “Did you not listen to the entire second half of the story? I told you. James said in the corridor that–”�

                “No, no. Not about Amos.”� Emma shook her head, giving her hand a few accompanying flicks. “I meant this morning. You know, when he told you he had to tell you something, but you went first? Unless that bit’s too personal to share, of course,”� she put in quickly, nodding along. “Then by all means, keep it to yourself.”�

                I stared at her blankly, her words sinking in and startling me. Holy hell, I’d forgotten entirely about that. Even when I was recounting the story–twice!–it had never occurred to me that James had never gotten to say his piece. He never told me what he had to say. Shit. Shit, _shit_. Actually, now that I think about it, James hasn’t gotten to say much at _all_ these past few days, has he? I mean, what about when he was blabbering on about me sitting down in the Room of Requirement? Like he had to tell me some big, important thing that would surely send me into a swoon if I were to hear it on foot? He’d never gotten around to that, either. We’d gotten…er, distracted. And yesterday, too. I might have felt epically bad about that, but in all honesty, it _was_ mostly his fault. I mean, if the boy would just keep his damned mouth to himself, we might have a chance to actually finish a conversation. But not feeling epically bad doesn’t mean that I don’t feel bad at all–quite the contrary, in fact. I feel rather horrid for never letting him say what he needs to say, and even worse for forgetting I did so. Why should my blathering drama take precedence over his? It shouldn’t. Not at all. James should have his time to blather, too. Especially if it’s important blather.

                See, this is why I can’t be in a relationship. Do you _see_ my communication skills? We wouldn’t last a week!

                _Bugger_.

                “I forgot,”� I muttered lamely, switching my gaze between Grace and Emma sheepishly. I felt like smacking my head against the nearest wall. “Merlin, I _forgot_. What kind of girl does that make me, so utterly consumed with her own nonsense that she can’t let a bloke say his bloody piece?”�

                “I’m sure it’s not like that,”� Emma was quick to defend, leaning in close. “He obviously didn’t remember, either. Maybe it wasn’t that important.”�

                “No, it was,”� I insisted, feeling crummier by the second. “When we were in the Room of Requirement…I think he was trying to tell me something then, too. Maybe the same thing. He kept telling me to sit down, like what he had to say would stun me into falling over or some nonsense. But he never said it.”�

                “Maybe he did,”� Grace said, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, he told you how he felt about you. That was pretty big.”�

                “But I already _knew_ that,”� I argued, shaking my head. “Maybe it hadn’t been put into so many words, but…I knew he fancied me. And he knew I knew. That’s not it.”�

                “You can just ask him,”� Emma reasoned, with logic that was quite beyond me in my agitated state. “After you talk to Amos. I’m sure James will want to speak with you afterwards, anyway. You can just ask him then.”�

                “Unless he _doesn’t_ want to speak with you,”� Grace put in with an evil sort of grin. “You know, like maybe he’s decided you’re too much effort. Maybe he’ll go after someone who might actually enter into a relationship with him.”�

 “Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?”� I glared. “What happened to being supportive and seeing how it turns out?”�

                Grace’s grin only got bigger. “What kind of mate would I be if I didn’t constantly pester you about how you’re blotching up your life?”�

                “It’s her life to blotch, Gracie,”� Emma said.

                “Yeah,”� I sneered at Grace. “It’s _my_ life to blotch.”�

                Gracie sneered back something about obstinate tarts and mental wards, but I chose to ignore her and, after a few more muttered comments, wrote this up instead because I’ve learned that silence is oftentimes the best weapon in these sorts of situations, and I’m wielding mine with practiced finesse. She may think she’s fooling me with her silly little asinine conversations with Emma as I write, but I know better. I’m getting to her. My silence is taking its toll. And just because she keeps sending me all these knowing looks…well, they don’t mean anything. She’s just spouting nonsense, anyway. Because it is nonsense. Total nonsense. James wouldn’t…I mean, honestly! As if.

                Right.

                Hm.

Oh, whatever. I don’t have time to have an anxiety attack over this. James is not giving up on me. Grace is just trying to push my buttons and she knows that’s the one to press. I have much more important things to stress over. I _should_ be thinking of Amos and what exactly I’m going to be saying to him in…oh, hell, t-minus six minutes. That will probably not be my best conversation. I mean, I know I have the whole ‘take her, leave me’ plan, but it’s not really as if people actually go up to someone and just blurt that sort of thing out. That kind of message has to be eased into. There needs to be some sort of proper verbal cushioning to soften the blow. And I don’t think a, “Hey there, Amos,”� is going to suffice. This needs to be done carefully, considerately. I’ll just–

Hey! I thought I still had six minutes!

Damn stupid _time_.

Bugger.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Somewhere on the Fourth Floor**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 225**

                Okay, that…that was not normal.

                What the hell?

                Seriously. That’s the only phrase I can muster right now–what the _hell_? What the bloody, rotten, flistering, fucking _hell_? ‘Not normal’ is not nearly enough to describe what that was. It’s not even close. That was…well, that was not all right. That was _so_ not all right. That was so not all right, I don’t even know the word for how not all right it was. There may not be one. A word, I mean. I don’t know. I’ve never experienced something so deranged, so mad, so utterly and completely _not all right._

_Merlin_.

                I’m grappling here. I’m probably not making the least bit of sense. But I can’t help it! I’m entirely out of my league. I, the maddest of the madwomen, the _queen_ of nonsensical lunacy, have no idea how to deal with this–I don’t even know what it was! And honestly, I don’t think there’s a manual on it. There should be, but there isn’t. There never is, for the truly inexplicable. And _this_ , I have to say, is inexplicable to the highest degree.

                He ran away.

                I kid you not, the stupid ponce _ran away_.

                Who does that? Seriously, who? I mean, if you’ve reached the point in a certain relationship where your discomfort level is so catastrophic that you can’t even stand to converse with the person…well, do the decent thing and don’t let them see you! Hide in your dormitory! Hide in the library! Go to Madam Pomfrey and explain to her that your dilemma transcends illness and injury and that she is your only saving grace! _Those_ things I can understand! I am the _queen_ of those things! But this running away rubbish?

                No.

                Just no.

                _So_ not cool.

                When the bell for lunch rang–six minutes early, as far as I was concerned–Grace, Emma and I left the Prefect’s lavatory before anyone could try the door, find it locked and get us in some sort of trouble in their attempts to relieve themselves in luxury. For the sake of life harmony, I decided I’d forgive Grace for her spotty supportiveness, which I informed her of as we all waltzed out the lavatory door, entering a not surprisingly empty corridor. There weren’t many active classrooms about the fifth floor.

                “I know I could torture you for decades and eons and decades with my withheld friendship,”� I informed her jauntily as we crossed through the door, “but I’m entirely too softhearted to put you through that sort of agony. Call it my pure, good nature. So I suppose I’ll have to forgive you, even though you said James would abandon me.”�

                “How very sporting of you,”� Grace replied, linking up arms with me. She leaned in close as she clicked her tongue. “Though I think we both know that you’d be lost and alone without me.”�

                “Hey, what about me?”� Emma cried, though she was looking amused rather than offended. Grace only grinned.

                “You’d be lost and alone without me, too.”�

                Emma and I shared a look and rolled our eyes, informing Gracie that we would undoubtedly survive without her constant presence and how arrogant of her to claim otherwise, but Grace didn’t seem to be listening. She just kept blathering on about how invaluable she was. We let her do so as we traversed down the narrow stairwell that led to the third floor, seriously considering shoving her into the trick step as we passed by. After a narrow escape–the only thing that saved her from life-in-the-deep-step-abyss were her quick reflexes. I suppose Quidditch has _some_ uses–we exited onto the third floor in a jumble of giggles and jibes. I had quite forgotten all about my burdensome troubles in the midst of my childish fun until all of a sudden, Emma stopped laughing and nudged me hard in the side.

                “Lily, look.”�

                I glanced at Emma, then over towards the spot where she’d quickly jerked her head, trying to ignore the sudden uneasy jolt that shot through my body the second I caught the familiar sight of Amos walking alone down the corridor not thirty paces in front of us. Freezing in my tracks, I kept my eyes on his moving form, trying not to lose him in the quickly crowding corridor. My pulse began hammering in my chest. 

                “Do you want us to wait for you?”� Emma asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shook my head without looking at her. I had to do this alone, and I had to do this now. I knew that. I actually wanted it. This rubbish had been bothering me long enough.

                “No, go on,”� I told Emma and Grace, waving them along. “I’ll meet you at lunch.”� Before either of them could say anything in response to that, I stepped away from them, calling, “Amos!”�

                What happened next all occurred so quickly and maddeningly, it might have been comical had it not happened to me. But of course it _was_ me, so the whole humourous bit…yeah, not so much.

                At the sound of my voice, Amos turned his head and spotted me almost instantly. However, instead of grinning his normal, pleasant, previously-swoon-worthy smile at me and returning the friendly wave I sent his way, Amos stopped short, all but tripping over himself in his abruptness, then sent me the most strained cringe-grin I’d ever seen.

                Um… what?

                Shoving aside my uncertainty at his less-than-encouraging reaction, I gave Amos another wave and my best smile before quickly making my way towards him. After a second, Amos started forward as well, but at a pace that I can only think to call frantically hurried. My eyebrows were threatening to raise, but I controlled myself and continued to smile as I stopped in front of my heart’s former desire.

                “Hey, Amos,”� I said in my friendliest tone. “Listen, I’ve really got to speak with you about–”�

                “Lily!”� Amos cried in a loud voice, cutting me off and grabbing my shoulders, all but bolting me to the floor with his arms. I wiggled, but his grip didn’t ease. “Yeah, of course. A chat sounds lovely. But I’m on the run now, actually–shamefully late for a study session–Runes, actually. We’ll chat later, yeah?”�

                “No,”� I declared quickly, wiggling in earnest now. “Amos, we _really_ need to–”�

                “Yes, brill, later.”� Amos finally let go of me, though only so he could dash by me, moving quickly and without listening to my protests, though I made them frantically. He finally gave me the wave and the smile I’d been anticipating at our meeting, though now they were given as he all but ran down the corridor. “See you later!”� he called.

                “Amos, _no_! Come…”� But it was no use. Amos was already too far away and rounding the corner towards the stairs. I stared after him in shock, hardly believing what had just happened. A moment later, I felt Grace and Emma come up behind me, having not even left the corridor in the short time my failure of a conversation with Amos had occurred. I felt myself flush red as Emma let out a noise of disbelief.

                “Did he just…”�

                “He ran away,”� Grace finished with equal incredulity. “The bloody coward actually _ran away_.”�

                I knew this–for Merlin’s sake, I’d been standing right there. I’d _seen_ him dash off as if the very fires of Hell were biting at his heels–but for some reason, hearing Grace say it out loud really set the reality of the situation in.

                Amos had run away.

                He’d _run away_.

                If I had still been under the impression that everything was normal and that there was simply some sort of romantic misunderstanding between us Saturday that had led to the kiss this morning, that notion would have evaporated at that very moment. Study session or not (which I’m thinking was most likely a firm _not_ ), a bloke could spare a moment of conversation for a girl he’s supposedly seeing, especially when she is all but demanding it. There was something going on–something _majorly_ rubbish. I can’t be sure whether or not my suspicions about Julie were correct, but if it wasn’t that, it was something else. I just didn’t know _what_. One thing I knew for sure, however.

                No _one_ messes with Lily Evans and gets away with it. Even if he _is_ my heart’s previous desire.

                With that firm conviction in mind, I felt myself growing cross and insulted and outraged by Amos’s actions. I mean, honestly, how _rude_. How _dastardly_. How could he do something so utterly low and selfish–which I’m sure it is, even though I’m not quite sure what it is. But whatever. Technicality.

                I was so wound up over the whole thing and so angry that I had let Amos get away with it that I made the hasty decision to go after him without much thinking. One moment, Emma was all, “What are you going to do now, Lil?”� and the next, I was all, “What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going after the coward.”�

                Then I did it. I went after him.

                ...or I _tried_ , anyway.

                The problem, of course, with the whole ‘go after him’ plan was the fact that I didn’t exactly know where he’d gone off _to_. He’d given that ‘study session’ rubbish and I’d seen him run off towards the stairs, but other than that, I didn’t have much to go on. But in my fit of righteous indignation, that didn’t seem to matter. So I abandoned Grace and Emma in the corridor and stomped off towards the stairs, making a quick decision to head for the second floor because I figured Amos would want to lose himself in the masses of students, which would be in high abundance on the second floor because of all the active classrooms and offices there. But if Amos was hiding there, I couldn’t find him, even after most of the corridors had cleared. I couldn’t give up just yet, though, partially because I hadn’t quite lost all my pent-up rage and partially because I wanted to be able to tell James that I had tried to hunt the coward down as best I could, so instead of admitting defeat and heading to the Great Hall, I went to the fourth floor to search there.

                And so here I am.

                And though I’m still cross and still outraged and still all those bad feelings at Amos, I’m not stupid enough to think that I can just search the whole castle and find him. I mean, talk about your useless endeavors. Wherever Amos is, I’m probably not going to find him right now. I’ll just have to wait, as positively aggravating as that is. Though to be perfectly honest, I think what I dread the most is what James is going to say when I tell him that I had Amos in my clutches and then let him get away. I mean, it wasn’t my fault or anything, but…well, somehow I just think he won’t be very pleased.

                Merlin, why can’t anything happen the way I want it to? Just _once_?

                Oh, well. I can’t sulk on the fourth floor forever. Lunch, here I come, ready or not.

                Psh.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Lunch**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 226**

I was in no rush to get to the Great Hall, taking my time as I wandered through the corridors and down the stairs, still rather pathetically hoping that Amos might pop up out of the shadows and let me fix this mess. He didn’t, of course, but a girl’s allowed to dream. Anyway, that’s what I was pondering as I made my way to lunch, all the reasons why Amos was being such a prat and why I, the ever-innocent bystander, had to pay for it. I was so lost in the unfairness of it all that I almost didn’t spot James as I went to enter the Great Hall.

                He was sitting just outside the doors, his back against the stone wall, one leg propped up and bent at the knee with the other lying long and outstretched next to it. His elbow rested on his propped knee, his hand holding a napkin with what looked like a sandwich wrapped inside. I spotted him just as my hand was at the door and I did a bit of a double take, surprised to see him there. One side of his mouth quirked up and he held out the napkin to me, not saying a word. Without really thinking about it, my hand dropped away from the door and I went to go sit down next to him, taking the sandwich from his outstretched hand, grateful for something to fiddle with while I had to say this. I held the sandwich in my lap and stared determinedly at it as I spoke.

                “I tried to talk to him. He was right there, but then he–”�

                “Ran,”� James finished for me, and my gaze shot up to his in surprise. “Grace and Emma told me,”� he explained.

                “Oh.”� I should have realised that he’d question them when I wasn’t there. “I went after him,”� I added, even though I was pretty sure they told him that, as well. “But it was rather a needle in a haystack situation. That’s the thing about Hogwarts–you want to be lost, you can be lost. Possibly forever.”�

                James laughed and muttered, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”�

                I elbowed him hard in the ribs, but that only made him laugh harder. Naturally. “Excuse me, but _I_ don’t run away from people after they’re already standing right in front of me.”� When James only tossed me a look at that, I sniffed derisively and stuck my chin up. “My mother raised me right,”� I huffed. “I run _before_ they’ve spotted me.”�

                I knew James would crack up at that and I wasn’t disappointed. Laughing in earnest now, he threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his side, dropping a kiss on my forehead as he laughed (which, no matter what he says, _is_ milk, which makes _him_ the waver-er, not me. Even though I may have secretly swooned a bit inside. But that hardly counts. It was just a tiny swoon. And it was the Rook Whore side of me that did it, anyway. I can’t be responsible for her actions). Quite content right there and then, I almost hated to ask the inevitable question, but it needed to be done. Looking up at James’s still grinning face, I tentatively inquired, “You’re not angry?”�

                “About what?”� James asked. I threw him a look.

                “About me not talking to Amos,”� I said, even though I knew well that he knew what I was asking about. Then, ruefully, “Or rather, _talking_ to him, but getting as far as ‘Amos, we really need to talk,’ before he all but shoved me aside in his haste to get away.”�

                “Why would I be angry about that?”� James asked, being entirely more reasonable than I expected him to be. I wondered if there was something I was missing. He must have seen the skepticism in my face because he rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sort of breath. “Do you really think I’m that ridiculous?”� he asked, sounding a bit annoyed. “You’re only mistake was ever fancying the stupid ponce in the first place. And possibly not letting me beat the bastard to death, although there’s still time to rectify that one.”�

                “James, _no_ ,”� I said quickly, because I saw the sort of dreamy look in James’s eyes and I was pretty sure he was all of three seconds away from finding the needle in the haystack and making a pin cushion out of him. Merlin, men and their violence. It’s positively barbaric. “Promise me right now that you’re not going to do anything. You have to let me handle this.”�

                “But what if–”�

                “ _No_.”�

                “Oh, come _on_ , Lil.”�

                “Promise me, James. Right now.”�

                James didn’t look the least bit happy about my demands, but he grumbled a, “Yeah, all right. I promise,”� anyway, giving me a scowl. I wouldn’t relent, though. I wasn’t about to be the cause of yet another one of James’s brawls. Thinking of this, I ignored James’s still put out attitude and asked, “Did you speak to Sirius?”�

                Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as if asking for patience from above (really, how rude), James moaned and said, “Will you never quit, woman?”�

                I jabbed him hard in the ribs again because it seemed the most effective form of injury allowed in our present positions, but James was pretty much as wounded as he had been the last time. You know, when he’d _laughed_. “I am trying to be emotionally supportive and fix your rotten friendships and you’re moaning and groaning? Truly, James? Is that how you’re playing it?”�

                “Emotionally supportive, my arse,”� James scoffed, throwing me a look. “You’re being meddlesome and annoying and you know it.”�

                I let out an outraged huff, even though…well, yeah. “You are entirely rude for suggesting my concern is so selfishly motivated. I may never forgive you…except that I will, if you tell me if you spoke to him.”�

                James just stared at me. “Eat your sandwich, Lily,”� he said.

                “Eat my... seriously?”�

                “It’s been a long morning. You’re probably hungry.”�

                I was, but that so was not the point.

                But James was looking at me as if to say, “You gonna deny it?”� with a triumphant little gleam in his eyes like he’d won. And even though I’m not the competitive sort, that was just not all right with me. So out of spite and with my own little triumphant gleam, I took a huge bite of the sandwich, chewed, swallowed, then went, “Yum. Now talk.”�

                James laughed, shaking his head at me as I took another bite, but continued to look at him expectantly. No matter what he thought, we were going to talk about this. I’d like to see him just _try_ to get out of it. Psh.

                “Would it get me anywhere to say it’s really none of your business?”� James asked.

                I gave him a disgusted look. “What are you on? Of course it’s my business– _you’re_ my business. Mess’s messes, don’t you remember? You’re my mate with potential.”�

                James smiled at that. “Very good to hear,”� he said. Then he leaned in closer. “But I’m still not telling you.”�

                “Oh, come on!”�

                “Drop it, Lily.”�

                “You’re being completely unreasonable,”� I argued, throwing him a glare. “All I’m trying to do is help.”�

                “And if I thought you could, I would let you,”� James put in, using his I’m-being-reasonable-and-you’re-being-a-quarrelsome-shrew voice, even though _he_ was the one being ridiculous. I was about to argue some more, but then James let out a long sigh, one that halted my protests with its quiet ardency. I looked up at him, startled. “Please,”� he said. “Just drop it for now, all right?”�

                I didn’t like that idea–especially now, when James was looking so serious about it. Was this really affecting him more than he let on? I wanted to know, but I knew that pestering him now would only make him more determined to keep me out of it. I didn’t know why he was being so sensitive, but I knew if I pushed him too much, his pride would bristle up and he’d close on me. I didn’t want that. So instead of sputtering out the million questions about him and Sirius that were filling my head, I gave him a nod and said instead, “Fine. You’re entitled to your privacy, I suppose. But you won’t answer my questions about that, mind if I ask you about something else?”�

                James looked entirely relieved and entirely wary at the same time. “That depends,”� he said. “What are you asking?”�

                “I realised something this morning,”� I started to explain, choosing to ignore the fact that it was actually Emma who had realised and not me. I took another bite of my sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Last night, you said you had to tell me something–and in the Room of Requirement, as well. But you never did. Tell me, I mean. I guess I never gave you the chance. What was it?”�

                Quite unexpectedly, James let out a laugh at my question, suddenly highly amused. It would have been a refreshing change from his seriousness of a moment ago if it hadn’t been at my expense. “What?”� I asked, shifting about uncomfortably.

                “Nothing,”� James answered, but he was still laughing. He lifted the hand that had previously been strung about my shoulders up to twirl a finger through a strand of my hair. His smile was wide and shining as he looked at me. “But I’m not going to tell you about _that_ either,”� he said.

                Hey!

                “What?”� I asked, jerking away from him in surprise, my face probably so comically outraged that James just _had_ to laugh again. Or maybe he’s just a sadistic bastard. “What do you mean, you’re not going to tell me that either? Why the hell not?”�

                “Because I’ve changed my mind,”� James answered, shrugging carelessly. “Not about what I have to say, of course,”� he added quickly, nodding, “but about telling you. I think I’ll wait.”�

                “Wait?”� I cried shrilly, carefully considering whether a quick slam of his head against the wall would really be so bad in the long run. “Wait for what?”�

                James’s grin grew sharp and bright. “Until we’re less ‘mate’, and more ‘potential.’”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

                “This is rubbish,”� I snapped, thoroughly ticked off. “This… it’s blackmail, is what it is. It’s plan A, part 4– _emotional_ milk. You’re withholding emotional milk now and that’s just… just…”�

                “Brilliant?”� James suggested. “Genius? Merlin willing, even successful?”�

                “Low,”� I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff. “It’s really, really _low_.”�

                “Whatever works,”� was James’s response, as if he had very little regard for the levels he was or wasn’t sinking to–which I’m pretty sure he did. “It’s for the best, really. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”�

                I could have answered that in any number of ways, with any number of angry and bitter retorts and insults, but no matter what level James seemed content to fall to, _I_ was not about to participate in the pettiness. If he didn’t want to tell me, that was just fine. He could damn well keep it to himself–keep _everything_ to himself. It must not have been very important, anyway, or he wouldn’t have had a choice–he would have _had_ to tell me. So I clearly wasn’t missing much.

                  _I_ was not going to be a participant in this rubbish. It didn’t matter a whit to me.

                Mostly.

                Taking another bite of my sandwich, I stayed silent, content to eat and chew and swallow without any contact with the prat sitting next to me at all. Not surprisingly, James only found my silence amusing, and also clearly as an invitation to fill the quiet with his annoying voice.

                “There’s no need to be cross,”� he said, and though I refused to look at him, I could tell he was smiling. “You can fix this whole thing quite easily, you know.”�

                “No, thank you,”� I said in a voice I forced to be flat and disinterested. I threw him a haughty look before gracefully (sort of) rising to my feet. I shrugged my bag over my shoulder and looked down at James, who was still sitting on the floor. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be off to lunch. Believe it or not, there are _some_ people who will actually talk to me.”�

                “Poor fools,”� James said, then dodged my foot as I went to kick him before stomping off.

                Really, sometimes I wonder why I even bother with him. 

                Hmph.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 226**

                Oh my god, is she serious?

                Honestly. Is she _serious_?

                

  
**WRITTEN AND PRACTICAL EXAM**   
**ANIMAL AND HOUSEHOLD TRANSFIGURATION**   
**MONDAY, NOVEMBER 3rd**   


Just go ahead and shoot me while I’m down, McG. Spit on me as I lay dying on the floor. Barely spare me a look as I wail moaning and withering in pain and agony. Go on. Have at it. You have _fun_.

                Some people are just so coldhearted.

______________________________________________  
**More Later, Still in Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 226**

Whatever. I don’t know why I’m panicking. It’s not a big deal. I mean, the exam is still a few weeks away–I have ages to study. And besides, I’m not nearly as rotten as I was a few weeks ago. Tutoring has really helped. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly prepared by the time the 3rd rolls around. I can do this.

                Oh, hell, no, I _can’t_.

                I mean, look at me now! I’m not even paying attention! McGonagall is probably going on and on about all sorts of important and imperative things and I’m not even listening, much less digesting and learning the information! And who the hell am I kidding? I may not be as rotten as I was, but I might also be slightly more comforted by this fact if I hadn’t merely progressed from ‘rotten’ to ‘spoiled.’

                Somehow, I don’t think that’s quite the level necessary to receive a passing mark.

                Merlin, what hell. McGonagall has some nerve, throwing this on me now. Doesn’t she know how much other rubbish I’m dealing with? Can’t she tell that I don’t have _time_ to add another stress factor to my life? I thought we were pals. I thought we were close. I thought there was at least a connection enough for her not to want me _dead_.

                Holy hell, if there was ever a time to go to Guam, this would be it. 

                How much do you reckon a ticket would cost? Figuring it’s their off-season and all?

                Something to look up.

______________________________________________  
**More More Later, Still Still in Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 226**

                Well, that’s it. I’m gone. I’m _so_ gone. I don’t care where, I don’t care how, I don’t care who or what or any other inquisitive ‘w’, all I care about is _when_ , meaning right this very second. As soon as possible. Sooner than as soon as possible. I am done. I am _out_.

                Look–just _look_ –at what just landed ever-so-innocently on my desk. _You just look_.

                _Lily,_

_Sorry to bother, but I’ve really got to speak with you about something. Do you think you can spare me a few moments after class? It’s quite important._

_Julie_

                Kill me now.

                Kill me _now_.

                No, Julie _bloody_ Little, I will not speak with you, after class or ever. In fact, if you would like to, I don’t know, take your boyfriend Amos and waltz into the nearest sunset and never prevail upon my presence again, I wouldn’t be the least bit bothered. In fact, I’d be quite content. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about tracking down your stupid boyfriend-needle in the stupid Hogwarts-haystack to tell him that he can bloody well go waltz off with you wherever, but to leave me out of it, because he wouldn’t _be_ here for it to matter. So please forgive me if I’m less than inclined to comply with your request. I seem to be having a bit of an _off day_.

                I hate my life.

                I hate my life, I hate my life, _I hate my life_.

______________________________________________  
**Even Later, Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 226**

                _Julie,_

_Terribly sorry, but I have a study session after class today. Runes are a killer, you know. We’ll chat later, yeah?_

_Lily_

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 227**

**I think that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. —GR**

Excuse me? —LE

                **Seriously. The funniest.**

I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.

                **No? So then that wasn’t just you, dashing by Julie Little a la Amos while she hooted and hollered about needing to talk to you as soon as possible, and you hooted and hollered back ‘Later, later’? Because if not, you’ve got a twin. One who I followed here and who suddenly turned into the you I’m speaking with right now. Creepy.**

                Shut up. It was necessary.

                **How so?**

                Because how exactly am I supposed to talk to Julie about Amos when I haven’t even spoken to _Amos_ about Amos? I don’t know what’s going on. I’m as clueless as she is. And just like I’m handling it, _she_ should handle it. This is not my problem.

                **So you’re just going to run away from her? A la Amos?**

                This is completely different from Amos. He’s a coward. I am being evasively logical.

                **Evasively logical?**

Yes, Gracie. Evasively logical. End of conversation. Where’s Emma?

                **I don’t know. After watching your Evasively Logical Production, I shoved her into an unsuspecting Mac. She was busy sputtering apologies when I left to follow you.**

                Merlin, I’d forgotten all about Mac! Good work, Gracie!

                **Thank you. It was quite the proud moment.**

                Do you think they’re making up now, even as we speak (–er, write)?

                **I doubt it. You know Emma. She hasn’t thought the whole thing to death yet. She needs at least a few more eons.**

Well, then I guess it’s up to us to speed her along. I suppose I’ll have a firm chat with Mac tomorrow. After my chat with Amos. If I can find Amos.

                **Sounds like a plan.**

I thought so.

                **Well, now that you’ve gotten away from Julie, can we please leave this hellhole? I’m bored. Let’s go for a walk or something. See what damage we can cause. Then you can come to Quidditch practice and ogle James.**

                Firstly, this isn’t a hellhole–it’s a place of great learning and information. Secondly, I can’t appease your boredom. I have to study for Transfiguration. Thirdly, it’s too cold out to go for a walk. And fourthly, I hate Quidditch and am not going to practice because James and I are currently at odds and I will not suffer through the cold or the sport for him…even if he is ogle-able.

                **Why are you and James at odds exactly?**

                Because he refuses to tell me anything. He is a secretive, conniving, very low person. Who I fancy anyway, but that’s very much beside the point.

                **Right.**

You can tell him that. At Quidditch practice, I mean. That he is secretive, conniving and very low.

                **But that you fancy him anyway.**

No, leave that bit out. Though he’d probably take the whole thing as a compliment, anyway, the stupid ponce.

                **I think you’re just cross because he won’t snog you.**

                That is so not true. I am not that slaggy. Mostly. But even if I were, it wouldn’t matter, because James snogs me, anyway. Like, all the time. But calls it mouthwash. Which is entirely unhygienic.

                **Whatever, Rook Whore. But are you seriously going to sit in here and study? The exam is years away.**

For some of us, years is not long enough.

                **Merlin, you’re boring. I’m going on a walk. Maybe I’ll see James. Or Amos. Or Julie. And if I do, just to let you know, I’m causing trouble.**

                I don’t care. I’m moving to Guam, anyway.

                **You always say that.**

______________________________________________  
**More Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 227**

**Ten Things I Could Really, Sincerely Do Without, If the Fates of the World Were So Inclined to Give Me a Break**

1) The annoying group of Hufflepuffs sitting on the other side of the shelves from me. This is a _library_ , for Merlin’s sake. People are trying to _work_. I hate your entire house population.  
2) Madam Pince who, in her attempts to quiet the dastardly Hufflepuffs as well as every other living soul making a sound, is just making _more_ noise. French noise. Which is even worse than normal noise.  
3) This chair I’m sitting in. It squeaks. Not all the time, but enough to cause concern. I could move, but that would take effort. And you know how I feel about effort.  
4) The Transfiguration section. It’s positively claustrophobic. It’s not comforting or warm or inviting in the least. It’s big and intimidating and dusty. It should take some pointers from, say, the Charms section. I could _live_ in the Charms section. I couldn’t leave here. Without getting emphysema, I mean.  
5) The subject of Transfiguration as a whole. If it didn’t exist, neither would its section. And neither, as it were, would my future failing mark in the class. The world, I’m sure, would survive without it.  
6) Exams, as a whole. Who created such a barbaric practice, anyway? Any decent person worth a whit would not need to be tested on the things they’re learning–they would simply absorb the information in order to better themselves. Anything they don’t remember…well, it probably isn’t important. Like, in life, when is a person ever going to need to know how to turn a lizard into a chicken? I’m sure the lizard is quite happy being a lizard. And if he’s not, I’m sure there’s a whole, big psychological process that should be observed before the conversion. It’s only decent.  
7) Amos Diggory, as a whole.  
8) Julie Little, as a whole.  
9) James Potter, as a whole.  
10) My life, as a whole.

______________________________________________  
**Later times a Million, Dinner in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 228**

                I’ve discovered that dinner is a much calmer and more peaceful affair when the Quidditch team is holding practice. Without their disruptive presence, the whole dinner process just substantially improves. And maybe some might say that this is just bitterness speaking on my part (that’s what Emma calls it, anyway. But that’s probably just projection. _She’s_ bitter because she didn’t make up with Mac this afternoon. Obviously), but I’m thinking that most people are just too brainwashed by the sport to admit it. But it’s true. It really is.

                And while I’m quite sure that I could be spending this presently calm and peaceful dinner affair fuming because Amos is _still_ missing and therefore unavailable for confrontation, I’m choosing not to be. Instead, I am just going to be grateful. Grateful for being out of the Transfiguration section, grateful for the two types of rice available for consumption, grateful that Julie Little is nowhere in sight, and therefore not available to pester me into a conversation I don’t want to have about–

                Oh, hell.

                She _was_ nowhere in sight.

                I suppose this dinner will have to be taken to-go.

______________________________________________  
**Later times a Billion, Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 228**

Merlin, she’s exhausting. And I really didn’t appreciate that skeptical look I caught her giving me as I was running away with my rice after telling her that I had to go to the Hospital Wing. For all she knows, I _could’ve_ had to go to the Hospital Wing. Does she not _see_ the bandage wrapped ever-so-tragically around my dainty, injured wrist? Does she not recall a certain incident when I was, oh yes, _burned by acid_ all of four days ago? And it’s quite normal to bring rice to check-ups. I mean, what else would you bring? Exactly.

                I swear, some people are just ridiculous.

                I’d just like to eat and do some homework in _peace_ , thanks.

______________________________________________  
**Later times a Zillion(?), 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 35**  
**Total Observations: 229**

Observation #229) Life is exhausting.

                Sleep time.

                Maybe I will find my inner peace there.

                Hmph.

______________________________________________  
**Tuesday, October 21st, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 230**

**From the Mad Mind of Lily Evans: A Dream**

  
I’m standing on the beach, wearing a fur coat, watching the ocean waves crash at my feet. I want to go in the water, but then I’d ruin my coat, and that would be unacceptable. I am on the verge of tears, conflicted between the water and my coat. Suddenly, James appears. He’s on his broomstick. He tells me to come play Quidditch with him. I say no, maybe another time, I have to go make my bed. He says, no, no, he made my bed. I ask him what he was doing in my bed. He says come on, let’s play Quidditch. I say no, what about my bed? He says no, not in the bed, you can’t play Quidditch in a bed. Frustrated, I stomp away, straight into the ocean. I don’t care about my coat anymore. James flies over and says fine, he’s going to go play with Julie Little, but instead of Julie, Dumbledore is sitting behind him on the broomstick. Dumbledore nods and waves as I float in the water below. James and Dumbledore fly off. I suddenly care about my coat again. I get out of the water. I then proceed to paint my toenails a vomit-worthy shade of brown. It matches my coat.

Observation #230) Stress is clearly very, very unhealthy.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Still 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 230**

** Things to Do Today **

1\. Talk to Amos  
2\. Talk to Julie (after talking to Amos)  
3\. Talk to Mac (before or after Amos and Julie, though probably not best in between. Too confusing)  
4\. Talk to James (ONLY after Amos/Julie, because it’s necessary. I am otherwise NOT speaking to him. Two can play the emotional milk game)  
5\. Rest after all this talking.  
6\. Study for Transfiguration  
7\. Eat.  
8\. Sleep.  
9\. Breathe.  
10\. Survive.

______________________________________________  
**Still Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 230**

                "So, are we still at odds?"

                This was the inquiry with which James heralded his arrival to the Gryffindor table, sliding into the seat next to me and dropping his rucksack down on the floor behind him without a care in the world. Glancing up from my waffles, I watched as he gave Marley a goofy grin hello, then turned to me with a quirked eyebrow that was decidedly more amused than it was inquisitive. Giving him my best dismissive scowl, I forked a piece of waffle with some deliberately loud plate-fork clanking. The boy was entirely too smug for my liking– _especially_ for someone who had last been seen flying off into the sunset with Dumbledore pressed up against his back.

                I mean, not that he knew about that.

                But whatever. He should have _felt_ the difference.

                "I don't know," I finally answered, giving him my best narrow-eyed gaze. "Are you still a secretive, conniving, very low person?"

                "I don't know," was James's quick reply. "Do you still fancy me anyway?"

                Grace Reynolds’s is the bane of my existence.

                Truly. The _bane_.

                “She wasn’t supposed to tell you that part,”� I muttered crossly, shoving another piece of waffle in my mouth. James grinned triumphantly, not hiding his oh-yes-beat- _that_ morale in the least, as he let out a quiet snort.

                “She’s Grace,”� he said dryly. “Of course she told me that part.”�

                “I know. But now I may have to kill her.”�

                “I was told you’re moving to Guam. Will such things matter in Guam?”�

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

                (Though that’s actually a rather good question.)

                Sighing very heavily and dramatically, I chose to ignore James and his sudden bursts of hilarity and turned to Marley instead with a shared look of exasperation. "Do you see what I have to deal with?" I asked her. "Really, is it no wonder I want to move to a remote island? Do you blame me?"

                "I'll help you pack if you'd like," Marley replied helpfully. "What's the weather like in Guam?"

                This is why I'd take Marley with me, while the rest of them can rot in Hell.

                Hmph.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Still in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 231**

                Some people just don’t understand the meaning of the phrase, “I’m not talking to you.”� 

                Truly, they just don’t. Because if they _did_ have any inclination as to the purpose and intent of the phrase, they would not be blabbing off my ears with mindless chatter about only Merlin knows what. Instead, they would _understand_ when I say, “Pardon me, but _I am not talking to you_ ,”� and stop their endless blubbering… unless of course they chose to speak about things that I _want_ to hear–which would cancel out the previous “I don’t want to talk to you”� statements, of course– like, say, certain things they meant to say to me previously but have presently opted not to as a form of emotional milk torture.

But until that time and place when the emotional milk torture ceases, all I’m asking is that they kindly _shut up_. For Merlin’s sake, I am trying to study here! Transfiguration is quite obviously my _life_ and others should just respect that and not reply with asinine little quips like, “Your life? That’s new. I’ve heard that it’s the _end_ of your life before, but never just _life_ ,”� or “Well, then, I guess it’s a damned good thing I’m your tutor then, eh?”�

If I decide to off myself, don’t look too hard for the reason.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Before Potions**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 231**

                And just because I don’t directly _say_ , “I don’t want to talk to you,”� that doesn’t mean that I still don’t expect you to understand the sentiment. In fact, there are many ways to express “I don’t want to talk to you,”� some of which are utilized when a person is trying to be polite and doesn’t want to outright scream that they want nothing to do with you.

Running away from you time after time after time _after time_? 

Yeah, that’s one of them.

Way to catch on, Julie.

Psh.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Still Before Potions**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 231**

                _To Grace Reynolds_  
_Re: The End of our Friendship_

_Dear Miss Reynolds,_

_This note is to inform you that our previously strong and flourishing friendship is now being placed on permanent hiatus due to several instances of rudeness and betrayal. I would outline them directly, but the pain is too prominent and debilitating to recount. Instead, I will simply leave you with the words, ‘At odds’ and ‘Laughing while Lily is running from Julie’ and hope that you understand my meaning. It has been a lovely seven years and I’m sorry it has to end this way._

_Sincerely,_  
_Lily Christine Evans_

_P.S. — MAC JUST WALKED IN AND I WILL BARRAGE HIM WITH NOTES OF PLEADING AND EXPLANATION. DISTRACT EMMELINE ACCORDINGLY. CONSIDER A LIGHT TAP OVER THE HEAD WITH MY TOME OF TROUBLING TRANSFIGURATION. IT HURTS._

______________________________________________  
**Even Later, Potions**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 231**

**Stop it. He’s not talking to you, Lily. —JP**

Excuse me, but please don’t speak of things you know nothing about. In fact, please don’t speak at all, as I’ve asked you several times. —LE

**Quit throwing parchment at the poor sod. Abbott is going to catch you and Fulton’s not even going to read your notes.**

He’ll have to listen eventually.

**Lily.**

James.

**Stop.**

You can’t tell me what to do. 

**Mates with potential have that power actually.**

I suppose it’s too bad that we’re presently more mate and less potential then, hm?

**You wish. You know, I think I like having this power over you.**

Ha! Power, my arse. You can take your bloody milk and shove off. I couldn’t be less interested in your snogs or your stupid things you meant to tell me. Both are decidedly subpar. 

**Careful, Infallible. Bitterness stains.**

We are so just mates.

______________________________________________  
**Even Later, Defense**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 231**

Things To Do, #3 [Talk to Mac] : Check.

Not simply to prove James wrong (though I have to admit that I wasn't too disappointed about that particular side effect), I enlisted Gracie to do some long-term Emma distracting as Potions ended in order to give me the opportunity to catch up with Mac so that we could have a little heart-to-heart. I'm not quite sure how she did it, but Gracie somehow managed to detain and misdirect Emma's attention long enough so that I could slip out of the classroom alone, my eyes locked on Mac's quickly moving form striding off down the corridor. Refusing to let him get away, I all but ran to catch up with him, not making a sound until I was striding right along next to him, my shorter legs miraculously keeping up with his.

"It's terribly rude to ignore someone," I announced haughtily, satisfied when Mac gave a little jump, his head swinging over to look at me, obviously quite surprised to find me right there beside him. My sneaking skills are quite legendary. "Especially when one is choosing to waste precious parchment on you. Why were you ignoring my notes, Mac?"

"Hullo, Lily," was Mac's response, and I don't think he could have sounded more exasperated if he'd tried. Really, how rude.

"Yes, yes, hullo back," I muttered quickly, waving his greeting–and quite negative attitude–off away with my hand. "Please focus. I am trying to help you, but you make it quite difficult."

"I've told you before, I don't need your help." Mac was so clearly misinformed. "This is for me and Emmeline to sort out–if she wants to."

"She does!" I cried instantly, nodding vigorously. "Really, Mac, she does. She's just being a complete hen about it. You know Emma–she has to think everything to death, then bury it, then _unbury_ it, then think it to death again."

For the first time all morning, I saw Mac crack the smallest of smiles. "She does do that, doesn't she?" he muttered wirily, but there was such affection in his voice, I was instantly perked up. There _was_ hope for these two!

"Yes, she does," I said with a firm nod, drawing Mac's attention away from his dreamy-Emma-place and back towards me. I gave him an encouraging grin. "But with _my_ help, we can have you unburied and on your way in no time! I mean, I was right about the letter, wasn't I? You took my advice then!"

Mac's expression quickly turned incredulous at the reminder of the letter.

"Yes, and look where it got me!" he muttered, throwing me a look. "It's been weeks and she still refuses to speak to me unless Grace Reynolds is shoving her straight at me–and even _then_ all she does is apologise and run off! Some help _that_ was."

"Hey!" I cried, utterly offended. "Do _not_ insult the letter. The letter _worked_. For your information, she only read it Saturday, otherwise I'm sure she would have spoken to you sooner–though please forgive me if the girl needed a bit of time to figure out whether or not you're lying through your teeth!"

I hadn't really meant to say that–I didn't know whether or not Mac would be upset that Emma had confided the particulars of their fight to me–and I got a bit anxious when Mac instantly turned a rather telling shade of red, but I soon discovered that the red was from embarrassment rather than anger. That was a relief, for more than one reason. If Mac was feeling embarrassed, it was less likely that there was guilt. He would have gotten defensive or cross if he'd truly been up to something dark, right?

"I’m not," he said earnestly, shaking his head with such urgency that his dark mass of hair whipped along, as well. He let out a sigh, slowing down and drawing to a stop for the first time. I stopped along with him, looking up with a questioning stare. His expression was utterly serious. "Look," he said quietly. "I know you must think...you have more reason than most to despise people like Rosier and Avery–I _know_ they're not entirely good sorts, but this wasn't like that! Jack Avery's dad works with mine. They need the potion for some private research and the department won't spare the time or the ingredients, so my father asked me to work with Jack to get it done. It's not dark. It's work. It's family. But Emmeline was so upset about fighting with you that she didn't give me the chance to explain. But I'm _not_ like that. I would never get mixed up in any of that rubbish. I swear it."

It was the same story he'd told Emma in her letter, so he was consistent if nothing else. Still, I didn't think that was it. I thought he was innocent. I believed what he was saying. The boy looked entirely too earnest and pleading to be making it all up. Plus, even if Emma didn't trust herself, _I_ trusted her people instincts. She loves Mac. She never would have let herself reach this point if he was anything but exemplary. Mac was probably right–she’d been so distraught about her and me that she let it get to her. Mac had lied to her and that was wrong, but he was clearly sorry. Maybe I was being naÃ¯ve, but I really did believe him. And I think Emma did, too.

"You shouldn't have lied to her," I finally said, because even though I believed him, he still deserved a bit of a scolding for his actions. He _had_ been acting rather underhanded, and I can't _stand_ stupid, underhanded blokes. Really. At _all_. "If you'd just told her from the beginning what was going on, she would have understood. She wouldn't have started dating you if she thought you were like that. She would have believed you when you said what was going on was innocent."

"I know that," Mac replied, sighing heavily. He shook his head. "But at the time... I don't know. I thought I was protecting her. I might not have been doing anything wrong, but those guys are hardly innocent. I didn't want her anywhere near them. I didn't want her involved. That's where I went wrong."

He was looking so forlorn now, his head hanging in complete defeat, that my heart went out to him. Poor boy. He was only trying to protect the woman he loves. Is that so wrong, really? I mean, there are worse things. He could be, I don't know, physically and emotionally blockading her. He could be doing that. Which is about a million times more ghastly when you really stop to think about it.

Hm.

"Just give her a bit more time," I told him quietly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She cares about you a lot, Mac–a lot, a lot. She's just a bit wary. But she'll come around."

I suppose I should have been happy that Mac slowly lost his look of utter devastation, but that was rather hard when he replaced it with a look of absolute skepticism.

Really, what _is_ it with blokes? They are entirely worthless. Honestly.

"That's it?" he asked me, his voice dry. "'Give her time'? That's all the advice you've got?"

"It's good advice!" I defended stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest. "In fact, it's perfect advice. You just watch. I've gotten you to do what I needed you to already–now I just need to work on Emma."

Mac let out a snort. "You know, hearing it from you like that, it's rather as if we're all simply little pawns on your very large chess table. I don't know how I feel about that."

"Feel grateful," I said, throwing him a look. "If you didn't have me to move you all around, you'd be going nowhere."

And with that closing remark, the chess master walked away from her little pawn to flounce off to Defense where she quite happily rules from her desk.

Huzzah.

______________________________________________  
**Still Later, Still in Defense**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 232**

_To Grace Reynolds_  
_Re: Our Friendship and Other Assorted Machinations_

_Dear Miss Reynolds,_

_Due to your positively astounding and awe-inspiring distraction skills, the mission known as ‘Reattach Mac to Em’ has reached yet another level of success and is quickly making its way to a full victory. I had a lovely conversation with our mate M and he seemed properly contrite AND innocent, both of which are entirely necessary to the aforementioned plot. The next stage, I believe, consists of persuasively convincing our mate E to quit dragging her feet and forgive the love of her life, after which they can chat/walk/snog/procreate in harmony. I have high hopes for this next stage. Let's be as subtly persuasive as possible, starting immediately._

_And even though our friendship is still on rocky pastures...well, I am clearly the bigger person and will grant you temporary amnesty. You're very lucky that you're pretty._

_Much Hope and Temporary Friendship,_  
_Lily Evans_

_P.S. - OH MERLIN DID YOU JUST SEE HUMAN HYENA CAST THAT SPELL ON HIMSELF? I AM NEVER GOING TO STOP LAUGHING INTERNALLY._

______________________________________________  
**Later, Still Still in Defense**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 232**

I don't know what Professor Crandy's so peevish about. _I'm_ the one who fell off the chair. _I'm_ the one whose bum is aching. Honestly, I didn't even disrupt the class–everyone was far too busy staring at Tim and his attempts to uncurse himself. Just because I thought the whole thing was a _bit_ more hilarious than everyone else...well, it's not my fault everyone clearly has a far more inferior sense of humour than I. And besides, it was _Grace_ who practically shoved me off the chair in her own fits of hilarity. Clearly her fault more than mine. Even if I was convulsing enough for her shove to topple me. That's not the point.

Some people are just so testy.

______________________________________________  
**Later Later, Lunch in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 233**

I really shouldn't be surprised that Amos has somehow mysteriously disappeared from lunch again today, but somehow, I still am. I suppose that's what comes from thinking the boy was the light of the world for so long–I still have some ideals left about him. Oh, well. They won't be around for long. My leftover ideals, I mean. Really, they're being crushed by the second.

The only person more agitated over Amos's absence than me is, of course, James, who muttered something along the lines of, "Fucking imbecile coward" (which I know merely from innocent, accidental overhearing, seeing as I'm still not talking to him) along with some other choice phrases I really didn't understand much less care to repeat. He seemed quite upset for a while, but now I suppose he's gotten over it because he's moved onto bothering Sirius about some sort of map, which–from my innocent, accidental overhearing, of course–I gather Sirius has and James wants but Sirius won't give up. I would be miffed that he so quickly got over the absence of one of the very people who is keeping our relationship from happening (along with...well, me), but I'm just rather glad that he's speaking to Sirius, however tensely. That's a step in the right direction, isn't it?

At least Julie's not here, either. That makes life _much_ easier. For all I know, the pair of them are off snogging at this very moment. I really wouldn't care, but I'd just like to get my piece said sooner rather than later. The least they could do is come up for air for a moment to just let me. It's really the only polite thing. I would do it for them.

Ugh. I simply should _not_ have to deal with all of this. I'm only on page 12 of that bloody Transfiguration tome. Can't the fates of the world give me a break even to _study_?

Yeah.

I don't think so, either.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Herbology**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 233**

                This is just getting ridiculous now. I mean, _seriously_ out of control.

                Isn’t this considered stalking–or at least borderline stalking? Is there some sort of temporary restraining order that can keep her away from me? I don’t need much. A five-meter radius or so would suffice. Or maybe there’s some sort of shield charm that’ll work the same way. You know, a This-Girl-Won’t-Leave-Me-Alone-HELP hex or something. Some desperate male _had_ to have created one at some point or another throughout the history of the world. All I’m asking is to reap the benefits of their desperation. Is that really so bad?

                Emma says I should just talk to her, but _Merlin_ , I don’t want to. Not until I talk to Amos, anyway. But Julie is to present as Amos is to absent these days, so it looks like _that_ won’t be happening any time soon. Which is really just completely inconsiderate if you ask me. I mean, we were semi-dating. We had a real connection for a few… days. Or something. Doesn’t that give me any sort of leverage? Shouldn’t that at least give me the opportunity to spot him occasionally at a distance, just in case I wanted to be all, “Oh, look. There’s Amos. I once considered becoming his wife and bringing a new generation of Diggorys into the world. Maybe I should wave hello?”�

                I really think it should.

                I mean, I’m a waver. I like to wave. I should be allowed to wave if I want to wave.

                Not that I want to wave now, of course–I mean, I could start off by waving if that was required, but I’d really like to chat. You know, so that I can end our relationship. While preferably keeping the wave-at-a-distance bridge open. But at this point, I’ll take anything.

                Psh.

                How is a girl supposed to concentrate on plants when she has all these _problems_?

                I wish I could wave goodbye to Herbology.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 233**

                I thought McGonagall would be greatly impressed when I walked in with my large, intimidating, highly informative, ancient tome of all things Transfiguration, seeing as no one else seems to give a damn about the exam she’s scheduled a mere two weeks out and I–a girl who previously would have learned about this exam and then promptly repressed it until the night before when I would have had an unsuccessful cram session that would have ultimately led to my failure–am _clearly_ on top of my education and attempting to trump the untrumpable Transfiguration, but that just wasn’t the case. Instead, she glanced down briefly at it as she passed by my desk, said, “There’s very little on animal and household transfiguration in there, Miss Evans,”� then strode off.

                Great.

                Just _great_.

                I read seventeen pages of that worthless rubbish.

                Today is just _not_ my day.

______________________________________________  
**Later, Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 233**

**THINGS I LEARNED IN TRANSFIGURATION TODAY**

Absolutely nothing. I was too depressed.

_T-minus 14 days and counting until EXAM._

______________________________________________  
**Later, Divination**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 234**

**THINGS I LEARNED IN DIVINATION TODAY**

Absolutely nothing. I was still too depressed. 

... Though was assuaged slightly when I realised that I never learn anything in Divination, so not much had changed.

______________________________________________  
**Even Later, Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 237**

Observation #235) When your life has reached such a pathetic point that the only thing you want to do is collapse somewhere and wallow, you know you should probably just go hop out the nearest window.

Observation #236) When your life has reached such a pathetic point that the only thing you want to do is collapse somewhere and wallow, but you can’t even make it up the stairs to your bed to do so because you are so devoid of all strength and effort, you _really_ know you should probably just go hop out the nearest window.

Observation #237) When your life has reached such a pathetic point that the only thing you want to do is collapse somewhere and wallow, but you can’t even make it up the stairs to your bed to do so because you are so devoid of all strength and effort and the couch in the common room that you _do_ manage to collapse upon is quickly swarmed by a group of third years having a loud discussion about–oh, _Merlin_ –Quidditch, you should absolutely stop dallying and go hop out the nearest window. Now. Go.

                I think I need a nap.

______________________________________________  
**Even Even Later, Still Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 237**

**LILY EVANS!!!! LOOK HERE!! READ ME!!**

**PLEASE FORGIVE THE SPELLOTAPE I HAD TO STICK ON YOUR FOREHEAD IN ORDER TO ATTACH THIS NOTE TO YOUR PERSON. IT WAS ENTIRELY NECESSARY TO ENSURE YOUR ATTENTION.**

**HI. IT’S ME, GRACIE. I SEE YOU ARE NAPPING. THAT’S BRILL. NAP AWAY. NAPPING IS BETTER THAN STUDYING, WHICH YOU DO A LOT OF. YOU ALSO DO A LOT OF STRESSING AND COMPLAINING, BOTH OF WHICH ARE ALSO WORSE THAN NAPPING. SO, IN CONCLUSION, I AM GLAD THAT YOU ARE NAPPING. EXCEPT THAT I’M REALLY NOT BECAUSE NOW I HAVE NO ONE TO TALK TO. EXCEPT FOR JAMES. HE’S HERE, TOO. HE WON’T LET ME WAKE YOU. YOU ARE TURNING HIM BORING AND STODGY. HE SAYS HE IS NOT BORING OR STODGY, JUST CONSIDERATE. HE DOESN’T REALISE THAT THEY ARE THE SAME THING.**

**RIGHT NOW, WE ARE HEADING TO AN EARLY DINNER AND THEN QUIDDITCH PRACTICE** **.** **WE WILL SEE YOU LATER** **.**

**LOVE,**  
**GRACE**

______________________________________________  
**Later, Still Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 237**

Ignoring the fact that there are about a million things I should be doing right now (not to mention the fact that I presently have a significant amount of sticky spellotape residue residing on my forehead), I am going to defy convention and all responsibility by heading down to dinner with Emma for a leisurely meal. I deserve a leisurely meal. I deserved a leisurely nap, as well, but that was obviously interrupted by two bumbling idiots who really shouldn’t even be near spellotape, much less wielding it. But no one ever consults me on these things.

                If the fates of the world are kind, there will be rice.

**_______________________________________**  
**Later, Dinner in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 238**

                Uh-oh.

                This can't be good. This can't be good _at all_.

                There are three different types of rice sitting in front of me right now. Yes, you heard right–three. And while I'm sure everyone who hears this would be all, "Um, so what? Don't you love rice? Isn't this rather like your own personal nirvana?" I am anything but in eternal bliss right now. Because this rarely happens. Three different types of rice in one night, I mean. One, yes. Two, pretty frequently. But three? That only happens on rare, special occasions. And not on a random Tuesday. It just doesn't. 

                And while I normally would be jumping for joy at such an occurrence, thinking that it was just my lucky day or something...I know better. I really do. So now I'm thinking I should be feeling significantly wary instead. I can't pinpoint the exact source of my skepticism, but for one reason or another, I have a feeling that this is the calm before the storm. Someone up in the High, Powerful, Authorities of Life building is compensating for something. They're gazing down at me with a wince, turning to their fellow comrades and going, "Come on, guys. Is this really fair? Let's just throw the girl a bone. We can laugh later."

                So now I'm wondering what exactly they'll have to laugh at.

                And if this "bone" is going to make up for even a smidge of it.

                Somehow, I doubt it.

                _Damn it_.

**_______________________________________**  
**A Bit Later, Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 238**

Emma says I'm being silly. She says that just because the House Elves decided to make a bit more rice than they did potatoes, it doesn't mean the world is preparing me for some sort of impending doom. I disagree. Vehemently. Em just keeps rolling her eyes.

                She doesn't understand. She doesn't _get_ it. I know what I know and I _know_ something's coming. I can feel it in my bones. She can roll her eyes as many times as she likes, but when I end up dead or maimed or emotionally/spiritually/psychologically broken, she's going to be sorry. They're _all_ going to be sorry. They'll say, "Oh, woe to Lily! Why didn't we believe her when she said trouble was coming? Why didn't we _do_ something?"

                But do you know what I'm going to say (assuming that I'm still _around_ to say it) in response to that?

                "I told you so."

                Yup.

                Because I did.

                I _so_ did.

                And they'll be sorry.           

**_______________________________________**  
**Even Later, Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 239**

Because I couldn't stand any more eye rolling (especially when it was going to be extremely regretted in any eventual amount of time), I decided that I might as well head to the library to return the useless tome of Transfiguration in order to get something that might actually aid me in my attempts to pass the class. So even though Madam Pince gave me a less-than-friendly look as I returned the ghastly looking thing to her (she was probably equally as put off at the idea of carting the thing around as I was), I did happen to find two rather useful looking texts, _About the House_ and _Finer Points of Animal Transfiguration_. 

                Here's hoping that I can conquer the home and that the finer points aren't...well, too fine.

                Merlin, it's crowded in here. And loud. How is a girl supposed to define the finer points with so much going on? I mean, do those fifth-years _really_ need to be waving their wands about with such...ah. Apparently not. Or they won't any longer after Pince is done with them.

                I truly love that woman.

                But I'm still not concentrating. Now I'm just watching for who Pince goes after next. And how red her face is getting (on a scale of one to ten...six. Impressive). But where else can I go? The Common Room is ten times more rowdy and I'm entirely sick of stashing myself away in my room. Maybe if I–

                Oh! I know!

                What better place to study Transfiguration than a _Transfiguration classroom_? There are bunches of old ones that no one uses on the third floor. I can just head over there! Though if I'm really going to seclude myself off like that, I might as well make a night of serious studying out of it and go collect my notes and such from Gryffindor Tower. It won't take me but ten minutes to gather my things together and go. Yes, I think that's just the ticket. A night of studying is sure to take my mind off everything else that is so entirely blotched up in my life. Plus...

                I mean, what can possibly go wrong whilst studying in an abandoned classroom?

                At the very least, my shame will be witnessed only by myself.

                Yes.

                I think I'll take it.

**_______________________________________**  
**Later Later, Old Transfiguration Classroom**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 240**

                Walking back to Gryffindor Tower, I have to say that–considering all that awaited me–I was in a relatively content mood, satisfied with my plan to thwart the inevitable torture that the fates of the world were determined to wreak upon me by the brilliant fighting tactic of seclusion. Plus, I'd gotten out of the library, which was quite a relief in itself. I wasn't mad enough to believe that I would survive this night without any war wounds, but I was at least certain that my plan had managed to lessen the blows a bit. And when you think about it, what more can a bad-karma-ed girl ask for?

                Not much, which is exactly my point.

                Therefore, it was with some pleasant thoughts that I walked along the seventh floor, trying to remember where I'd last put my Transfiguration notes (Herbology textbook? Divination notes? Bottom of my bag?). I still hadn't quite figured it out (though I was leaning towards the Herbology textbook) when I reached the Fat Lady and gave her the password. I must have been more consumed with my mental search than I realised, though, because I didn't notice Emma standing right inside the portrait hole until I’d all but barged into her, causing both of us to reel a bit.

                "Oomph!"

                "Sorry!" I cried, steadying myself and then Emma with a firm hand on her arm. Emma shot me a questioning look as she regained her footing. I shrugged. "Lost in my head," I explained, and I suppose it says something entirely pathetic about me that Emma took that as a valid, almost expected explanation. Oh, bother. "What are you doing hanging about the portrait hole, anyway? A bit of a danger zone, don't you think?"

                "Not usually," Emma said with a little grin, not even having to add the "unless you're involved," because her face said it all. I didn't respond with a "Kindly shove off," but let Em read that in _my_ face. Psh. Emma laughed. "You're very testy tonight," she said, still grinning. "And I told you earlier–we have an Arithmancy study session. Frightfully huge exam tomorrow. We're waiting for everyone to get down here so we can leave."

                It wasn't until Emma had suddenly referenced herself in the plural (and I figured that she hadn't suddenly sprouted up a couple of new personalities or imaginary mates) that I realised that there were other people standing with her. Looking about, I took in the familiar faces of Grace, Remus and–of _course_ –with a smirk on his face that screamed obnoxiousness, James.

                Lovely. Just lovely.

                With a very deliberate scoffing noise and a hair flip and turn that left my back to him, I ignored James and his stupid goofy grin that was directed straight at me and gave my attention instead to Gracie, who happened to be grinning at me, as well.

                "When did you decide to take up Arithmancy?" I asked flatly, well aware that Gracie had not–and probably would never–taken an Arithmancy class in her life. Grace's grin only widened at my inquiry.

                "I'm not with these gits," she said, waving her hand towards the surrounding Arithmancy crew with obvious disdain for their chosen nightly activity. "I'm waiting for Lynch. We've got an appointment with the Astronomy Tower."

                Of course they did.

                "Right then. Have fun."

                "I intend to."

                Rolling my eyes at Grace's quite satisfied expression, I was turning around to inform Emma that one of us should perhaps be giving Grace a certain sort of talk–again–soon, when I was quite suddenly barged into from behind. However, instead of teetering all drunkenly because of the sudden impact like before, I found myself quite steady on my feet...due undoubtedly to the rather firm grip a pair of arms had somehow gotten on my waist.

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

                "'Scuse me, pardon me," James murmured laughingly at my ear. "Lost in my head."

                "'Scuse me, pardon me," I shot back over my shoulder. "You're touching my _person_."

                "Really?" James asked, as if such a thing had never occurred to him. I threw him my dirtiest look.

                "Really," I said, then covered his hands with my own, attempting to shake off his positively steel-like grip, for which my paltry attempts only got another deep chuckle. Letting out a short huff of breath, I moved one of my hands away in order to achieve the proper angle for a rather vicious elbow to the stomach, but instead of dislodging the manacle-of-arms, James only leaned over a bit, letting out a small, amused groan as he buried his face in my neck. I could feel him laughing against me.

                "Watch it, Infallible," he said. "I need some of those internal bits."

                "Let go of me and I'll let you keep them, then.”�

                James lifted his head and looked at Grace from over my shoulder. “I think she’s still cross.”�

                “Figured that one out all on your own, did you?”� I asked, ignoring Grace’s indelicate snort. I shot her a look before turning back to James. “And I didn’t even have to spellotape a note to your head.”�

                “Hey, that was her!”� James cried, lifting his hand to point at Grace. Though I hadn’t exactly planned it, it was the opening I was waiting for. With only one steal-grip to deal with, I quickly shimmied out of James’s grip, hopping away with a triumphant, “Ha!”� that was perhaps not the most _mature_ of reactions, but one that was really quite necessary when you think about it.

                Quickly, I mean. When you think about it quickly. When you think about it longer than that…well, then it becomes quite stupid again. But that’s not the point.

                I was the one grinning goofily now, dashing over to Emma (she was the one least likely to toss me back at James) and crossing my arms over my chest, ducking as James swiped an arm, muttering something about “sneaky, stubborn birds.”� I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a mighty touch pleased with myself just then.

                “You know,”� Remus suddenly said dryly, shaking his head as if mystified, “I really can’t tell if they’re actually fighting, or just playing at it.”�

                “They don’t fight,”� Grace explained. “They flight.”�

                Um.

                …?

                “Excuse me?”� I said, raising an eyebrow. “We what?”�

                “Flight,”� Grace said again, nodding all knowledgably. “Flirt fight.”� She turned to Remus. “It’s their own personal form of foreplay.”�

                James started cracking up at this, practically slapping his knee in his burst of hilarity, but I can’t say I was as amused.

                We don’t…I mean, we _do_ , but… _I_ don’t…

                Oh, hell.

                Even if there might have been a _modicum_ of truth to this ‘flight’ business–which, when you think about it, isn’t really my fault because James is always the one starting it, anyway–I wasn’t about to admit it then to any of them. So I let out a noise that said I was none approving of that little assessment and placed my hands on my hips as I stared them all down.

                “That,”� I said, “is just not true.”�

                “A little true,”� James said, and grinned at me. I glared at him as the rest of them laughed.

                “You’re all incorrigible,”� was the only thing I could think to mutter, mostly because I was suddenly trying to battle a tiny smile myself (seeing as it’s entirely difficult to remain grim and grumpy while in the midst of overwhelming laughter and cheer). Clearly sensing this, Grace poked me continuously in the side until I sputtered out a laughing, “Quit it!”�

                Really, how do I survive with these neanderthals?

                

                “Where _are_ these girls?”� Remus groaned suddenly, still laughing a little as he looked up towards the girls’ staircase, as if to will the aforementioned ‘girls’ into presence with his eyes. He glanced back at us, then down at his watch. “It’s already half past. We’re not going to get much studying done if we have to be back here by curfew.”�

                “You’re not going to get much studying done, anyway,”� I told him, shaking my head. “Not if you’re going to the library.”�

                “Why would you say that?”� Emma asked.

                “I just came from there,”� I explained, lifting up _About the House_ and _Finer Points of Animal Transfiguration_ as evidence. “It’s an absolute madhouse. Pince was stomping about, yelling and screaming. I’m surprised she hasn’t taken to her office to drink it all away yet.”�

                “Oh, fuck it,”� James said with a wave of his hand as Emma glanced at him worriedly and Remus let out a tired expletive, as well. “That just means we can talk above a whisper, thank Merlin. If Pince gets bitter with us, I’ll talk to her. That woman loves me.”�

                “You always say that,”� Remus put in dryly, “but I’ve yet to see any evidence to back it up.”�

                James gasped as if offended. “Moony, you cad. Lies abound! The lovely Pince and I share _heritage_. We are both–”�

                “Fluent in French swearing and insults?”�

                “It’s a very connective talent.”�

                “Right, Prongs. Whatever you say.”�

                “Truly, Moony, you _wound_ me–”�

                As James and Remus continued jabbering on with their silly bickering (which somehow quickly transitioned from arguing about the uniting quality of French to insulting each other’s manhood), Grace turned to me and asked, “So where are you off to, then?”�

                I held up my books again, happy to flaunt them about whenever possible. “Studying,”� I answered with a little smile. I nodded towards the girls’ staircase. “I just have to run up and get my notes, then I’m off to make a night of it. While you get cozy with Chris Lynch, I’m going to get cozy with morphing animals and wand rotations.”�

                “Oh, now _there’s_ something to be jealous of,”� Grace snorted. I stuck my tongue out at her. She retorted in kind.

                “Where are you going, if not the library?”� Emma asked, interrupting Grace and me with an eye roll (though as Remus and James were _still_ going at it, we were practically the adults of the group).

                “I’m not certain,”� I replied, ignoring Grace making stupid faces at me from behind Emma’s shoulder. Honestly, what a child. “I was thinking of heading to the third floor–one of the old Transfiguration classrooms. No one uses them and they’ll be–”�

                Grace dropped her latest unattractively stupid expression with a loud laugh, causing Emma and me to both glance over at her with questioning looks. Her face was flushed with hilarity. “You’re taking the mickey, right?”� she asked me, shaking her head. “Please tell me that was a joke.”�

                “What was a joke?”� I asked, my eyes narrowing. “What are you on about?”�

                My questions only served to provoke further amusement in Grace, who let out a hoot of laughter as she said, “Lil, you can’t go studying on _Snog Row_.”�

                Er.

                Snog what?

                Seeing my (and Emma’s) blank expressions, Grace looked up towards the ceiling as if to ask the world what she had done to deserve mates like us, then put her hands on her hips and stared the pair of us down. “Snog Row,”� was what she said, very slowly. “Come on, you gits. It’s _Snog Row_.”�

                “She keeps saying that as if it’s supposed to spark some sort of memory,”� Emma muttered to me, and I let out a small laugh, shrugging at Em. Grace threw her hands in the air in frustration.

                “Oh, come on!”� she cried, looking at us with much accusation. She stuck the aggravated look on me. “You of all people should be mighty familiar with it, seeing how much time you and Michael Davies spent in the Trophy Room!”�

                I was about to laugh and inquire just what the Trophy Room had to do with the classrooms on the complete opposite side of the third floor, but was interrupted by a rather terse, “Excuse me?”� that was bit off from behind me.

                Because _naturally_ James and Remus would finally reach their stalemate just as Grace blurted out her pronouncement on my past romantic affairs.

                Great.

                Just _great_.

                Glancing slowly over my shoulder, I took in James’s brooding sort of look that said he was none-too-pleased about this little tidbit of information, even though it was about a million years ago and didn’t mean a thing and, when you think on it, was rather expected considering we were dating for the better part of my fourth-year.

                I had nothing to be ashamed of.

                I could snog whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

                Then.

                “Thanks, traitor,”� I hissed quickly at Grace, before turning back to James and declaring primly, “Quit looking at me like that. Just because _some_ people never had any qualms about snogging me doesn’t mean you can get all fussy about it.”�

                “ _Some_ people didn’t have to secure world peace before dating you–”�

                “Oh, sob it _up_ , you baby–”�

                Grace let out an unnaturally loud sigh, drawing all the attention back to her. Grace, for her part, was staring at Remus. “See?”� she said, waving a hand at James and me. “Flighting. They can’t help it.”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

                “Grace,”� I stated, giving her a look. “There are many, _many_ stairs in this castle. You could fall down some. It could look like an accident.”�

                “For someone looking to spend the night on Snog Row,”� Grace said, “you sure are crotchety.”�

                “Pft!”�

                “ _Why_ exactly is she spending the night on Snog Row?”� James asked, sounding quite crotchety himself. He sent me a quelling look. “Choose your words carefully.”�

                And then he wonders _why_ I won’t date him.

                Psh. Honestly.

                “I’m _studying_ ,”� I said with a look that screamed, “But if I wasn’t, you just _try_ to do something about it!”� even though…well, I suppose that technically he _could_ do something about it, seeing as I agreed not to be consorting with any other blokes and such. But whatever. As if he’d call my bluff. “And even though I’ve never heard of this Snog Row codswallop, _if_ some sad souls do come along, I’ll simply exert my Head Girl authority and shoo them away. Is everyone satisfied with that plan?”�

                “Lovely, Lil,”� Emma said.

                “It’s your night,”� Grace muttered.

                “Maybe I’ll go study with Lily…”� James started.

                “No, you won’t,”� Remus interrupted, before I could say the exact same thing. He looked at James with the proper amount of exasperation, as well. “We need you, you ponce–or we _will_ , once these two actually get around to coming down–”�

                “Here they come,”� Emma said, a note of annoyed relief in her voice as she waved towards the girls’ staircase. “Finally.”�

                I don’t know who exactly I was expecting to come waltzing down the staircase–though if I’d bothered to think about it for even a moment, I’m sure the inevitable answer was obvious–but regardless, I was still jolted a bit when I turned to find Elisabeth Saunders and Carrie Lloyd traipsing down the stairs, their giggling heads close together as they made their way towards us.

                And even though I _know_ it was stupid and hypocritical and all these other sad, pathetic things…well, I suppose I’m just a stupid, hypocritical, sad, pathetic girl, because the knowledge of what I was doing didn’t stop me from taking a few small–but important–steps towards James.

                Because maybe we were only mates with potential, but that damned well didn’t mean I couldn’t stake my claim.

                So I staked.

                Hard.

                Whether anyone noticed my sliding up to James or not, I couldn’t be sure, but no one mentioned the slightly abrupt movement, so I suppose it mostly went overlooked. James, on his part, moved his hand to brush lightly against the small of my back, but I took that as more of an instinctive move than any sort of reassurance or support.

                Still, I’d take it.

                He wasn’t brushing _Lizzie’s_ back, after all.

                Hmph.

                “Do either of you tell time?”� Grace demanded, as if she herself had been the one waiting for them, even though she actually had very little (if anything) to do with it. “Curfew’s nine, you know.”�

                Saunders gave Grace a particularly disdainful look as Carrie scoffed, “Yeah, we _know_.”�

                “Come on,”� Emma interceded before Grace could blab out any further insults (which _I_ would have been fine with, actually). She nodded towards the portrait hole. “Kate and Phil are probably already down there waiting for us. Let’s go.”�

                “Good plan,”� Remus said, slapping his hands together and leading the way as he trudged out the portrait hole. “See you Grace, Lily.”�

                “Bye,”� I muttered, and Grace gave a wave as Emma trooped out after him, then Carrie. Saunders was following along until she realised that James hadn’t moved. She stopped with one foot out in the corridor and looked over her shoulder at the pair of us.

                “James,”� she said. “Aren’t you coming?”�

                “I’ll catch up in a minute,”� James answered, waving her on. “Go ahead.”�

                Saunders looked at James, then looked at me, then looked back at James again. Her disapproval and disgust couldn’t have been more obvious if she had just out and out shouted, “I am disapprovingly disgusted!”�

                Which, if you ask me, she didn’t look far from doing.

                Stupid, slaggy _slag_.

                “Seriously?”� she asked, her voice utterly flat.

                “Liz,”� James said, and looked at her with quiet irritation. They shared some sort of wordless barbs, which ended in Saunders shooting him a dirty look, then shooting me an even _dirtier_ look, before stomping out into the corridor and disappearing from view. James turned to me with an exasperated sigh.

                “You should probably go,”� I said, staring at the spot from which Elisabeth had just disappeared and suddenly feeling a bit down. “They’re waiting for you.”�

                “They can wait,”� James said, and his hand–still at my back–exerted some pressure until I turned to look at him. He was staring at me with a knowing sort of narrowed gaze. “Stop it,”� he said.

                “Stop what?”�

                “Questioning me. Questioning you. Questioning us.”�

                “That’s a lot of questioning.”�

                “You multitask.”�

                I couldn’t help but smile, even though I would have rather scowled at him until he cowered. James smiled back, then leaned in close and said, “You know, I _could_ come with you to Snog Row.”�

                “Oh, really?”� I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “To study?”�

                James hummed.

                Oh, _brother_.

                “You know,”� I said, jabbing him in the chest, grinning as he stumbled back a bit. “I may be mistaken, but I _think_ that what you’re implying could be considered milk.”�

                “What I’m implying,”� James replied impishly, “could be considered _cream_.”�

                “Cream?”�

                “Cream.”�

                “And that’s…”�

                “Better than milk,”� James informed me, grinning lecherously. “ _So_ much better than milk. In fact–”�

                “Wait a second,”� I interrupted, holding up a hand and pushing against James’s rapidly lowering face. Psh. As if _that_ one was going to work. “Let me get this straight,”� I said flatly. “I _can’t_ have milk, but I _can_ have cream?”�

                “Er.”� James stopped to think about that one. He scratched absently at the back of his head for a moment, then seemed to come to the rather obvious conclusion and sighed all miserably. “I suppose not,”� he muttered.

                Honestly, he’s so _easy_.

                “You know,”� I said, wincing in a half-laughing, half-sympathetic sort of way, even though I was decidedly more amused than I was sympathetic, “you _really_ need to work on this whole _Lysistrata_ plan. You’re not very good at it.”�

                James shot me a look that said he was less than pleased with that assessment (which undoubtedly meant that he knew it was true), and ran a quick hand through his hair. “Maybe this is all _part_ of the plan,”� he tried to play off. “A sort of reverse psychology, if you will.”�

                “Or maybe it’s just you,”� I teased, “being utterly enamored with me.”�

                “Well, aren’t you just–”�

                “Ooh!”� came the sudden exclamation of delight from beside us, cutting off whatever James had meant to say. We both turned to see Grace beaming in our direction with absolute glee. I felt my face heat up, even though it was just Grace. I had–pathetically–entirely forgotten that she was standing there. “This is new,”� is what she said, practically bursting with excitement. “This is _actual_ flirting–like, _Wands of a Kind_ actual flirting. Quick, Lil! Call him Marcus and swoon a bit. Bring the fantasy to life!”�

                “Marcus?”� James asked, though I turned to find that he was grinning now, too.

                “Please don’t ask,”� I muttered, shooting Grace a quick look. “She’ll only elaborate. And the story doesn’t have much of a plot, if you know what I mean.”�

                James laughed. “Grace Reynolds, are you reading dirty books?”�

                “Every chance I get,”� Grace replied jauntily, grinning. Then her smile dropped and she looked a bit put out. “Of course, I wouldn’t have to _read_ about it if your stupid Keeper would ever get here.”�

                “He’ll get here,”� I said encouragingly, though if you ask me, it wouldn’t be quite unlike Chris Lynch to forget entirely about the plans he made with Grace. Or his pants. Or pretty much everything else. “Perhaps he’s studying. Like me. And like James. Which, speaking of”�– I turned to James and gave him a decisive nod towards the portrait hole–“get out of here. I’m done questioning. You can go.”�

                “Are you sure?”� James asked, though I think it was more out of his own desire to indulge in some cream than in any actual concern for me. I cocked an eyebrow at him, letting him know I was on to his game.

                “Yes, I’m sure,”� I replied, and nudged him in the back. James moved about an inch. I nudged him harder. Two inches. “ _James_.”�

                “I’m _going_ ,”� he chuckled, and moved the catastrophically astronomical length of three inches. Oh, _brother_. “I’ll see you later, right?”� he asked over his shoulder.

                “No,”� I replied, giving him a stern look. “I’m going to be _studying_ , just like _you’re_ studying. And besides, I’m still cross with you.”�

                “Oh, _bollocks_ , Lily, you’re–”�

                “Good _bye_.”�

                As I shoved a still protesting James (“You know, staying cross with me isn’t going to make me tell you or snog you any faster!”�) out the portrait hole, Grace started cracking up, her spirits apparently lifted at the sight of James’s dragging feet and simpering complaints. When he was firmly outside in the corridor, I walked back into the Common Room and closed the portrait hole behind me, sure that James would remain where he was put, if only because he had an obligation to the group downstairs. I brushed my hands together in a very “finished with that”� sort of way, then turned, arms akimbo, towards Grace.

                “That’s the way!”� she laughed. “Rule with an iron fist, Lil.”�

                “Much thanks,”� I replied with an eye roll. “I’ll keep that in mind.”�

                And even though there was still much that could have been said to Grace (“Never, _ever_ mention Michael Davies and what we may or may not have done in any Trophy Room _ever_ again”� being at the very top of the list), I decided that I had already wasted much too much time with all this nonsense and instead sent her a pointed look and a wave as I made my way upstairs to collect my notes. And even though I wasn’t up there long–my notes were, as was mostly expected, in my Herbology textbook–it must have been long enough for Chris Lynch to finally come along and whisk Grace off, because she wasn’t waiting by the portrait hole anymore when I came back down. So with no one to give me mouth about studying or not studying and Snog Row or no Snog Row, I made my way peacefully to the third floor.

                And so, here I am.

                Finally.

                _Peace_.

                And the thing is, I really don’t know what Grace was talking about. This classroom looks like it hasn’t been inhabited since the days of the Founders, much less snogged in on a regular basis. If you ask me, I couldn’t have picked a better place to guarantee myself some seclusion. I mean, there are _cobwebs_ on some of the chairs. Does that sound like the sort of thing to be present in a cavern of torrid love affairs?

                Yeah.

                I don’t think so, either.

                So while Grace is off creating her own Snog Row wherever she is, and Emma and James are off putting up with the likes of Carrie Lloyd and Elisabeth Saunders for two hours, _I_ am going to study until my eyes fall out.

                Which, now that I’m thinking about it, might actually happen.

                Who knows? Maybe the Fates are suddenly into gore.

**_______________________________________**  
**A Bit Later, Still in the Old Transfiguration Classroom**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 241**

                All right…so _maybe_ I might have spoken a bit too soon.

                Or maybe those two fifth years were just sneaking in here to study, as well?

                Hm.

                Yeah, maybe.

**_______________________________________**  
**Fifteen minutes later, Still in the Old Transfiguration Classroom**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 241**

                And Christa Forrester and Jervis Rennet, as well.

                Clearly this is a popular study spot for blushing, stammering, and–in Christa and Jervis’s case–only partially clothed, boy-girl pairings.

                Shit.

                I hate it when Grace is right.

**_______________________________________**  
**Later, Still in the Old Transfiguration Classroom**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 242**

                Okay, seriously?

                I didn’t even know John Abbott and Clare Carslie were involved! And isn’t he a bit young for her?

                People should really learn to control their baser instincts.

                Or if they can’t, keep them _away_ from this room.

                _Merlin_.

**_______________________________________**  
**Too Few Minutes Later, Still in the Old Transfiguration Classroom**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 242**

                That’s it. I swear to Merlin, if one more person–or pair–opens that door, I’m taking a piece of parchment, writing OCCUPIED on it, and sticking it on the door. I don’t care what it implies. I don’t care that it probably won’t help a bit because the people stumbling in here usually aren’t paying much attention to the doors they’re fumbling open. I don’t _care_. I am _sick_ of this. I’m just trying to studying in solitude–is that so wrong? Is that–

                Oh, _hell._ Not _again_ –

                Oh.

                Oh, shit.

                _Shit_.

**_______________________________________**  
**A Long While Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 36**  
**Total Observations: 243**

                Well.

                I suppose, when I’m right, I’m right.

                Pity that no one listens when I tell them things.

                I mean, I tried to warn them. Really, I did. And while I do understand that I sometimes exaggerate a few things, occasionally needlessly stressing out over occurrences that perhaps don’t need to be so traumatic–making a few mountains out of a few molehills, if you will, dear ex-mother–I really do think that others should remember that there _are_ the periodic time when my panic is well-founded. You know, when I’m _not_ mad? It has to happen from time to time. I mean, you don’t just get as paranoid as I am without some help in the Things Go Wrong department. Believe it or not, things _do_ occasionally go wrong…really, ridiculously, traumatically wrong, even.

                Which I suppose brings us to tonight’s unveiled devastations, doesn’t it?

                Bugger.

                Bugger, _bugger_.

                I’ve never so despised being right. What a bloody hindrance.

                And the thing is–

                No.

                No, I won’t get into it now. I’ll just get the story out first. That’s a good idea. Just get the story out.

                Right.

                I could probably go into avid detail about the sorts of nefarious schemes that were running through my head when I first heard the classroom door begin squeaking open again, but I’d rather save my best fantastically frustrated adjectives for later and will instead simply state that I had every intention of letting the incoming couple know about my very serious displeasure over their present activities and decided location. Things were going to get ugly, but I couldn’t even muster up enough rationality to care. 

                I mean, for Merlin’s sake, this wasn’t a bloody _motel_. Didn't they know the bleeding difference?

                So there I was, poised in my chair, ready to pounce, feeling all the agitation and strain of studying, impending doom and stupid, manipulative Quidditch players bearing down on me, hoping against all hope that the pair that stumbled through that door were the sort of people that I wouldn’t have too many moral conflicts about hexing, when the door finally swung open.

                But it wasn’t the sort of people I could morally hex.

                In fact, it wasn’t 'people' at all–rather, it was 'person.'

                And guess–just you bloody _guess_ –who that singular soul turned out to be?

                “Oh– _oh_! Lily! W-what… Hello.”�

                Julie Little.

                Julie _sodding_ Little, the stalkersation, who apparently couldn’t cut me a single, solitary break.

                Shit.

                “Julie,”� I said flatly, my tone as enthusiastic as Julie’s expression (meaning not at all). Actually, to be perfectly honest, Julie looked rather astonished to find me sitting right there before her, which, though probably not exactly normal for a stalker, was probably just an act. Really, I wouldn’t put it past her. “How did you find me?”� I asked.

                Julie's brown eyes blinked owlishly at me. “Find you?”� she questioned, fidgeting restlessly in the doorway. She was still holding the door handle. “I didn’t…I came here…”�

                “For what?”� I asked, put out now with all the pretenses. Why wouldn’t the girl just admit to her stalking and get on with it? For Merlin's sake, who had _time_ for this? I let out a long sigh and moved slowly to my feet. Whatever. I was so over this. It was clearly time to leave. “Look, Julie, I really have to go, anyway, so–”�

                “ _No_!”�

                The sudden urgency of Julie’s denial had my head snapping back towards her, my hands stopping mid-motion over my books, my entire body frozen. I cocked an eyebrow, wondering just how she thought that she was actually going to prevent me from barging through that door and running for the nearest sanctuary, not to mention what the bloody hell had her in such a tizzy. But not quite unlike the happy, white cloud that in a moment's time can turn into a furious gray lightning-carrier, little, mousy, stalking Julie Little suddenly turned… well, quite her own sort of furious gray.

                My eyebrow cocked higher.

                Julie stepped into the classroom and slammed the door.

                Oh.

                Oh, gee.

                So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?

                “Julie,”� I said slowly, watching with slightly growing trepidation as the angry cloud-thing stalked towards me. “What are you doing?”�

                “What I should have done days ago– _weeks_ ago!”� was Julie’s thunderous reply, her arms fisted, straight and tight against her hips. She lifted one of those hands suddenly, jabbing its pointed finger at my face. “And you can’t run away any longer! I won't have it! I'm sick of it! We’re going to get this out–get this out right _now_!”�

                

                Er.

                Um.

                Hey, she’s actually a bit frightening, isn’t she?

                Dazed by the realization that a girl I'd previously believed physically incapable of raising her voice louder than a five on the ten scale was suddenly reaching a good eight and looking quite the daunting harridan, all I could do was simply stand there and stare at her. Then–because my disbelief was _that_ great, I really couldn't help it–from my mouth came a disbelieving, “Are you serious?”�

                Because, honestly, I thought it was some sort of joke.

                Seriously. Someone was going to come along and shout, “Boo!”� at any second now, right?

                But the “Boo!”� never came.

                Or at least, not quite in the sense I'd meant.

                One second, I was staring blankly at Julie, waiting for her to either laugh and grin and confess the joke, or explode into a million angry pieces, both of which seemed entirely plausible at that point…and in the next, the girl had exploded into tears.

                Yeah.

                I know.

                Um, _what?_

                With an ungodly sort of hacking sound, Julie’s entire fierce demeanor cracked, her eyes glossing over and her face scrunching up unattractively before she buried her head in her hands, her blonde hair falling to hang around her face. I stared in absolute shock, wondering what in the bloody hell had just happened and whether or not Julie Little should be on some sort of serious medication. The sudden sounds of Julie’s sporadic sobs stopped me from following any further down that train of thought, however.

                Oh, hell.

                What have I gotten myself into?

                “Julie?”� I asked tentatively, taking a cautious step forward. “Julie, what are you–”�

                “Holy Helga, I _told_ him you knew!”� Julie sobbed, her now slightly wet and anguished face snapping up. I stared at her with what I hoped wasn’t an entirely panicked expression, but I highly doubt she was even paying attention. She seemed to be ranting to herself, staring straight through me. “You’re not stupid–I _told_ him you weren’t stupid and that he shouldn’t be dragging you in the middle and that it wasn’t fair! But he didn’t listen! And then I…I…”�                

                She couldn’t go on any further, too consumed by her own agitation that all that came out afterwards was a series of awkward, watery breaths.

                I couldn’t say I was too far from joining her in that department.

                As Julie tried–rather unsuccessfully–to reclaim some normal breathing patterns, I stood a few meters away, shifting back and forth on my feet and wondering what the bloody hell I was supposed to be doing. I mean, Julie was right about one thing–I _wasn’t_ stupid. Obviously the girl was having one serious case of guilt over whatever budding relationship was spouting between her and Amos–one that I’m assuming she thought would devastate me because I had previously been so in love with him. But what Julie _didn’t_ know was that I could honestly care less about what she and Amos wanted to do. Did they want to date? Did they want to get married? Did they want to run off together and have the standard 2.5 children? Well, huzzah! Good for them! I wish them all the joy in the world! I mean, I wasn’t _happy_ that Amos had taken advantage of our relationship yesterday when he kissed me to get a rise out of Julie or whatever, but if that’s what it takes to officially end this relationship entirely…well, then I’d take it. It was a bit shitty of him, but it’s not exactly as if I’m an entirely innocent party here, either. I mean, I’ve been lusting after James for weeks, even if I never cared to admit it. So, really, we’re sort of even. And if Amos wasn’t available to give the ‘Have Her, Leave Me’ talk, then I suppose Julie would have to do.

                You know, once she managed to regain some much-needed composure.

                Which should be about…

                Er.

                Yeah, okay. Maybe I should just start talking.

                “Look, Julie,”� I started slowly, my only true concern at that point being not to make her breakdown any worse (if that was even possible). “I’m not really sure…I mean, you really don’t have to beat yourself up over this, all right? Yes, I did fancy Amos at one point, but the last few weeks and then our date…well, it obviously wasn’t what either Amos or I expected. We are much better off as just mates. So if the pair of you are interested in each other, that’s perfectly fine. I hope you’re happy. But I would just sincerely like to be left out of it, all right? I mean, I’m sure you’re aware that that kiss yesterday was more for your benefit than mine, and I’d like to keep that incident from happening again. No one appreciates being used, even if they don’t have feelings involved anymore. So you can stop crying. Seriously. It’s fine.”�

                I thought my speech came out quite nicely–a bit rushed, maybe, but I said what I needed to say without sounding too bitter or too harsh and Julie should’ve been quite glad that I was so willing to alleviate her from her guilt. But should’ve, could’ve, would’ve, I suppose, because instead of instantly breaking out into a relieved sigh and telling me how grateful she was to hear about my convenient indifference, Julie’s still-wet face stared at me with an expression that seemed the perfect bizarre mixture of shock and horror.

                “Oh, Merlin,”� she whispered, lifting a shaky hand to her mouth. “Oh, Merlin, you _don’t_ know. And you… you didn’t… oh, _no_.”�

                For the first time since Julie’s eventful entrance, my stomach clenched with something that _wasn’t_ dread of tears, but a feeling that was decidedly more uncomfortable.

                Don’t know? _What_ didn’t I know?

                “I don’t…”� I tried to keep the alarm out of my face, out of my voice, pausing to consider the words before they left my mouth. “You… _don’t_ want to date Amos?”� I asked hopefully.

                Julie instantly shook her head.

                “No, no,”� she answered quickly, her hand falling back down to her side, an entirely tormented expression crossing over her face. “I mean, yes, but no. I mean…oh, Merlin, Lily, I’m _so_ sorry.”�

                The knot in my stomach clenched tighter.

                Oh, god.

                “Sorry about what?”� I asked softly, trying to stay calm. “What are you sorry about, Julie?”�

                “This wasn’t supposed to happen!”� she cried, the tears starting to well up in her eyes again. “It just got _completely_ out of control and I don’t know how…but he– _I_ –seriously thought…”� Julie stopped, then suddenly shook her head and grabbed hold of herself. “James Potter,”� she blurted out, and my heart banged hard in my chest, as if struck. “Aren’t you with James Potter?”�

                My head was spinning so fast that the abrupt mention of James only managed to send me reeling even further, causing me to grab onto the desk next to me for support. I wondered just what this hasty change in subject had to do with the steadily growing pit of unease that was contracting in my stomach. Suddenly, I wanted James– _wanted_ him right here, with me, if only for his presence. I should have asked him to come. I shouldn't have been such a brat to him. I should have told him the truth–that _of course_ I wanted him with me, away from Elisabeth, away _with_ me. But most of all, I shouldn’t have been alone. Turns out solitude _isn’t_ the way to fight the fates. It only makes it worse.

                Hell.

                I was so disoriented, there was nothing to say but the slightly stammered truth. That's what came out, anyway.

                “W-with James? You mean, now?”� I shook my head, pulling anxiously at the ends of my hair, twisting and twirling stands between my fingers. “No, not… I mean, maybe. But not really. Not right now. We’re talking about it. Maybe soon. I don’t know. But what–”�

                “But you _were_ , right?”� Julie demanded, cutting me off. “You _were_ together, weren’t you? At the beginning of the year?”�

                My head snapped back, the clench in my stomach taking a large dip, a biting pull.

                “Beginning of the year?”� I repeated blankly. “Julie, what are you talking about? No, of course, I wasn't–I was with _Amos_ the beginning of the year. You know that. What…”�

                But I couldn’t finish my question. I couldn’t ask what she was talking about or why she was acting like the information was new to her when the whole bloody _school_ knew I’d fancied Amos and that he’d asked me out in early October. I couldn’t do anything because, right then, I knew it wouldn’t matter. My body was already numbing itself up, preparing for the blow Julie was undoubtedly going to bring, even if I wasn’t exactly sure how much that blow would entail, how deep it would go. Here it was; the fates at work. Even without the rice, this moment screamed of dastardly interference.

                I stared at Julie, watching as she closed her eyes as if in pain, her quivering hand coming up to cover her mouth again. It steadied only when it met the firm contact of her skin. I stared and watched and waited as those eyes lifted open, big and wet, and her hand fell once more to her side, moving slightly to cross with its mate and wrap around her waist. As Julie shook and embraced herself, I watched and waited.

And then she said it.

                “So was I.”�

                Fuck.

                _Fuck_.

                The words hit like a battering ram straight to the middle, the kind of force that no amount of numbing could prevent or protect against. I heard the words– _so was I_ –over and over inside of my head, playing like a broken record that you couldn’t flick off. So was I. So was _I_. Three words, but a million empty lies. Almost immediately, the defense set in, the part inside of me that wanted to think that I’d misunderstood, that I was confused or had misheard or was making the wrong assumptions. That Julie didn’t know what she was saying. That it wasn’t what I had perhaps known all along.

                There had never been an Amos and Lily.

                There had only been an Amos _using_ Lily.

                It had all been a lie.

                He had been with Julie. The whole time.

                “I don’t understand,”� I heard myself say, though the words reached my ears as if from a far distance, like an echo. “I don’t...why..."

                “I’m so sorry,”� Julie whispered, anguished. “It was never supposed to get this far. Amos and I were together all summer–”�

                “ _Summer_? You’ve been together since _summer_?”�

                “We broke up!”� Julie cried quickly, as if that bit of information even mattered. “I broke it off with him in August, I swear I did! I wanted to start school without any attachments, you know? I didn’t want a boyfriend. I thought Amos understood that, but…”� Julie shook her head regretfully. “When we got back here, Amos wouldn’t let go. He dragged everyone into it–he had all our mates hounding me to take him back, as well! He kept saying that I was just being stubborn and that…" Julie's face scrunched with guilt. She looked straight at me. “That I’d only want it when I couldn’t have it.”�

                I was going to vomit.

                “Insert me,”� I muttered flatly. Julie nodded.

                “Yes,”� she said, her voice soft and tormented, as if she thought I’d feel bad for her. “And that’s my fault– _all_ my fault. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for it.”�

                Even in my complete haze of confusion and devastation, something about what Julie had just said rang false. All her fault. Why the bloody hell should it be _all_ her fault? Even dazed, I knew that the villain sticker belonged just as prominently on Amos’s chest as it did on Julie’s– _more_ so, because he was the one to drag me into this, who wanted to prove his ‘want it when you can’t have it’ rubbish. He’s the one who’d picked me out, drew me in, asked me out, and forced me to become part of their sick, little game, whatever it was. Julie was culpable, but not entirely. Not as much as Amos. And I suppose it says something entirely pathetic about me that I wanted to ease her guilt that little bit.

                Or at least, I did _then_.

                “Stop,”� I said, holding my hand up and feeling my first true emotion–annoyance–since just before Julie had dropped her bomb. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Stop it. You were wrong– _so_ wrong–but it wasn’t just you. It was Amos. You didn’t tell him to come after me. You didn’t tell him to ask me out. You didn’t–”�

                “But I _did_!”� Julie suddenly cried, and now the welled up tears in her eyes began to course down her face, fast and furious. “I _did_ , Lily–not on purpose, but it was me who gave him the idea! I didn’t mean it, but I was just so _angry_ with him for being such a wanker but making me want him anyway that I…”� She cut off, becoming too distraught for words. She got them out somehow, though, tears be damned. Lucky me. “It was just after the pair of you were made partners,”� she explained, biting at her lower lip. “I knew that...I mean, everyone whispered that you had this little thing for him, you know? Or that you had at one point, anyway. Amos kept tossing it in my face, as if to prove that he had better options. I hated caring, but I was so bitter and he wouldn’t let up and he just got me _so_ riled that one day after class I blurted out that he should just go ask you out and see exactly what his ‘want it when I couldn’t have it’ theory amounted to and if nothing else, he’d at least manage to piss James Potter off, so it was a win-win. I was just kidding but then he went and actually _did it_!”�

                Julie was panting by the time she’d finished with her confession, rapidly inhaling and exhaling while the tears continued to fill her eyes and quickly fall down. But I really couldn’t even think about Julie's overzealous emotions right then. I couldn’t even think about Julie at all.

                Except for her words.

                … _and if nothing else, he’d at least manage to piss James Potter off…_

                Lovely. So now I was bait for Julie _and_ for James. I was the one stone that killed two birds. I was the baggage that came along with getting what Amos wanted. I was…

                I was nothing to him.

                A means to an end.

                It hurt.

                It hurt _so damned much_.

                “It was foolish–terrible–of me to start up with him again,”� Julie went on, completely oblivious to the shattering of every single one of my preconceived notions that was going on inside of my head. I felt nauseated, sick to my stomach. But Julie wouldn’t stop talking. “He was right,”� she told me, giving a helpless shrug. “He was _so_ right. Once he was with you–even if I knew it was mostly farce–it killed me. I can’t even explain it. I’ve tried ending it so many times–like before your date. I told Amos that we were through until he was officially done with you, but he just took that as a sort of challenge. It wasn’t even past ten on Saturday before I had a million of my mates coming up to me and telling me about chatting with you and Amos in the courtyard. They said he looked thrilled. They said he was showing you off, bursting with pride. It killed me to hear it.”�

                Oh, Merlin. 

                Oh, _shit._

__

If it was possible, I suddenly felt even sicker. 

So I wasn’t mad. There _was_ something off about that first part of our date. That’s what the stupid two hours of useless conversation was for– _Julie_. He was showing me off to get to her. He was talking to these people– _Julie’s_ mates, I realised then. Vance Dunnings, Kiki Molter, Penny O’Jene, Shirley Shorn–in order to ensure that _Julie_ heard about the ‘ _bloody brilliant’_ time he was having with his ‘ _date,_ Lily Evans.’ He told everyone he should have told and then he told some more, just because he could. Because I let him. Because I was too much of a coward to find out why.

Because I was his pawn, and a damned good one at that.

I’d never felt more stupid in my entire life.

“Please say something,”� Julie whispered, breaking in on my thoughts and the heavy cloud of self-pity that was quickly coming over me. All I kept thinking was: _he never wanted me. It was never about me. All a lie–_ all a lie. “Please,”� Julie begged again, and even in my haze, I somehow managed to look at her. She was staring at me pleadingly, looking desperate and guilty. But not guilty enough, in my opinion. “I’m not asking…I know what I’ve done is unforgivable. I should have told you weeks ago what Amos and I were about. I should have–”�

“You shouldn’t have touched him,”� I snapped, the words coming out before I could think too much about them. But the anger was there–red hot and boiling–and I didn’t have much control. My words came out in a yell. “You shouldn’t have even been _near_ him! I don’t give a bloody damn if it wasn’t real for you or Amos–it was real to _me_! Every goddamned second was _real to me_! And now you come along and just…just…”�

“You’re right,”� Julie said instantly, her head bobbing up and down frantically. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have even been near him after he asked you out. But I tried, Lily. I really _tried_ to stay away. And I only slept with him twice–”�

Oh my god.

_Oh my god_.

“ _Slept_ with him?”� The words came out in a shrill cry, my head spinning. “You _slept_ with him?”�

Julie blushed to the very roots of her hair, turning a vibrant shade of red from neck to forehead, but somehow managed to nod curtly. If I wasn’t so shocked and disgusted, I might have taken a moment to feel relieved over the fact that Julie was now looking determined rather than weepy.

“Yes,”� she bit out, the word crisp and cool. “Yes, I slept with him. I told you we were together. And I’m not some sort of slag–I love him and he loves me.”�

“I’m really not sure that matters when he’s _dating someone else_!”�

“I _told_ you I was sorry!”� Julie snapped back, some of the old fire coming back into her now. But it was too late for that. She was too obviously wrong. “I’m telling you now what I should have told you before and I’m sorry that I didn’t say it sooner! But by the time I’d given in, I was sure you were off shagging James Potter, anyway! I thought it wouldn’t matter!”�

“Well, it _did_!”� I shouted, second by second moving away from the numbness and closer to some new emotions–anger, righteous indignation. “I _did_ care and I _wasn’t_ shagging James, but even if I _was_ that doesn’t make what you did _right_!”�

“I know that!”� Julie cried, wiping furiously at what remained of her tears. The transition from pleading mode to defensive mode was clearly complete. She was looking furious now, though not nearly as furious as I was. “But rumours don’t lie, Lily! There’s always a shred of truth! And with the number of stories going around about you and James for the past couple of months, I _know_ you can’t be all innocent! So don’t you stand there and judge me for doing _exactly_ what you would have done if this were you and James! Don’t you dare!”�

I stood there, dumbstruck.

My god.

I couldn’t believe her audacity. Honestly, I couldn’t even conceive it.

Was she _serious_?

“You listen to me, Julie Little,”� I growled, scowling harder and darker than I think I’ve ever done in my life. “Not for a second,”� I said, “do you get to dictate to me. Not for a second do you get to come out of this feeling justified. Because no matter what you say or what you believed, the fact–the _truth_ –remains that I cared for Amos. For _him_ , not for who I could make jealous by being with him, not for who I could piss off! And whether I cared for James as well in the meantime, that still doesn’t change the fact that I went into our relationship wanting Amos, and he went in wanting you. And you let him–and let _me_. You can’t change that. And you make me sick for it.”�

Julie flinched as if I’d slapped her, reeling back and frowning deeply as my words hit their desired mark. And while some might have gained satisfaction from that reaction, I only felt like I’d been slapped myself. I suppose that’s what happens when all the shock and anger start to wear off and you’re suddenly left with only the raw and empty bits that were undoubtedly lying dormant beneath all the while.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe this was happening.

How could I not have seen it? How could I not have known? For Merlin’s sake, the stupid bastard has never once in two years given me more attention than the sporadic request for a spare quill, and suddenly he’s attracted? Suddenly I’m appealing? An idiot would have seen that something was off, but I was so determined for my perfect love story to come to life that I ignored all the warning signs–the clearly conflicting personalities, the obvious run-ins with Julie, the equally obvious moments with James–that were all there. Of _course,_ there was a reason for all of it. Of _course,_ it was all a scam.

Of course.

I didn’t know what to feel anymore. A part of me was still angry– _furious_ –with Amos and Julie and everything they’d done. But an equal part of me was just…defeated. Distraught. Worthless. And unfortunately, that side seemed to be quickly taking over.

Because maybe I didn’t give a damn about Amos anymore. Maybe I’d just wanted it to be over. But that didn’t make this hurt any less. Because I _had_ given a damn at one point. I _hadn’t_ wanted it to be over then.

What would have happened if I _still_ didn’t?

The thought made me livid and disgusted all at the same time.

I don’t know what I would have done or said after that, so consumed by the overwhelming gloom that was quickly closing around me. My head hurt, my eyes felt prickly, and the whys and what-ifs were sending me further away from composure. I reminded myself to breathe and tried to remember that I _didn’t_ care about Amos and that the relationship was over anyway, but it wasn’t even about that. I couldn’t bear to stop and think about what it _was_ about.

We probably would have just stood there in silence, Julie and I, staring at each other blankly and waiting for the other to do something. I couldn’t say what Julie was thinking at that point, but I was just trying not to burst out into my own set of uncomfortable tears. With deep breaths and a determined stare at Julie’s stony face, I opened my mouth to say something– _anything_ –that would get me out of that room. I didn’t care what it was. I just needed to get out of there.

It was on the tip of my tongue to spout off some half-sobbed excuse about rounds and run for the door, damn it all, when the words were suddenly cut in my throat by the ever-familiar sound of the classroom door creaking open.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake, _this was not the time for hormones!_

I whipped around to the door, ready to give my most scathing of scoldings, not even caring who it was or how aroused they were or any single thing because I _needed_ to yell at something and I needed to do it _now_.

But I didn’t get to yell.

Not then, anyway.

Because when the person–yes, a singular soul, yet again–walked through that door, my entire mind just shut off. I froze, stunned. My brain went from _grrr_ to _errr_ in a matter of moments, completely on its own, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

Because it was him.

Of _course_ , it was him.

My breath stopped in my throat.

“Holy Helga,”� Julie breathed, burying her head in her hands, her shock matching mine. She shook her head back and forth as she continued to cover her face. “You _would_ come now.”�

As Julie continued to hide her anguish in her hands, I remained frozen, just staring at the boy standing there inside the doorway. I was stunned, immobile. I'd never felt so trapped in a moment in my entire life. However, even through my shock, one thought _was_ able to surface. Rather clearly, actually.

What the hell had I _ever_ seen in this bastard?

Amos’s slightly perturbed gaze was flickering from Julie, to me, then back to Julie again, the only evidence of any unease with the scene before him his lightly furrowed brow and rather narrowed gaze. Looking at him more closely, however, I realised that what I’d first perceived as perturbation could actually quite easily be crossness– _was_ crossness. Amos was actually angry over finding Julie and me there.

Well, join the bloody _club_ , arsehole.

“What is this, Julie?”� was the first thing Amos said, and the terse tone of his voice and the withering glance he shot at Julie’s still hidden face was all the further evidence I needed to discern his anger. He glared. “What have you done?”�

Julie’s head shot up, her eyes instantly slitting as she took in Amos’s accusatory tone. “I didn’t plan this,”� she snapped, her scowl fierce. “She was here when I came in. I wouldn't ambush you like this. You know that."

Amos looked less than believing of that assessment, though he quit glaring so fiercely, so I suppose something must have appeased him. Quickly, only for a second, his eyes flickered to me. I still stood there frozen, unable to move.

"I didn't plan this," Julie repeated suddenly, defiantly, "but I've told her everything, Amos. She knows."

_She knows_. She said the words like a taunt, like this was just another round in their manipulative, little game, and she was expected to get a point for it. The fact that 'She' was standing right there and that 'She' had actual feelings and that 'She' was on the very border of exploding with emotion–though whether in tears or rage, I honestly could not tell you at that point–didn't seem to dawn upon either of them. 

And then, simultaneously, two things occurred.

The first, you see, was a thought, something that suddenly popped up into my head whilst I was still immersed in my silent battle to see which overwhelming emotion was going to win the duel for dominance and probably make a spectacle out of me either way. It was almost to the point where Tears was getting ready to plunge its watery knife (if you will) into Rage's vulnerable, boiling heart (likewise), that something Julie had just said struck a nerve in me.

_I wouldn't ambush you like this_.

Ambush.

Amos had thought he was being ambushed.

But in order to be ambushed, there had to be some sort of set meeting, didn't there? There had to be a location, a destination, a reason to lure the ambushee to the ambusher. 

Why had Julie walked into this classroom in the first place, if not to ambush me (which she couldn't have done, because there was no way for her to know I was in here)?

Why had Amos followed fifteen minutes later?

Why were they _both_ there, at the _same_ time, in the _same_ abandoned classroom, with, I really do think, the _distinct_ expectation of seeing the other...but not me?

Oh. My. _God_.

Number three.

They were going to go for Shag Number Three.

_In my bloody abandoned Transfiguration classroom!!_

Quite suddenly, Rage pulled out some fancy duel work of its own, toppling Tears over in a fit of...well, rage, and quickly gaining the upper hand. But victory was still in anyone's reach. The tides could be turned at any moment, by anything.

That is, until the second thing occurred.

Because _just_ as this realisation about Julie and Amos's true intentions revealed itself (they were meeting to shag! Behind my back! AGAIN), a shift of something by the door had my gaze snapping back over towards Amos. 

It was my first decent look at him since the fool had quit glaring. And despite the fact that I was certain I'd feel numb when I regarded his familiar face, that wasn't what happened at all. It _might_ have happened, of course, if not for the fact that Amos wasn't looking the least bit as mystified or expressionless as the rest of us. 

I swear, the explosion nearly erupted right then. It was _this close_.

Because he was smiling.

The bastard was actually _smiling_ at me.

SMILING _._

"Well," he said suddenly, looking appeased and chipper, putting his hands on his hips. "Brill. Just brill. Glad that's over with. All right, Lily?"

It was the last straw.

The last bloody fucking _straw_.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. Honestly, I still can't exactly recall what I'd yelled, what hexes I'd thrown, what curses flew out of my mouth–even how my wand had gotten in my hand, though it somehow was. There were several spells thrown, I knew that, and a few of them might have been made up–in fact, I'm pretty certain a few of them were–but whatever they were, they worked. One second, Amos was standing there smiling his perfect smile, saying his little "All right, Lily?"s, and the next, he was on the floor, rolling about in what I hoped was severe pain, with a decidedly greenish tint to him. Julie yelled–" _Amos_!"–and instantly rushed to drop to her knees beside him, but I didn't even wait around to assess the damage or hear the scolds or even to collect my things, all of which I just left there. Instead, I just strode right over Amos (maybe accidently-on-purpose crushing a few of his fingers beneath my shoes in the process) and out the door, stomping hard and heavy and as fast as I could as I left the classroom–and Amos and Julie–far behind.

Hell.

_Holy_ hell.

Holy, buggering _hell_.

I was panting. I was panting and stomping and seething and on the very brink of some sort of breakdown when I finally gained enough consciousness to gauge my temper and my surroundings (very precarious; somewhere on the third floor). I paced about restlessly, grateful that it was so close to curfew that few people were wandering around the corridors and therefore around to witness my complete mentalness. Frantic and disoriented, I only spared a moment's thought for the scene I had left behind me, and that was only to wish that whatever I had done to Amos was enough to land him in the Hospital Wing. It was petty, sure, but it was one thing I seriously wanted right then and there in that moment.

But not, I suddenly realised, stopping short, as much as I wanted something _else_.

I pivoted on my heels, and ran for the nearest staircase.

The distance was short, but it still seemed to take hours to reach the staircase and go up the single flight of steps it took to reach the fourth floor. There were more people about here, but I contented myself with the fact that I was undoubtedly speeding by too fast for them to get a good look at my face. Rumours about seeing the Head Girl running around the fourth floor I could deal with–rumours about seeing a clearly-on-the-verge-of-hysteria Head Girl running around the fourth floor would be an entirely different story. I might have taken a moment to fix my features into an expressionless look if I hadn't been so desperate to reach the familiar, worn double doors at the end of the corridor. But I was, and there they were, so all of that was left by the wayside as I all but sprinted forward.

I pushed through the doors of the library with a breath of relief.

The place was still rather crowded, though decidedly less so than earlier, undoubtedly due to the late hour. Still, there were enough people and I had drawn enough attention to myself barging though the doors like I'd done (which was rather obvious by the eagle-eyed look I was getting from Pince) that I knew it was time to at least attempt to school my features into a calmer demeanor, even if I was only partially successful. I knew I'd mostly accomplished my task when most people soon glanced away from me and back to their work.

None of these people, however, was the one I was looking for.

Moving slowly into the library, I clasped my hands anxiously in front of me as I glanced around at each of the initially visible tables, most of which were empty, but none housing who I sought. Somewhere in my jumbled brain I thought _Arithmancy_ , but I'd be damned if I had any idea where the Arithmancy section was, seeing as I'd never had a single use for it. Still, I couldn't just stand there. Moving quickly through the selves, I began by the Charms section and started moving right, hoping against all hope that I'd be able to spot them, that they'd still be there. I walked and scanned sections. Charms, Potions, Divination, History–Merlin, where _was_ it?–Biography, Mythical Creatures, Herbology–

Then I heard it.

"–makes _no_ sense! This chart is utter rubbish! None of the numbers even–"

I moved towards the sound, my feet moving faster and faster, the voice echoing in my head. They were there– _right_ there. My heart pounded furiously inside of my chest. Carrie was still complaining when I finally rounded the corner.

"–add up! Someone fix this one. James, can you–"

" _James_."

I said his name quickly, breathlessly, the word leaving my mouth on a sort of sigh of relief. They were all sitting packed at one table–James, Remus and Elisabeth on one side, Emma, Carrie and Phil Rook on the other, their backs towards me, with Kate Frost tacked on at one end–but the second I said his name, James lifted his head from where it was bent across the table looking at Carrie's chart, an instant smile on his face. But I suppose my passably calm expression had faded, or perhaps James was just that much more perceptive, because the second he actually got a good look at me, his smile faded and he had jumped to his feet all in one movement, already striding around the table and towards me with a blazing sort of look in his eyes. He'd reached me before I'd even had to ask, close enough that our heads nearly touched.

"Hey," he whispered, lifting a hand to cup my cheek, keeping my eyes on his. "What's the matter?'

"I have to talk to you," I blurted out, in what I hoped was a controlled voice, though I'm not sure how successful that was. Letting my eyes flicker past James for a moment, I saw all of them at the table staring, their looks ranging from extreme concern to royally brassed off. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I'll have him back quick. I just–"

"Is everything all right, Lily?" Emma asked worriedly. I nodded instantly.

"Fine," I said, though I knew Emma didn't believe that. My gaze skipped back to James and I knew he wasn't falling for it either. He grabbed my hand and I was thankful, but it was an action that brought me that much closer to cracking completely and I knew that I had to get James–and myself–away quickly before everything fell apart. Whether James realised this or whether he was just too curious about what I had come to say to him, I don't know, but he did my job for me when he turned back briefly to the speak to the others at the table.

"I'll be right back," he told them, and squeezed my hand. I didn't wait for another opening after that. Rude or not, I turned instantly, keeping my hand in James's and dragging him along behind me and into the farthest recesses of the library.

Bookcases flew blindly past the pair of us as I walked quickly to what I hoped was an entirely isolated part of the giant room. The late hour provided no light save a bit of moon through the library windows, and candles and light fixtures were scarce this far back in the room, but I was grateful for the dim light and kept walking. Still gripping James's hand tightly, I weaved through a few more shelves until we'd reached a sort of small clearing, square shaped with bookshelves surrounding us on three sides. I stopped abruptly and spun around, dropping James's hand in the process. Gazing up at him, I saw that he looked startled and worried.

"Lily," he said softly, "what's this all–"

I launched myself at him.

Really, that's the politest way to put it. Launched.

With a strangled sort of sound that I hadn't even been aware I'd been holding in, I ran at him, barreling myself into his chest and instantly clasping my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. James let out a soft, "Oomph!" at the initial impact, but otherwise reacted rather quickly, one arm sliding strong and steady around my back, the other slipping into my hair, stroking gently. It felt so good to have him there, to feel him hold me, that I didn't even realise that I'd started to cry until the tears had wet the patch of skin along his collarbone that I was so determinedly burrowing myself into. That's when James noticed, as well.

"Lily," he said again, startled, and tried to guide my head back to get me to look at him. I remained firmly locked in place, however, refusing to move. "What's... hey, come on, don't... what happened..."

But I could only shake my head and grip him tighter, hoping that he got the message that I didn't want to be hammered with questions just then, all I wanted was to be held. James might have realised that–or he might have simply realised that I wasn't lifting my head or loosening my grip any time soon–but whatever the case, he quit trying to force my head up and instead simply tightened his hold, pulling me more firmly against him as he started whispering all sorts of comforting words and sounds into my ear.

I had never been more grateful for him. Ever.

I don't know for how long the pair of us stood there all wrapped together. James held me tightly, smoothing my hair as he talked. I listened to his babble desperately, like a sort of lifeline, trying to regain some control. I was thankful at least that my sobs weren't loud or gaudy ones, just a rather endless stream of almost silent sounds and tears that wouldn't stop. I knew that I'd been holding them back, but I didn't know it had been this bad until the dam had broken and the waterworks wouldn't turn off. But they did, thankfully, eventually subside, leaving me shivering slightly and suddenly _entirely_ embarrassed over the mess I had made of myself–literally–all over James.

Merlin, the rubbish this poor bloke has to put up with. 

_Why_ hasn't he tossed me over yet?

Feeling stupid and foolish and needy, none of which made me feel better about myself at a time when I was already feeling rather rotten, I finally detached myself from James's embrace a seemingly endless amount of time later, wiping furiously at my still wet cheeks and suddenly feeling like I had to get away from there. Fast.

"Thank you," I said quickly, already stepping away, moving backwards slowly and not quite meeting James's eyes. "I'm fine now. Good to go. Thank you. I'll see you–"

"Not so fast, Lily Evans!" James snapped, and did some launching of his own as he lunged to grab my hand and swung me around to face him, all in one rather impressive movement. Behind his glasses, his eyes darkened and narrowed as he stared down at me. I don't think he was particularly pleased. "Thank you?" he hissed, enraged. " _Thank_ you? Are you mad? You run in here looking like the world's come crashing down then sob in my arms for ten minutes and all I get is _thank you_?"

"Was it ten?" I asked stupidly, blushing to the very tips of my hair. "Oh. Sorry. I really didn't mean to keep you so–"

" _Lily!_ "

"I'm sorry!" I cried, feeling like I might want to sob in his arms for another ten minutes. Or twenty. Or thirty. "I'm sorry," I said again, feeling tired. "I never should have...I shouldn't have come here. I just...I wanted you and I didn't think–"

"Don't apologise for that," James cut in, still angry. "Quit being stupid. You know that any time you need me...but that's not even what this is about!" He tugged on my hand suddenly, pulling me back up against him. At any other moment, I might have been happy to be so close to him again, but not when he was looking down at me so menacingly. I suppose he was still a bit upset over my strange actions. "Lily," he bit off tersely. "What. _Happened_?"

Oh, dear.

Perhaps a bit _more_ than a bit upset, then.

Hm.

There were so many things I could have done then, so many things that flashed through my mind in the few seconds that James and I stood there, staring at one another, silent. I could have lied, made up some story about the woes of Transfiguration and how it was affecting my mental stability. I could have leaned up the bit of distance between us and 'milked' the situation for all it was worth, snogging James to distraction. I could have done any number of things without actually answering his demands truthfully, but I suppose I knew then that no matter what I'd said or thought before, I hadn't come here simply to accost James and let him hold me until I felt better. Even as slaggish as I am, I know that's not the way these things work. I wanted something more than that. That's why I'd come to him. I wanted someone to lean on. I wanted someone to tell the entire sordid affair to. I wanted it out of me.

So instead of lying, I just lifted my wand, casted the strongest Silencing Charm I knew, and started talking.

I told him everything.

And _Merlin_ , it felt good.

I don't know how I expected James to act when I told him. I didn't really know how much he knew–he'd mentioned them before, hadn't he? Julie and Amos? In the Room of Requirement?–but I was certain that if he'd had any idea that the pair of them were actually together this entire time, he'd have told me. And he'd remained perfectly calm and attentive all throughout the beginning of the story, when all that my tale seemed to be was Julie Little throwing a gasket over my ignoring her. He even cracked a bit of a smile when I told him that Julie had demanded to know about him and what there was between us. 

But the smile didn't last long.

In fact, a few seconds later, when I'd gotten to the 'So was I' part, James wasn't smiling at all.

He went ballistic.

"Fucking _wanker_!" he swore furiously, the first interruption he'd made since I'd started my retelling, his face contorted with rage. "That _conniving_ , little–" He let off any number of dirty insults after that, most of them too outrageous or too furiously muttered for me to follow, but his meaning was nonetheless understood. 

James was very, very angry with Amos.

Which was far better than being angry with me, I suppose, but was rather daunting nonetheless.

"I know," I said, reaching out a hand, trying to soothe James's pleasantly protective–if a fair bit overzealous–reaction with a gentle touch. "It's completely... James? Wait, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to kill him," James seethed, striding past me in furious haste. "I'm going to take him and rip him apart limb by bloody limb. I'm going to–"

"What? No. _No_! James, get your bloody arse back here!"

Huffing angrily, I lunged for him, first grabbing a fist-full of shirt, then catching hold of an arm when the caught fabric hindered any further stomping off. James whirled around, glaring fiercely, but my scowl was fiercer.

_Honestly_.

"Let go," James growled. "I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're bloody well _not_ ," I snapped back, giving him a stern look. "That's not your job, James."

The boy had the audacity to look stunned at this.

"Not my... bloody hell, woman, are you cracked? He–not my _job_?"

"It's not!" I insisted again, crossing my arms over my chest. "I didn't tell you all of this so that you could turn into some giant hothead and go off and commit murder! I can take care of Amos myself–I _did_ take care of Amos myself, as you would know if you had bothered to quit storming off and just listened!"

Abruptly, James quit his glaring. He blinked. 

"You've already seen the bastard?" he asked. Then, eagerly, "Did _you_ kill him?"

Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

"Dunno," I answered honestly, rolling my eyes. "I fled the scene of the crime."

James almost smiled. "Quick thinking."

" _Not_ thinking," I corrected. "Rage is rather blinding."

I shot him a pointed look with that, one that deliberately said, "Uh, yeah. That means _you_ ," with not the least bit of subtleness. James gave off a slightly sheepish, though mostly disgruntled sigh at that, with a jerk of a shrug that didn't mean much. 

Really, he was the least contrite person on earth.

"Fine," he finally muttered, stepping back in the alcove, but not looking particularly happy about it. "I won't kill him...yet. Finish. I want to hear the rest."

I nodded, but suddenly felt uneasy about continuing the story. I was happy about stopping him from killing Amos, of course, but I was not really sure that I was satisfied with James staying put to hear the rest of the night's events. I mean, it all rather goes downhill from here, doesn't it? What with Julie sharing all the lovely details of their affair and Amos showing up? And it wasn't that I was unappreciative of James's reaction–I knew it was (at least for the most part) in defense of me–but if I'd wanted a hitman, I would have gone and found one. Clearly that was not why I'd come barging into the library, making a complete and utter fool of myself, in order to track him down.

I mean, not that I don't make a fool of myself all the time, anyway, but this time it was quite knowledgeably done.

But even though I wasn't sure about much and I was still feeling uneasy and the more I recounted the story to James, the more I remembered it–and subsequently relived the utter humiliation. I knew there was no running off now. Even if James would let me, I wouldn't have wanted to. And I suppose that says something utterly pathetic about me and my neediness that I was so desperate to tell James all about the horrific night, damn the consequences.

But I never said I wasn't pathetic. Or needy. Hell, I'm probably worse.

I finished the rest of the story quickly, not so much because I'd wanted to get it over and done with, but because the whole end of it got me all upset/furious/sickened again and so my mouth was moving quite on its own while the rest of me was busy trying to hold it together. I was grateful when James didn't interrupt again, though he didn't look too pleased when I recounted all the details for him, especially when Amos came along and made an arse of himself. I think he might have been proud of my I'm-not-really-sure-what-I-did-but-I'm-relatively-certain-it-was-significantly-damaging-enough exit, but by that point in the story I'd gotten to be such a mess again that James was too busy pulling me back into his arms and trying to calm me down to really show any immediate pride or elation.

Which _did_ have its advantages, of course.

I mean, from an entirely Slaggy Sue point of view.

"I'm sorry," James whispered, kissing my temple, running his hand up and down my back, after I had finally finished. "Christ, Lil, I'm sorry."

"S'okay," I murmured, trying to shrug it off, but mostly just snuggling closer, because that's what makes a slag like me feel better. "Not your fault."

"I didn't say it was my fault," James answered, "I just said I was sorry."

I sighed at that, mostly because it made very little sense, but made me feel better anyway. I suppose I'm just rather convoluted like that.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry, as well," I grumbled back, pulling away slightly from James and scowling bitterly towards his shoulder. "Sorry I ever bothered with that stupid arsehole."

"Are you?"

My head snapped up.

"What?" I asked.

It wasn't so much his words as his tone that had me so startled. He sounded... James shifted a bit, looking decidedly uncomfortable and unsure, and I suppose that said it all. He _sounded_ uncomfortable and unsure. That was such a change from the James I knew that I would have been startled no matter what, even disregarding the fact that he'd just asked me if I was sure I was sorry I'd ever bothered with Amos-the-manipulative-ponce.

Am I?

_Am_ I?

Was he serious?

"Why would you ask me that?" I questioned, watching him _not_ watch me, his eyes focusing on some point to his left, leaving me gazing at his profile. "James? What sort of question is that?"

"An honest one," James answered, finally turning back to me. He was looking less uncomfortable and more closed off by the second. I couldn't decide which was worse. "Look," he sighed, lifting a hand to run it agitatedly through his hair, "I'm not...Diggory's a right tosser. I know it, and you know it– _now_. But you didn't think so for a long time, you know? And I understand that. I get it. I know..." James paused, a slight cringe crossing over his face. He said the next bit very quickly. "I know I'm a new bit in your life and that's all right and it's perfectly natural for you to be this upset over Amos because he...you cared about him for a long while and even now there's probably still some feelings and you're allowed to be hurt, but you should really be honest about it so that you can...move past...or something."

Oh, god.

Oh, my _god_.

He thinks...

_What_?

"James." I looked at him. Hard. "Are you telling me that you think I was so upset because I still have feelings for Amos?"

James's jaw tensed. He gave a jerky shrug and a curt nod.

Bloody hell.

Bloody _flistering_ hell.

I wanted to hit him. Four minutes ago, I wanted to snog him and now I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp.

How could he think that? How? I mean, I _told_ him! Sunday night, I _told_ him that there was absolutely nothing left between Amos and me. I told him and he said "Good," and then attacked me and you'd _think_ that that would mean something to some people, but I suppose these things just don't mean as much as they used to in the old days, now do they?

_Merlin_.

But even as I wanted to conk him hard and heavy over the head and hope that he went tumbling down with a decidedly large bump on his head...well, I suppose he had _some_ reason to believe what he did. I mean, what else could he really think? He was right–this thing between the pair of us _was_ new and I had been mad over Amos for a long time. But not as long as James thought. He didn't know how much I'd been oscillating about Amos for all these weeks. He didn't know how firmly _he'd_ gotten under my skin. As far as he was aware, I'd gone to that date on Saturday torn between the pair of them, even if I'd told him in the Room of Requirement that I didn't want to go. So it wasn't stupidity as much as it was ignorance, which perhaps was a bit better.

I suppose I'd be all right if he'd acquire a decidedly _small_ bump on his head, then.

Hmph.

I opened my mouth in order to explain to James that he was absolutely daft and that he was lucky I fancied him so much or else this might significantly hinder our budding relationship, wasn't he aware? And furthermore, let him know that I did _not_ under _any_ circumstances care a single _whit_ about Amos Diggory any longer and that the _real_ reason I was upset was obviously... _clearly_...

Er.

Um.

My mouth closed shut.

Shit.

Why _was_ I so upset?

The question hit me hard, baffled me completely. Merlin, I honestly hadn't even thought about it! I mean, I _knew_ it wasn't because I fancied Amos–there wasn't a single romantic feeling left in my body for that boy, even _before_ today–but in all the madness, I hadn't actually stopped to pause for a moment and consider why the whole thing was so devastating. It's not really the thing, after all, to pause mid-fight, hold up a hand to Julie as she’s sobbing and say, "Scuse me, Jules, would you mind capping the waterworks for a moment there? I'd like to consider this situation and why it's making me so sickened. Yes, very good, much thanks."

Yeah, I'm thinking that wouldn't have been particularly appropriate then.

But it was now. I could pause and think now. So I did.

Why? Why did it shatter me so much? Yes, it's never _pleasant_ to find out you've been cheated on–but is that even what this really was? I mean, Amos and I certainly had a well-known attachment, but it wasn't as if we'd been seriously dating for months and months or anything like that. And the fact still remained that I didn't _care_ about Amos. The worst part about being cheated on is knowing that the relationship is over and that the cheater clearly doesn't care about you anymore, isn't it? But that was all irrelevant to me. I _wanted_ the relationship to be over. _I_ didn't care about Amos anymore. So neither of those things really apply to me, do they? No. No, they don't. The only things that apply to me are the what-ifs. What if I still did care? What if I hadn't wanted the relationship to end? What if there was no James and all Amos and I was that same pathetic girl of September 1st, panting after the stupid prat? But was I seriously foolish enough to be _this_ upset over a bunch of hypothetical situations? Was I honestly that immersed in my own mad imaginary world that such things mattered?

I'm many things, but I didn't think I was _that_ deluded.

So what, then?

What had me such a mess?

I thought about it. I stood there and I thought back and tried to pinpoint the reason for my devastation. I knew it wasn't romantic, but the thought of what Amos and Julie had done still made me a mass of rage and desolation...but _not_ , I suddenly realised, because I was jealous or living in the past or any such nonsense.

I felt belittled.

The moment I thought of the word, I knew I'd gotten it. _That's_ what hurt so much–my complete and utter insignificance to either Julie or Amos throughout the entire thing.

Unlike so many others, the worst part about the cheating–or whatever variant of cheating this situation was–for me _wasn't_ the fact that the love was gone, but that the _respect_ was. In fact, it wasn't just gone, it had never even been there in the first place! From the very start, I was nothing but a shiny object to be flaunted and used, then promptly tossed aside and ignored when it was convenient. I had acknowledged this fact before, but I hadn't realised that it was the entire source of my agony over the situation until now. I hadn't realised how much it hurt to be regarded that lowly, how much that sort of disrespect affected me. I mean, it made _sense_ that I was so upset about such a thing–who wouldn't be?–but I suppose most people would have some other issues with this sort of thing. However, I really don't think that I do. While James is looking towards the logical reasons and making sensible–if entirely presumptuous and rather belittling of _our_ connection, new or not–assumptions about my feelings, I'm simply cowering under a mass of self-conscious, debasing humiliation.

Which is no simple cup of tea, of course, but probably not as devastating–or obvious–as the old she-still-has-feelings-for-him rubbish.

But how do I get _James_ to understand that?

It was a fine dilemma, indeed.

"I'm going to tell you some things," I finally said to James, the skeleton of a plan forming in my head, a series of sentences and words already coming together and hoping to help out. I glanced up at him, wondering how long we'd been standing there in silence, wondering what he'd been thinking about as we did. He was still looking deceptively impassive, which certainly meant that he was still doubting me. I gave him a good scowl for that, and decided it needed some addressing. "You're a right ponce. And you're going to feel very stupid and foolish after this chat, but I'm really not going to be too sympathetic about it because that's your punishment for being such a dunderhead. So listen well."

James regarded me critically after that, probably half-offended and half-curious, but attentive nonetheless. I mostly ignored him and forced myself to continue on. I had things to say, and damn all, I was going to say them!

"Almost from the start, there was something wrong with me and Amos–no, don't argue," I cut in, when James opened his mouth to protest. "I'm serious. Or do you not recall my proclaiming to a room full of gossips that I was dating you the very day after Amos asked me out? Does that sound like a girl in a content relationship to you?" 

"I understand that," James said, "but–"

"No," I insisted, "you _don't_ understand. You don't understand because I've never told you. You have no idea about the sorts of things that have gone through my head in the past few weeks. You have no idea how much I tried to pretend I was happy with Amos, only to be proven wrong time and time again." I paused here briefly, feeling myself heat up, knowing I was soon going to be revealing some pretty embarrassing things, all for the sake of clarity. Honestly, the things I do for this boy. "You have been like a damn niffler in my head since that very first day on the platform," I told him ruefully, watching with a bit of relief as his eyes slowly began to lose their sharp edge. I shook my head and kept going. "You get under a poor girl's skin like you wouldn't believe. You have no idea how long I've been trying to keep from feeling things for you, so don't bluster out all this rubbish about you being a 'new' bit. You're not new. You're old and annoying."

James's lip quirked up a bit at this, an eyebrow following not long behind. But even though he wasn't looking impassive anymore, I knew he wasn't quite believing me entirely yet. The stupid ponce wasn't making this easy. So I kept talking.

"Do you have any idea," I asked, "what going on that date Saturday was like for me? Do you have a single clue?"

"You said you had to go," James put in, and I finally allowed him to speak. He was looking a bit stony again, as if this was unpleasant to recall. "You said you had to figure things out. That your changing feelings might have very little to do with Diggory. That's what you said."

"I was an idiot," I interjected, and now I was _sure_ I was blushing. Bloody useless genes. "Things were moving fast and I was scared and so I held onto the idea that things might be the same with Amos just for my own sanity's sake, but the entire thing was utter rubbish. Didn't you see that?"

James shrugged, but was suddenly looking contemplative, as if analyzing my words that probably should have been obvious to him all along. I mean, _he'd_ been the one to call me out on my fear of change. Was all this really so new to him?

I suppose it was, because he did look rather consumed by it.

Well, wait until he heard _this_ bit.

"It was horrible," I blurted out, without preamble. "The entire date was absolutely catastrophic. From the very start, I knew I didn't have any feelings left for Amos, and then the idiot made it even worse by going round to every single bloody person he knew and announcing that I was his date–for Julie's benefit, I know now," I put in. "But I survived it. The whole day. And do you know how?"

James shook his head.

If I wasn't so embarrassed, I might have laughed.

"It was you," I admitted, positively scarlet. "The entire time, I had a little James-inside-my-head making all these witty comments and telling Amos he was a tosser and making me laugh and feel better. It was you, the entire time."

James looked stunned.

Oh, bugger.

Was it too soon for this?

"Excuse me?" he sputtered, blinking rapidly. "A James-inside-your- _what_?"

"Head!" I all but shouted, feeling like a prize idiot. I dropped my face into my hands, feeling my entire being burn in humiliation. "A James-inside-my-head! Oh, god, why I am I even telling you this? I'm such an arse. I know it was completely daft, but I just–"

"Shut up," James interrupted, and...oh, dear Merlin, was he _laughing_? "Shut the bloody fuck up and look at me."

If he hadn't suddenly been laughing, I might not have mustered up the gumption to lift my head, but I somehow did, if only to be able to see why he was suddenly in the midst of hilarity. I didn't get to contemplate the abrupt mood change for long, though, because nearly the second after I had somehow forced my head up, James had bent his and dropped his lips upon mine.

Ah.

Right.

Okay.

I was laughing, too, suddenly, pulling my mouth away only long enough to get the words, "Ah! _Milk_! I'm not supposed to have milk!" out, before James was already pulling my head back towards his.

"Shut up," he said again, in between snogs. "My milk, my rules. I can dish it out whenever the hell I'd like."

Right-o. Not going to argue with that one.

Swallowing my giggles with his mouth again, James's hands dipped down to my waist, pulling me closer against him as my arms rose to wrap around his neck, lifting myself onto my toes and pushing harder into the kiss, reveling in it.

Merlin, I'd missed this. It'd only been two damn days–not even, really, if you were to count the mouthwash incident yesterday, which was pretty hard to ignore–but it felt like years. I suppose that means that I'm probably some sort of slaggy snog-addict, but if that means that I get to snog James like this any time I'd like, then hello, my name is Lily Evans and I'm addicted to snogs ("Hello, Lily. Welcome.")

Whatever. I have worse flaws.

I could feel James's hands gripping tighter as I arched back, pushing my front more snugly into his. I let my fingers drift into the hair at the nape of his neck, remembering again why the boy was probably always running his fingers through it–if _you_ had hair like his, you'd want to touch it all the time, as well. His mouth was hot and sweet and so utterly lovely that I probably swooned about a million times, all in the course of a few pitiful minutes. My head was swimming as I kissed him back, not letting his mouth drift anywhere but my lips despite the fact that I'm relatively certain that James would have preferred exploring a bit. I was too impatient for that, though, and nibbled scoldingly on his bottom lip when he tried to move. James chuckled into my mouth at that, but complied.

I could have snogged him for hours– _would_ have, probably, if left to my own devices–but sometime between the moment when James had first swooped on in and the point where our tongues were probably far better acquainted with the other's mouth than our own, we had shifted until my back was almost touching one of the surrounding bookcases. Soon enough, James's body gave mine an impatient nudge backwards until my entire backside fell against the shelves. Almost instantly, there was a sharp poke in the middle of my back.

"Ow!" I jumped, breaking my mouth abruptly away from James’s, swiveling my head around to look at the offending object behind me. A book with a sharp metal clasp protruded proud from out of the bookcase. I glared at it for a moment, then realised how absolutely moronic that was and started to laugh, just because. One of my hands dropped from around James's neck and rubbed at my back, just above where James's own hands rested. "Bugger, that hurt."

James laughed, as well, leaning down to kiss me again, quick but hard.

"Suppose it's not the voyeuristic sort," he said, grinning devilishly. "Was getting all hot and bothered."

" _It_ was getting all hot and bothered?" I muttered, and James laughed again.

I think the boy had every intention of moving me over to the nearest flat-surfaced bookshelf and continuing where we'd just left off, but I knew that if I let him do that, we'd never leave the bloody library. And considering I had every intention of sleeping in my own dormitory tonight, I knew I had to put a stop to it because James certainly wasn't going to.

"Uh-uh," I said, putting my hand over his quickly lowering mouth and pushing firmly. "Keep that to yourself. You never let me bloody finish _talking_."

"You've always got too much to _say_ ," James countered. I threw him a look.

"Well, this bit's important!" I let my other hand drop away from his shoulder, though James still kept a firm grip around my waist, not letting go. Bloody randy prat. "Or do you honestly want me to keep letting you think that I spent the night crying over my stupid crushed feelings for Amos Diggory?" I asked.

"It doesn’t matter, Lily," James tried to say, shaking his head. "I don't care. It's not–"

"It _does_ matter," I cut in, adamant. "It matters to me. I want to explain."

James looked ready to argue with that, but I suppose he thought better of it looking at my determined scowl, because he eventually let out this giant, exasperated sigh and nodded his head, then tilting it back and to the side in an "All right, madwoman, I'm paying attention. Go," sort of way.

Honestly, as if it wasn't for _his_ benefit.

"I don't care a whit about Amos," I said, for what felt like the millionth time. "I really couldn't give a fig about what happens to him after tonight. And I bloody well hope you believe that."

James sighed again. "Lily, it doesn't _mat_ –"

"It _does_!" I shouted again, ready to throttle him. "It _does_ matter because I _didn't_ matter and that's what this whole damn emotional breakdown was all about– _not_ my bloody feelings for Amos Diggory!"

Merlin, how thick can you _get_?

James blinked owlishly at me, as if I'd just spouted a few dozen new heads.

"Didn't matter?" James repeated, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean 'because I didn't matter'?"

"To Amos," I explained, suddenly deflated, feeling quite small and worthless all out of nowhere. "I didn't matter to Amos and I didn't matter to Julie–not _romantically_ ," I was quick to clarify, when James looked at me pointedly. "I mean as a person–as a fellow human being, even! All I was to either of them was this stupid, worthless object that they could use and toss in each other's faces without a care in the world. How do you think that feels, to know that people have so much disregard for you and your feelings that they can just use you as a pawn in their nasty little games and not give a damn?"

"Lily..."

"I've never felt so insignificant," I whispered, my gaze falling down to my feet, my face heating up yet again. "I've never felt like such a tiny, worthless speck of a girl. _That’s_ why I was so upset, all right?"

I had sorted this all out in my head ten minutes ago, but somehow saying it aloud made it even worse. I didn't know if it was because admitting it out loud made it more real, or simply because it was positively humiliating and James was hearing it all, but I suddenly felt like I wouldn't mind too much sobbing like a pathetic little baby once more. It was an entirely plausible option.

I couldn't bear to look at James, swallowing hard against my vat full of quickly-consuming wretched feelings, hoping that all this misery would disappear soon. I tried to think of something to say, a quip or a joke or even a bloody _sound_ , but nothing would come out. I was still trying to figure that out when James's finger suddenly tucked under my chin, prodding my face up and then keeping it there as he let that same hand gently cup my cheek. Slowly, he dropped his forehead down upon mine, his eyes blazing.

"You," he whispered gruffly, "are possibly _the_ most significant thing in my entire life. You know that, don't you?"

My heart slammed against my chest, my breath catching and my pulse racing as I closed my eyes and let James's words sink in. 

_The_ most significant thing.

He said I was _the most_ significant thing.

I mean, possibly. But I’d take possibly.

Suddenly, I wanted to cry again, but for an entirely different reason.

"Yes," I finally answered, my voice coming out scratchy, my hand lifting to cover the hand that still rested on my cheek. I looked up at James and smiled, feeling light and airy. "But I've got an inferiority complex, you see. Sometimes I need reminding."

James laughed and then leaned down to kiss me; once softly, a second time hard, both equally as mind numbing.

There were about a million things I wanted to say then, all ranging from the absolutely mundane to the horrifyingly giddy and inappropriate. There were a million things to say, but only one thing I really _should_ have said– _wanted_ to say–but somehow couldn't. Because when a bloke who has turned possibly one of the most horrific nights of your existence into a night that you might possibly want to keep with you always, says something like, "You are possibly the most significant thing in my entire life," you've got to be damned moronic not to say something equally as wonderful and telling back to him, because _good god_ you feel it. But–really, how _shocking_ –I suppose that I'm truly damned moronic, because instead of saying what I should have ( _wanted to!_ ) say, as James pulled away from that second kiss, looking down at me with more bloody emotion than I deserved, all I could do was laugh like a dunce and mutter, "We are the _worst_ mates with potential in all of existence."

Yeah.

I know.

I should be shoved off the nearest cliff. Simply on principle.

But if James was expecting the sort of reply that I should have (WANTED TO) give, he didn't show it. Instead, he just laughed right back, sighed all dramatically and said, "I tried to tell you, but did you listen? ‘Course not."

Which is just another example of why I really don't deserve to kiss the ground the boy walks on.

Psh.

I gave off a sigh myself, more out of pure frustration at myself than anything. And even though it was nothing close to half the things I should have said, I did manage to muster out a semi-telling, "Well, I suppose we'll just have to be more potential and less mate for today."

"Or," James replied, "we can just say that we are indefinitely more or less mates with potential, and leave the percentages for another day. Perhaps when it's raining."

"This is England. It's _always_ raining."

"Not today."

Right.

Not today.

More or less, mates with potential.

Yes, I liked that.

I suppose I felt better after that, even though I still couldn't say what I wanted, though the fact that I couldn't force it out is really just another sign that James and I are presently much better off as more-or-less-mates-with-potential than another more permanent title. I mean, it was already far too much of an emotional night. This was obviously not the time to be making very important decisions. Even if you might feel like those decisions would be right. Because if they're right today, they'll be right tomorrow. Even if it's raining.

Which is exactly my point. I think.

We were still standing there–James all grinning, me all contemplative–when I realised just how bloody _long_ we'd been still standing there, and looked up at James with a guilty sort of expression.

Er...we got lost?

Oops.

"They probably think I've killed you or something," I muttered, waving my hand towards the bookshelves that led back to the main part of the library. I sighed heavily, shaking my head. "There goes my stellar reputation."

"Please," James scoffed, clicking his tongue mockingly. "That was trashed _ages_ ago. Besides, I'll just tell them all that you dragged me back here to molest–that's _much_ better than murder. And not even untrue!"

"Excuse me, but I believe _you_ molested _me_."

"Wrong. You're very emotional right now. Not thinking clearly. It'll pass."

I shoved an elbow into James's ribs as he finally dropped his hold on me, though he didn't step very far away. The elbow didn't do much damage other than a slight stomach bend, but I suppose I would have to be satisfied with that, seeing as it was more than I usually got. I wasn't the least bit surprised when James started to laugh. "Want me to walk back with you?" he asked.

I thought about this, and then shook my head. "No, go back to your group. They're probably floundering without you. They probably want to murder _me_ for stealing you away for so long."

"They'll survive," he said, shrugging. "If you're really that worried about it, come with. Library closes in fifteen minutes, anyway. You can learn some Arithmancy _and_ walk back to the Tower with Emma and me. Win-win."

The offer was tempting–I had the unreasonable fear that stepping out of this library, away from James, might somehow make the entire night terrible again–but I knew that that was stupid and cowardly and that if I ever wanted to have any respect for myself after this, I had to accept that James had already done _more_ than his part and now it was my turn. I had to finish coping with the situation on my own. Even if my worries weren't for nothing and the night did fall apart again outside of these book-lined walls, it was for me to deal with. For Merlin's sake, I was seventeen, not four. It was about damn time I took care of myself. I shouldn't have to go running off to my more-or-less-mate-with-potential every time I scuff some skin. What sort of witch is that? No witch I want to be, that's for sure.

So even though James's plan was plausible and practical and could have worked, I shook my head again when he asked because that was the proper and mature thing to do. And I like to pretend I'm those sorts of things sometimes.

"Don't worry about me," I said, waving him off. "I can handle myself. Besides, I have to run down and get all of my things out of the Transfiguration classroom–I abandoned them all there when I stormed off. Someone's going to nick them otherwise."

"You shouldn't have to go back in there," James replied, eyes narrowing a bit. "Not tonight. I'll go by afterwards and get them. Or I'll tell Emma and she'll bring them straight up to your dorm. Or–"

"James. Please. I'm all right, okay? I can walk into a bloody classroom and pick up my books. Done it millions of times before, promise."

James threw me a look that said he didn't appreciate my sarcasm, but it was the only way I knew that would get through to him to prove that I really was all right. And even though plenty of things had happened tonight, most of which were enough to blow even a sturdy girl down, I realised that I actually _was_ all right. Not perfect, of course, but all right. I _could_ handle this on my own. When I stop being such a pansy, I actually do have quite a bit of gumption. I'd just have to tap into it. Which I could do. Alone.

I really do think I'm maturing.

Hm.

Slipping my arm around James's waist, leaning my head against his shoulder as his arm came around mine, I sighed gently as we began to walk away from the alcove, already feeling a bit anxious, but mostly okay.

"I have an idea," I said suddenly, twisting my head to look up at James. "How about next time, _you_ go all dotty and sobbing, and _I'll_ pat your head and wear comfortable shirts and snog it all better, all right?"

"Deal," James said, nodding definitively.

"I figure you have some catching up to do," I added. "I mean, seeing as I've done this...oh, what's it now? Seven or eight billion times?"

"Twelve. But who’s counting?"

We bantered back and forth like this until we arrived back at the table with the study group, who mostly didn't mention the fact that I had promised to have James back quickly and instead returned with him a half-hour later. Mostly, they all just shot me little smiles, ones that ranged from All-right-I'm-smiling-now-and-your-smiling-now-but-we-are-going-to-discuss-this-all-later-right? (Emma) smiles, to Hm-isn't-this-interesting-what-were-you-doing-back-there-so-long-and-returning-with-arms-all-embracing?! (Kate Frost). Elisabeth wasn't smiling at all, but then I wasn't expecting her to. James sent me one last smile of his own (of the are-you-sure-you're-okay-because-I-can-come-right-now-and-make-things-better-let's-go-take-a-walk-or-something variety) before I shook my head at him and shoved him towards his seat, giving him a deliberate wave and look. I waved at the rest of them, as well, just before I headed off, and they all muttered their "Goodbye"s and "Good night"s accordingly.

And just like that, I was on my own again.

And happy to report that I survived it.

Hallelujah.

I suppose the whole on-my-own thing was made easier by the fact that I didn't meet up with anyone on my way to the Transfiguration classroom, _in_ the Transfiguration classroom, or on my way to Gryffindor Tower, which I suppose was another rice incident, some fluke that one Fate of the World or another pulled out when he turned to his/her comrades and said, "Honestly, mates, look what we did to the poor girl. If we're not going to toss her down the stairs and end it all, at least give her a bit of calm-after-the-storm, yeah?"

Which I was grateful for, I suppose, in that twisted sort of I'd-rather-not-be-interfered-with-at-all-thanks-graciously kind of way.

But whatever. We get what we get and we don't get upset.

I got a belittling the size of Hogwarts, but I also got James.

Fair trade, I think.

Grace was puttering around on her bed when I finally made my way back into the dormitory, probably all high and happy from her slaggish night of naughty nonsense, but this was not the sort of story that a girl felt like telling a billion times in one night, so before she could say anything, I held up my hand, said, "Very, _very_ eventful night. Emma will back soon. Then we'll conference," and promptly holed myself up in my bed with the curtains drawn and James's scarf to keep me company.

And so here I am, recounting number two over and done with.

Shockingly, I don't feel like I want to jump out the nearest window.

I mean, I might fancy a small trip down a few stairs, a sprained ankle, and a day or two spent with my mate Pomfrey, but nothing permanent, which I think is very encouraging.

Emma scurried into the dorm a decent fifteen minutes ago, but I sent her and Grace away with a quick wave of my hand in order to finish in here. They're over in Grace's bed now, swapping information and theories. None that I've overheard have been correct, but I suppose that would be a tough one–I _did_ manage to cram quite a bit into one sensational night. But that's just my way, I suppose. Never do anything halfway, do I? No, of course not.

Psh.

I'll call the pair of them over in a few minutes. Then they'll stop prattling on about pregnancy scares ( _Really_ , Grace?) and Transfiguration breakdowns (highly possible. Very good, Em) and actually talk about something with truth and sustenance. 

But in the meantime, I think I'll just lie here and snuggle with the scarf.

Which I suppose, really, I can call more or less mine.

Right.

Who cares about tomorrow? Guam is still available. And I’ll take the scarf with me.


	20. October 22nd: Merely Mold and Damage Control

**Author’s Notes:** Here again, at your regularly scheduled several-months-later interval. I can wax poetic about how sorry I am for the delay and how wonderfully supportive and patient you all are, but I’ve done all that before, so you’re aware of how much I adore you. Instead, I’ll just let you get to the story. Thanks for this chapter go to by lovely and talented betas, Ben and Andie, for all their time and hard work. In addition, to D, because… your moodiness is now and then bewilderin', and your values may be, so to speak, askew…but it’s nobody else but y-o-u. Enjoy.

 

__________________________  

“I remember that one fateful day when Coach took me aside. I knew what was coming. "You don't have to tell me," I said. "I'm off the team, aren't I?" "Well," said Coach, "you never were really ON the team. You made that uniform you're wearing out of rags and towels, and your helmet is a toy space helmet. You show up at practice and then either steal the ball and make us chase you to get it back, or you try to tackle people at inappropriate times." It was all true, what he was saying. And yet, I thought something is brewing inside the head of this Coach. He sees something in me, some kind of raw talent that he can mold. But that's when I felt the handcuffs go on.”�

-Jack Handey-

__________________________

**_______________________________________**

**Wednesday, October 22nd, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 244**

  
**Ways to Spend a Night That Does Not Include Sleeping or Thinking**  
 **An Informative List, Complied by an Emotionally Drained Witch,**  
 **Lily C. Evans**  

1\. Remember those copies of _Witch Weekly_ your mates toss at you every now and then, but which you promptly roll your eyes at and ignore? Let's try something new. Go pick one up–no, seriously. Go. Learn a bit about life. If nothing else, ogle a few of the male models and feel like a normal, teenage witch for once.  
2\. Looking for something a bit more stimulating? Grab a Charms textbook. There's an exam tomorrow, you know, and even though–let's be honest here–you probably don't have to study, it's never good to get into that sort of mindset. Everyone can do with some revising.  
3\. Unbandage your rather gross and still healing acid wound and blanch at it accordingly. You might also stop to wonder why a woman as wonderful and talented as Poppy Pomfrey would do such a rotten job at healing your wounds that they would still look exactly the same as the day that you got them. Consider sabotage and/or writing a strongly-worded letter about it.  
4\. Start writing said letter, and giggle when you choose to begin it, "Oy, Popps."  
5\. Start writing another letter, this one addressed to your mother, and scowl as you begin it, "Dear Woman Who May Have Spawned Me, But Who Has Lost All Claim to a More Affectionate Title."  
6\. Bin both. Letters are rubbish.  
7\. Reorganize your trunk.  
8\. Search for split-ends. Clip accordingly.  
9\. Compose a song to the beat of Carrie Lloyd's heavy breathing.  
10\. Above all else, pretend that you are not merely playing at all these abovementioned, worthless attempts to pass time, and that you are not instead completely consumed by exhaustion and embarrassment, dwelling on the stupid, _stupid_ things you did last night and the fact that you cannot sleep because of them. Because maybe you did get your feelings smashed by your former proposed life mate. And maybe you did decide to retaliate in turn by smashing that same former proposed life mate with a few unknown hexes. And maybe you did spend the hour afterwards molesting your poor more-or-less-mate-with-potential for the whole library to see, hardly caring because you're clearly an emotionally drained slag.  But why should any of that matter? Really, why should it?

            I think it's time for some air. And about a bushel load of Alert Elixir.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Hogwarts Grounds  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 245**

 

Bloody effing hell, whose _idea_ was this? It's ruddy _cold_ out here.

            All right, so maybe it wasn't the _brightest_ idea to plop myself down right by the lake. Maybe I should have thought this one out a bit more. I mean, I'm pretty sure there's some sort of natural phenomenon that clearly states that it's substantially colder near water. I know it exists–what the hell is it called? Maybe if Grace had had a few more vials of Alert Elixir, I'd be able to recall it. I might also be able to get up and move to a warmer location. But considering my useless mate only stowed away two vials to be thieved, this is what I've become–cold and confused and comatose. Alliteration at its best.

            Oh, who _cares_ , anyway? So maybe my bum will freeze off. So maybe I'll lose a few fingers. This is still exponentially better than being inside. I _hate_ inside. Walls are so bloody constricting. And there are like...like _people_ inside. They migrate towards it. Like a disease. Or a cult. I refuse to take part in either. Even if I freeze. I should really be rewarded for my good choices and noble sacrifices. It's the least the world can do. Even if–

            Oh, hell. Why am I such a dolt? Where's my bloody wand?

**_______________________________________**

**Still Later, Still on the Hogwarts Grounds  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 245**

 

_Ode to Warming Charms_   
_by Lily Evans_

_Warming Charms, oh Warming Charms,_   
_I do adore you so._   
_Sitting here by the lake,_   
_I no longer feel so cold._   
_My bum was nearly freezing,_   
_my nose was shivering, too,_   
_but with a flick of my wand, you warmed me,_   
_is it a wonder why I love you?_

 

**_______________________________________**

**Later Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 245**

            I had to go inside eventually. As much as I dreaded it, as much as I avoided it, as much as the idea of sitting here composing more poetry or finally taking off for my Guamanian adventures grew increasingly more attractive, there really was little choice in the matter. I had to go inside. All I had control over was the 'when' in the situation–at what point exactly did I finally face the music and reenter myself into the world? And even though I was well aware that I could've stayed right there beside the lake until the very last second, leaving myself only enough time to dash to Runes before it began and slip inside the classroom before anyone had the chance to speak or snipe or breathe particularly rudely…my pride wouldn't let me do it. It just wouldn’t. I was not the one in the wrong here, after all. I shouldn't have to hide like a guilty child. The blame for this entire wretched saga fell entirely upon Amos and Julie's shoulders, so let _them_ go into hiding. I wouldn't. I absolutely _wouldn’t_. I had nothing to be ashamed of–well, nothing Amos and Julie related, anyway. I was more than my fair share of mortified over my dramatics in the library, but I could only deal with one giant problem at a bloody time. That humiliation would have to wait its turn.

            So, in the end, I decided to quit being such a pansy. I got up, brushed the grass and such off my skirt, and headed inside just around the same time I'd usually be arriving in the Great Hall for breakfast. I had meaning and purpose. I had pride. If I pretended everything was as usual, maybe one or two things might actually manage to be. I figured that was my best shot at any slice of normalcy.

            It was just as I was striding purposefully into the Entrance Hall, my resolve and determination set, that my plan began to fall into tatters. I wish I could say I was shocked by its failure. I suppose it says a lot that I wasn’t. At all.

            "Holy Harpies, _there_ you are! Bloody hell, Lil, I thought you were going to make me _drag_ you inside."

            " _Gracie_?" I froze in my tracks, blinking rapidly at Grace's quickly approaching form. She didn't look like a hallucination. She was dressed in her uniform and appeared entirely solid and lucid. Uh-oh. "Is someone dead?" I asked.

            "What?" Grace continued striding forward until she was standing right there in front of me, looking none-too-entertained by my only partially joking question. She was still looking entirely solid, however. Definitely not a hallucination, then. The non-hallucination propped its hands on its hips. "What are you on about?" it asked.

            "It's seven," I explained slowly, waiting for the recognition to hit. When it didn’t and Grace continued to stare at me as if I’d just spouted twelve eyes that sang, I elaborated further. "Seven _a.m._ , Gracie _._ Like, morning. Really _early_ morning. I didn't know your body even acknowledged hours in this quadrant–not without some Quidditch to soften the blow, anyway."

            "Oh, _ha_ ," Grace scoffed, rolling her eyes and acting as if what I’d just said wasn’t entirely and completely true (even though it was). She grabbed my hand without preamble and started to tug. "Do you think we really have time for your wit right now, Slaggy? We have work to do."

Er...work?

Oh, dear.

Why did that sound troublingly menacing?

            "Work?”� I repeated warily. “What work?"

            But Grace didn't answer as she dragged me through the foyer, stopping only when we stood just outside the closed doors of the Great Hall. She turned to me then, placing her hands on her hips once again and cocking her head to the side appraisingly. As I stood there like a bewildered idiot, she gave me the slow once-over, a thorough scan from head to toe. I fidgeted about and wondered what exactly she was doing as she reached out to brush a bit of stray outside mess from my skirt, then straightened my shirt collar. After that, she lunged quickly for the elastic holding back my hair and gave it a swift yank, ignoring my protests as my hair fell all over the place in a tangled mess. Only after she had effectively avoided my flailing hands and stopped me from fiddling with my hair did she finally give a satisfied nod.

I glared daggers at her. 

She glared back.

Bloody wench.

            "We," she announced pointedly, "are doing some _serious_ damage control, Evans. Now let's go."

            Damage control.

            _Damage_ control?

            Oh, hell.

            "Gracie–"

            But Grace had already thrown open the Great Hall doors, ignoring my arguments and angry stares as she strolled right on inside, leaving me fretting and protesting like a complete lunatic in the doorway. Mentally hexing her in every rotten way I knew how, I had little choice but to follow along behind her, which I did at a decidedly clipped pace. Trying to ignore the attention we were attracting from my fellow early risers, I jabbed Grace hard in the back when I finally managed to catch up with her halfway down the Gryffindor table. She didn't even bother to turn and look at me.

            "I don't want my damage to be controlled!" I hissed desperately. "No controlling! I like my damage chaotic!"

            "Things aren't too bad right now," was Grace's quiet reply, entirely ignoring everything I'd just said. "As far as I know, the story hasn't gotten around yet–but I wouldn’t count on that for long. I ran into Laurie Shacklebolt pacing about the common room when I came down from bed. I think she _feels_ the potential gossip in the air."

            A worrying sort of manic expression crossed over Grace's face then, and I could only imagine the kinds of things brewing about in that mad mind of hers. When I'd told her and Emma the whole terrible trauma last night, I had no idea that she'd latched onto it so fiercely. Then again, it had been late, I had been drained, and I'd known that I had an entire night of non-sleeping ahead of me, so I don't suppose I was really paying proper attention. Clearly that had been a mistake.

            "What exactly are you planning to do?" I questioned, realising that protesting was getting me nowhere. I figured I might as well get all the details I could, if only to know what I was up against. "There's no hiding it, Gracie. Amos and Julie are clearly together now and anyone with half a brain is going to put two and two together and realise I was chucked."

            Grace whipped around suddenly. I jumped back, startled by the abrupt movement. She loomed over me with distinct displeasure. 

            Dear lord, what had I done _now_?

"’Chucked’ is _not_ the sort of word we want to be throwing about casually right now, Lily Evans!”� she snapped, her words sharp and whispered. “We need to sway public sympathy to your side! You are the victim! From this point forward, you're only to say–"

            "But I don't _want_ to be the victim!" I interrupted frantically, truly wishing someone might for once actually care about what I want. "I don't _want_ everyone pitying me, Gracie! That's even worse than them thinking I wasn't good enough for Amos, and I’ve already got enough to deal with there!”�

            "They're not going to pity you," Grace insisted. She turned back around and kept walking until we'd reached the far side of the table where I usually sat. “And they’re not going to be thinking that rubbish about Amos, either. You’re such a henwit.”� 

I meant to toss her a disgruntled look for that–Henwit? Psh. I'm no such thing!–but was quickly distracted by the sight of my usually pristine eating area. Grace had clearly set up camp. Her books and papers were spread out across the patch of table, appearing deceptively casual beside a plate filled with eggs and fruit. But I knew better. On those papers and in those books were undoubtedly plans of attack whose plotting and precision could probably rival any great battle in history. On the other side of the mess, Marley sat in her usual spot, munching on a piece of toast. She gave me a quick wave when my shocked gaze fell onto her, then jerked her head towards Grace as a reminder for me to pay attention. I did so grudgingly, turning back to Grace with little patience.

            "How do you figure that?" I asked.

            Grace rolled her eyes as if I were clearly missing something obvious. "There's no need for pity when the victim doesn't _care,_ Lil! Swaying the masses to your side and having them feel bad for you are two entirely different matters. All we have to do is make sure they know that last night's events were merely a very annoying clarification of all the rotten things you already believed about Amos Diggory. You’re the bright one; he’s the blighter. Both problems solved. Got it?"

            "Why does it even matter?" I whined, thinking that that whole thing sounded entirely more effort-driven than I was really willing to even consider. "Can't we just ignore it and go on with our lives?"

            That sounded like a good plan to me–in fact, it sounded like the perfect plan–but judging by the way Grace looked at Marley with a sort of, "Really, who has time for this?" expression, I'm guessing she didn't agree.

            Which is just plain narrow-minded of her, if you ask me. Then again, when has my opinion ever counted?

            "I don’t want to _do_ this,”� I moaned, quickly realizing that I was fighting a lost battle. I plopped myself down onto the bench all miserably, then proceeded to bury my face in my arms on the table. “No one _else_ has to do damage control after a break-up.”�

            “No one else breaks up quite as dramatically as you do,”� was Marley’s amused reply. When I briefly lifted my head to send her a glare, she only shrugged and grinned. “Sorry, but it’s true. I hope you don’t mind, but Grace filled me in on the details. _Blimey_ , Diggory’s scum.”�

            “Everyone’s scum,”� I muttered bitterly, dropping my head back down. “Amos is scum. Julie’s scum. _I’m_ scum. _You’re_ scum. Grace is–”�

            “Oh, hush up,”� Grace ordered, whacking me none-too-lightly on the back of the head. Ow. “Sit up and quit moping, will you? Everyone’s going to think you’re brooding over Diggory.”�

            “I’m brooding over _you_ ,”� I shot back, but sat up as she asked because I might not agree with most of this ‘damage control’ rubbish, but I certainly didn’t want anyone thinking that I was moping over Amos. Psh. As _if_. “This is stupid, Gracie,”� I tried one last time. “Why can’t we just–”�

            “Well, look who’s finally decided to show up!”� Grace called, spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. I huffed in annoyance at once again being ignored and wondered just who it was that had merited attention over me this time. The scathing comment was already on my tongue, ready to lash out. My head turned towards the intruder…and then instantly jerked back.

Oh, _shit_. 

James. 

Of _course_ it was James.

Hell.

“Where have you been?”� Grace demanded.

            “I usually choose to sleep and dress in my dormitory,”� was James’s flat reply, and bloody _hell_ this thing between us has to be some sort of sick, mad, dangerous, chemical imbalance because I’ll be damned if I didn’t actually _feel_ him walk up behind me, even as I stared determinedly at Marley. “What are you doing here?”� he asked Grace.

            “Damage control,”� Grace replied, dropping a hand on my head. There was a pause, then, “Make yourself useful, would you? Go snog Lily in the middle of the Hall.”�

            “ _No_!”�

            “All right.”�

            Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

            I whipped around in my seat, hearing James's laughter and Marley's too as I began to _really_ panic.

            “Stop it. Stop it _now_!" I snapped, sticking Grace with my most fierce glare. I was still too unnerved to look directly at James, but he deserved a good glower, as well, so I hoped my anger radiations were enough to chastise him properly. Grace was grinning. I suppose James was probably doing the same thing, but I wasn’t going to check. Bloody _idiots_. “This isn’t a game, all right? Just leave the whole thing alone. I don’t need any of your damage control!”�

            “Hm-hm. Yes, of course,”� Grace murmured, but she wasn’t even looking at me anymore. Instead, she'd fixed her gaze on some spot just past the Hufflepuff table. Her grin fell and her eyes narrowed. “Be right back,”� she said, and was already walking. “Come along, Marls,”� she called over her shoulder.

            Marley put down her _Prophet_ and was on her feet in a matter of moments. “Right,”� she said, and sauntered off quickly after Grace.

            Which left me alone with James.

            Lovely.

            Just _lovely_.

            “Well, _she’s_ taking this rather seriously,”� he muttered, dropping down on the bench next to me, his back against the table. I stared resolutely at my plate. “Makes you thankful she’s on your side, doesn’t it?”�

            “Hmm.”� I could feel my face heating up, all red and tingling and utterly embarrassing. In my lame attempts to seem casual, I started grabbing blindly for things on the table, but only managed to overturn a half-filled glass of pumpkin juice. Swearing viciously, I grabbed a napkin and began frantically mopping up the mess. It was about the _least_ casual action in the entire world. I suppose it was too much to hope that James hadn’t noticed.

            “Lil?”� he asked flatly, when I’d only managed to make my blunder more apparent with my failed cleaning attempts. I threw the sopping napkins down onto the table in frustration. With a quick wave of his wand, James vanished the whole mess. Oh, _hell_. “What are you doing?”�

            “I can’t look at you right now,”� I blurted out without thinking, then blushed even harder when I realised what exactly I’d just said. Shit. _Shit_. “I’m sorry. Merlin, I’m sorry. I am so completely mortified right now. I can’t even…I shouldn’t have…”� I let out a deep breath, then heard my mouth unleash another equally pathetic verbal mess. “Everything I did last night was entirely stupid and I dragged you into it and I’m sorry. I can’t look you. I can’t talk to you. I am too humiliated. So you should really just go away now, all right? I’m sorry.”�

            Oh, splendid, Lily. Cheers.

‘You should really just go away now’? Had I honestly just _said_ that?

I wanted to bury myself in a hole and remain there for the rest of my days. I was horrifically humiliated, to a point that surpassed anything before it. But if James found my madness particularly more pathetic than usual, he didn't show it. I suppose the poor thing was used to it by now.

            “What exactly are you apologising for?”� he asked, and I could feel his eyes staring, even as I continued to gaze fixedly at the tabletop.

            “I ruined everything by going to you last night,”� I answered slowly, confessing one of the greatest worries that had plagued me throughout my less-than-distraction-filled night. I stared at my plate and hoped I could get this out properly. “People are going to hear about what happened with Amos, then hear about how right afterwards I ran all hysterically to you and dragged you into the nearest dark corner of the library, and I’m sure they’ll think of all sorts of deprived things after that. So now I’m the witch who had to go molest the most willing bloke in order to get back her pride, and you’re the sap who let it happen.”�

            Ugh.

Merlin, it sounded even worse aloud.

            Shit.

            “Or,”� James said after a moment, “you’re the witch who was understandably upset, and I’m the bloke that was lucky enough to help you calm down.”�

            Listening to that terribly kind and clearly tainted take on last night very nearly did me in. I was still blushing like some childish twelve-year-old, but I finally managed to turn my head and look at him. He was staring at me with eyebrows raised, questioning my seemingly ridiculous and overdramatic reaction to something that probably shouldn’t be that big of a dilemma. But he didn’t really understand, and I didn’t know how to explain it. Last night...hell, there were just too many mad feelings surrounding it to put into proper words. There was really no way to say what I wanted, which was something between, “Thank you for making my horrid night perfect,”� and, “I’m sorry for exploiting everything between us and molesting you in public when I won’t even date you once daylight hits.”� If I was telling the truth, the thing that bothered me the most about was how I had practically paraded around that library with a sign that said, “Just Groped James Potter Behind the Shelves,”� and couldn’t have cared less about it. I mean, that’s not me. I didn’t want that. I wasn’t one of those girls. I didn’t even want to think about what people might expect from me now, or even what James would. 

            But the most maddening thing about it all was that I wouldn’t change a single second of it, even if I could. Which, really, says what about me and my mad psyche?

            I really don’t even want to think about it. It’s probably decidedly bad and telling.

            “You really have to stop worrying about all this rubbish,”� James told me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Who gives a damn about what people think?”�

            “I do."

            “Well, there’s your problem.”�

            I shook my head and sighed. “Not all of us can be that enlightened. And at least,”� I put in dryly, jerking my head towards the quickly approaching Grace and Marley, who were walking with their heads ducked together and whispering rapidly, “I’m not as bad as _some_ we could mention. I mean, damage control? Honestly?”�

            “You’ve given her purpose,”� James said with a grin. “Call it your civic duty and play along.”�

            I rolled my eyes and moodily stuck a waffle with my fork. I knew this wasn’t the end of this discussion–or it wasn’t the end of me worrying over it, in any case–but I also knew that I wasn’t going to convince James there was a problem, at least not now. He’d realise it in time, of course, once he had the chance to experience firsthand the consequences of my actions. I had no doubt that he’d be dragged through the mud nearly as much as I would throughout the next ten to twelve hours. I wish there was something I could do to stop it, but if there was an answer, I couldn't see it. As he sat there and smiled at me, I could only feel guilty, but I tried to hide it under a decidedly false casualness. 

            “Fine,”� I finally answered, sipping some pumpkin juice as Grace and Marley drew closer. “But I’m _not_ letting you snog me in the middle of the Great Hall.”�

            “Fine," James replied, easily grabbing my cup from my grasp and taking a sip himself. He placed it back down on the table. "How’s the first floor corridor for you?”�

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

            Really, it’s a wonder how I even survive in this sea of stupidity.

            “False alarm,”� Grace announced as she and Marley finally reached us, ignoring James’s–of course–obnoxious laughter, and my “I’m-seriously-considering-death-by-fork”� expression. She sat down next to James. “I thought perhaps Leila Bergman was glancing over here with unsympathetic purpose, but I’m rather sure she was just lusting after James’s fine physique.”�

            “Leila, who?”� I asked.

            “Nice,”� James chuckled. He tugged at my hair until I turned to look at him instead of Grace. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. 

            “She can have you,”� I muttered, and meant it. Sort of.

            Grace let out a sigh, grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill off the table. She stuck a line across the page, as if crossing something off a list. Then she looked up at me. “You make things extremely difficult around here, do you know that?”�

            I was really afraid to ask, so I didn’t. I just shrugged. It felt safest.

            Grace might not have taken that as a proper answer–in fact, she got a rather disgruntled look on her face and opened her mouth to I’m sure say something rather scathing about my life and habits and bleak future, but she stopped suddenly when something over my shoulder caught her eye. Her mouth closed, then lifted into a satisfied smirk.

            “Ah,”� she said. “Another soldier returns.”�

            I turned my head just in time to see Emma entering through the Great Hall doors, looking more than slightly harried. As I watched her approach at a rather brisk pace, I didn’t bother to hide my rampant disapproval. I could not believe that Emma–my lovely, sane, sensible mate, Emma–would succumb to this madness along with the rest of them. My disappointment was positively stifling.

She reached us in record time, dropping down onto the bench across the table where Marley had already reclaimed her seat. She looked even more hassled up close, but that wasn’t going to make me change my mind about how utterly disappointed I was in her and her actions. 

She could not play on my pity. I’m much stronger than that. 

Well, mostly.

            “All right,”� she said, letting out a long breath and brushing some stray bits of hair away from her face. “I have your information.”�

            Information?

            Oh, poor Emma. What has Grace done to you?

            “Let’s hear it,”� the brainwashing mastermind herself said eagerly, leaning over the table to hear better, though I was hearing perfectly fine from my straightened position and really didn’t see a need. Then again, I so rarely see a need in much of what Grace does. “What’s going on up there?”� she asked.

            “Quite a lot,”� Emma replied, then turned to look at me. “What did you _do_ to that boy, Lily?”�

            Huh?

            “What?”� I asked, confused. “What boy?”�

            “Amos,”� she answered in a whisper, and suddenly Emma’s task became so obvious. Find Amos. Assess the damage. Of course. “Whatever it was,”� Emma went on, shaking her head ruefully, “it was rather potent. Madam Pomfrey’s keeping him for the day. He’s all moaning and tossing in his cot. And he’s _green_ , Lil.”�

            “Green?”� I asked blankly, at the same time that James sighed all happily. 

            “This _may_ be my proudest moment," he said. "Top three, at least.”�

            I never would have admitted it aloud, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t thinking something quite similar.

            Bastard deserved every colour change he got. 

            Hmph!

            “Do you know if he’s talking?”� Grace asked next, obviously not relishing in the he’s-green information as much as some others of us were. She was jotting things down on her parchment again. Emma shook her head in response.

            “He hasn’t admitted anything yet, but I overheard Pomfrey talking with Sprout.”� She looked at me with a little uneasiness. “You _are_ a suspect. Apparently when Julie brought Amos in last night, they were arguing. Your name was dropped several times. But Julie left in a nasty huff soon afterwards, so now she’s a suspect, too. And then there’s James.”�

            I very nearly choked on my own spit.

            _What_?

            “James?”� I sputtered, my stomach dipping and diving in a frenzy of panic. Grace simply chuckled.

            “Sprout and Pomfrey are up on their gossip, eh?”� she asked, pausing in her writing only long enough to grin. She almost immediately went back to jotting things down. “Nice.”�

            “Not me,”� James muttered bitterly, with no lack of a pointed look sent my way. “I wasn’t _allowed_.”�

            “No one else is getting in trouble for what I did!”� I declared instantly, though, truth be told, I hadn’t even thought about the repercussions of my hexes or curses or whatever it was that I’d thrown Amos’s way last night. Of course Pomfrey couldn’t let something like this slide–it clearly wasn’t an accident. She’d have to look into who had done it. And even though I dreaded fueling the impending gossip even more with detentions for my actions, I wasn’t going to deny it if the accusation came my way. No one was taking the fall for what I’d done. And besides, I wasn’t ashamed of hexing Amos. I stood by my actions…well, whatever exactly they were. I should probably try to remember what exactly I’d unleashed upon the git. It might be slightly helpful.

            I felt a headache coming on. This day was looking longer than I’d expected.

            “Do you think Amos will say anything?”� Marley asked, glancing at me. “What about Julie?”�

            I shrugged my shoulders, truly unsure. “I have no idea.”�

            “They wouldn’t dare,”� Emma said, frowning. “After what they did? Don’t you think?”�

            I wished I had an answer, but I didn’t. I honestly had no idea what either of them would do. And the more I thought about it, the more my headache pounded. I shook my head and shrugged again because everyone was staring and seemed to expect some sort of response. I didn't have much to give them. I could barely even think properly at that point, even if I had had some insight into the future.

            “Everything will work out,”� Marley said encouragingly, lifting her pumpkin juice to me in a silent toast. She took a sip, then looked towards Grace, who had started scribbling things again. “Won’t everything work out, Grace?”�

            Grace muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t hear, then paused in her scribbling to grab another piece of parchment. As we all watched her, she ducked her head and sighed. “I think I’m going to need more soldiers."

As everyone laughed all uncomfortably–yes, much thanks for all the optimism, _mates_ –James placed a hand on the small of my back and leaned over. 

“If we’re the soldiers," he whispered teasingly, "what do you reckon that makes you?”� 

            “I think the war,”� I muttered dryly. He laughed.

            I’m glad that some of us can have a sense of humour about these things.

**_______________________________________**

**Even Later, Still in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 246**

 

I’m not certain if this is a good sign or a bad sign, but Laurie Shacklebolt _did_ just walk past here without stopping to pry. In fact, she didn’t stop at all. I think Grace is right–the bloody chit _smells_ the brewing gossip in the air. She went striding past here, head all a-swivel, as if the lot of us were going to jump up and be all, “Oy! Over here! Gossip abound!”� and make it as easy as that. Clearly she has never dealt with Grace and her damage control plots before. They’re nothing if not thorough.

            Merlin, my head aches. Grace keeps muttering instructions and I’m pretending to take them in, but mostly I’m just brooding over my waffles. I wish my life were simple. I wish that Julie and Amos would just move off to Guam together and that James would understand when I say that I’m still too humiliated to look at him and that I _weren’t_ so humiliated in the first place. If Hogwarts had a wishing fountain, it would be overflowing with my Sickles. I would just plow them all in, one after another. I might even throw a few Knuts in there, just for some extra advantage. I’m not above bribery. ‘Dear Fates, Here’s all my money. Help. Love, Lily.’

            If only that _would_ help. Somehow, I just think I’d be a fortune down and no wishes up.

            Bugger it all.

**_______________________________________**

**A Bit Later, Still Still in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 246**

 

When Hogwarts Acquires its Wishing Fountain Knut Wish #1) I wish I didn’t have to go to Ancient Runes right now.

Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Ancient Runes  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 247**

 

She’s not here. She didn’t show up for class.

            The hag. 

The stupid, bloody, cowardly _hag_. 

            How could she do this? Really, how? I have never been more aghast in my entire overwrought existence–and I've had quite a bit to be aghast about in my short seventeen years, I'll have you know! How could it have seemed even the tiniest bit of a good idea to ditch class? What sort of gumption do you need in order to be so utterly wretched? And, all right, I _did_ sort of say that this should happen–that Amos and Julie should be the ones hiding instead of me, I mean. And I meant it then. I really did. I didn’t want to be the one cowering and it seemed entirely fair that they should be instead. But now…

Oh, hell, it’s just so _awkward_. 

Does anyone know why Amos and Julie are missing? Have they guessed–or worse, heard–what happened? How am I supposed to know? And if I don’t know, how am I supposed to act? Am I supposed to be looking all haughty and dignified and no-fellow-Ancient-Runers-I-am- _not_ -ashamed-of-my-violent-actions-or-slaggish-library-ways-so-why-don’t-you-all-just-bugger-off-and-go-back-to-your-studies-this- _is_ -a-school-isn’t-it-much-thanks-bye? Or am I supposed to be acting positively normal–which would basically include ignoring everyone in this class save for Hyena and Penny, who are still in the midst of their row and are presently being rather hilarious about it? How do I _know_?

Julie Little is a dirty, stupid, selfish slag. I can’t believe she’s left me to fend for myself. Go on and rub some more salt in the wound, Jules. Go on. Just _pour_ _it on in_ , why don’t you?

People are so cruel.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Charms  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 250**

 

            If the morning hadn’t already been so utterly and uncontrollably mad, I might have been truly disconcerted over the fact that I hadn't even managed to fully exit the Runes classroom before I was abruptly and rudely accosted. However, things being as they are, I was only minimally startled by the sudden waylay. Sort of.

            “We've got trouble,”� Grace hissed in greeting, grabbing my arm as soon as I'd cleared the classroom doorway, already propelling me down the corridor without any other hello-there-mate-how-are-you-lovely's. I blinked rapidly, following along in a half-mystified fashion, my feet skidding across the floor as Grace dragged me down the corridor. Once I regained some semblance of self, I snatched my arm back from Grace and gave her an annoyed look.

            "What now?" I asked, rather rudely, but I kept walking with her despite my better judgment. Her eye roll and continued hurried pace suggested she was clearly unappreciative of that fact, however. Psh.

“I,”� she announced dramatically, in an overly-loud whisper, “was just _mauled_ by Laurie Shacklebolt and June Mackey!"

Now _I_ was the one rolling my eyes. 

Honestly. Where does she get this rubbish?

"Mauled?" I repeated flatly. "Truly, Gracie?"

"Practically," was Grace's quick response, waving off my dry objection with a careless flick of her hand. She clearly thought 'mauled' a proper description for whatever unfortunate confrontation had occurred between her and Hogwarts's favourite gossip gurus. I chose not to inform her that such a verb would require some serious physical damage, which I wasn't exactly objecting to, but seemed unlikely. I cocked an eyebrow at her, but at that point, I was pretty sure she was ignoring me. She just kept blabbing on. "Things are already a bit...out of hand," she said.

I stopped walking. "Out of hand?"

            Grace stopped as well and turned to face me, idly scratching at the back of her neck. "You know how it is," she said, shrugging all skittishly. "What's 'out of hand', anyway? Laurie Shacklebolt spreading around the story that you accidentally walked in on Julie and Amos shagging, were denied acceptance into their dirty party, and grew so cross that you hexed Amos’s bits into smaller bits? That's not so bad, is it?"

            _WHAT?_

            "Grace!" My mouth dropped open. I sputtered frantically. "W-what...you're lying, right? You made that up– _please_ tell me you made that up!"

            "Well," Grace said slowly. Then she winced. "She didn't actually _say_ the part about the bits to smaller bits. It was just implied."

            Oh, bloody _hell_.

            "Oh my god," I moaned, burying my face in my hands and turning towards the wall, seriously considering banging my head against the stones and ending it all then and there. "Oh my _god_ , Grace."

            "It's not so bad," was Grace's sad attempt at comfort, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I mean, they _could_ be saying that you actually joined in on the dirty party, then grew cross when Amos was paying too much attention to Julie, right?"

            This time, I did bang my head against the wall. I hoped to kill as many brain cells as possible–preferably the ones that have to do with memory. "Oh, _thanks_ , Gracie. Don't give them any ideas!"

            One brain cell. Two brain cells. Three brain cells. Four–

            "Oh, stop that!" Grace ordered, pulling me away from the wall that, unfortunately, had yet to do its job properly. I scowled fiercely at the interruption, but Grace wasn't having any of it. She shot me a look, as well. "Do you want to make this worse? Being seen trying to maim yourself against a wall isn't exactly a testament to your normal mental health state, Lil."

            "I never claimed to have a normal mental health state," I muttered. Grace rolled her eyes.

            "Yes, _I_ know that, but most people are under the ridiculously false impression that you're actually rather right in the head, so let's play on their misconceptions and make it work for us, all right? Starting with walking. Can we continue on our way, please? Without any further head bashing?"

            "What's the point?" I asked miserably, but started walking again, if only because the corridor was starting to fill up and–without the blurring effect of surprise–I realised I would really rather not be known as the Slaggish Head Girl Who Also Goes About Maiming Herself Against Stone Walls. I’ve had better titles. "I should have stayed in bed this morning."

            "No, you shouldn't have," Grace insisted, grabbing my hand and guiding me in the opposite direction from where the Charms classroom was located. I glanced towards the proper corridor in confusion. Where were we going? "Come on," Grace said. "We'll go fetch James from Arithmancy. He'll make you less crabby."

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

            "What? No! Grace, stop!" I stuck my feet in place, skidding to a halt and forcing Grace to stop, as well. She turned to me with a "What now?" sort of expression, but I didn't care. I was serious about this part. Quite suddenly, my heart was beating unevenly inside of my chest. "No James," I told her firmly, with a sharp shake of my head. "I'm serious, Grace. I don't want to drag him into the middle of this any more than I already have."

            "Lil," Grace replied flatly, "he already _is_ in the middle of it–he's practically _the_ middle!"

            "No, he's not," I insisted, crossing my arms stubbornly over my chest. I let out an annoyed huff when Grace only cocked an eyebrow. She just didn't _get_ it. "They think he did it," I tried to explain. "They think he's the one who hexed Amos, Gracie."

            "So?" Grace asked. "He wanted to."

            "That's not the point!" I cried, and threw my hands up in frustration. "Don't you understand? I dragged him into this–all I've _ever_ done since the very moment the two of us started being mates is drag him into my messes, time after time after time! But I'm not doing it anymore. I'm not tainting him or us or anything if I can help it. I want him out of this as much as he can be. So...so I don't care about what people are saying about me–don't correct them and don't defend me. Just make sure they aren't saying things about _him_ , all right? That's what I want. That's your new damage control. I didn't want mine in the first place. Can you do that?"

            I was breathing a bit raggedly by the time I got all that out, but I suddenly felt entirely clear-headed. Merlin, of _course_. Why hadn't I thought of this before? There _was_ a way to keep James out of all of this–the _same_ way Grace was trying to get _me_ out of it. Fight words with words. _Make_ everyone believe he had nothing to do with it. Grace knew what she was doing. She was a damage control extraordinaire. She could keep him off the slippery slope of gossipy slander. She _could_.

            If only I could get her to _agree_.

"You're not making any sense," she replied, shaking her head. "It's not a choice of two extremes here, Lily. You don’t have to defend him or defend yourself. You can–”�

            "Grace," I cut in, an inordinate amount of pleading entering my voice, " _please_. I'll do what I need to do for myself–I _need_ to take care of it myself, for once in my bloody life. I'm asking you to take care of him."

            "What do you expect me to say?" she snapped crossly. She was trying to start an argument. It was all there in her tone, not to mention her expression. "That he had nothing to do with you and Amos clashing, even before you found out about Julie? That you dragged him off last night to discuss Prefect rounds? Come on, Lily. Even if I could get people to believe that rubbish–which is merely a _might_ be able to, by the way–James isn't going to like it."

            "I don't care what he likes," I answered stubbornly, my will unbending. "It's for his own good. Detach him from the night, Grace. From the whole thing. I know you can do it."

            Grace shook her head again, clearly not happy with this request, but I wasn't going to change my mind about it. Truth be told, I had spent most of Ancient Runes–well, the bits that I wasn't cursing Julie Little's existence, anyway–worrying about James and the position I had put him in. This cut-him-out plan had been composed on the spot and was probably not exactly foolproof, but it accomplished what I realised I really wanted–to keep James safe and clean and far away from my fallout. Our brief conversation about it and Emma’s mention that he was a suspect had made me even more distressed over the whole situation than before. I knew that I didn't want anyone to take the fall for what I'd done, but it was somehow worse when it could be James. 

            What I'd said to Grace was true. Almost from the start, I'd been dragging him from mess to mess without break. And maybe he'd get cross with me for trying to erase his involvement in the night–mess's messes and all that–but I wasn't having him tainted by it. I didn't _want_ him to be the sap who'd let me take advantage of him, no matter what other way he chose to see his role in last night. I didn't _want_ him to be the angry beau who had to go off and defend me. He was better than that. He _deserved_ better than that, since he really was neither. In a few days, this whole thing will have blown over and Hogwarts would be free to gossip about us as much as they cared to. But for now...no. 

            It'd be me. They could gossip all they wanted about me. Just not him.

            Besides, I really _did_ want to take care of my problems by myself for once. I don't know exactly what I'm going to tell people about last night, but I _do_ know that I don't want Grace being the one to take care of it. She was there to protect James now. I was going to protect myself.

            The girl in question was presently staring at me with pursed lips, clearly unhappy and as firm in that conviction as I was in mine. I was about to plead some more–I would beg and bribe if necessary. She _would_ succumb–but I didn't get the chance. Before I could say a single imploring word, Grace's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. 

            "Here," she said moodily, waving an impatient hand in my direction. " _You_ talk some sense into her."

            I stared at her in confusion, not realising that she wasn't talking to me until a voice behind me went, "What?" and I turned to find Emma, Remus and–oh, _naturally_ –James, standing right there next to us, all sporting similar looks of bewilderment. I winced. 

            Bugger.

            Can't a girl have a _little_ bloody privacy to plead?

            "What's going on?" Emma asked, startled as Grace unceremoniously grabbed both her and Remus by their respective available limbs and began dragging them away without explanation. Emma kept shooting looks behind her shoulder at James and me, but Remus went along complacently, obviously intelligent enough to just go with it. They hadn't gotten more than a few meters away, though, before I stopped them with my sudden urgent shout of, "Grace!"

            She stopped lugging the lot of them along long enough to turn and look at me. 

            "What?" she growled. I shot her my most desperate look.

            "Please." I forced all the begging I could into the single word. " _Please_."

            At first, I thought she was going to say no. She stared at me with clear displeasure, obviously cross with what I was asking, and I knew she was stubborn enough to ignore my wishes if she chose. But instead of shooting back a mule-headed rejection, she sighed loudly and stuck me with her darkest look. She nodded curtly, and the breath that I'd been holding in slipped past my lips in a relieved exhale. 

            "I'll do it until I'm told otherwise," she declared, and shot a look at James. "I _expect_ to be told otherwise soon."

            "Thank you," I said, and didn't bother to hide my gratefulness. Grace practically sneered, but I'd take that. She turned back around and strode off down the corridor, the others lumbering behind her in tow.

            She was going to do it.

            She was going to get James out of this mess.

            Thank _Merlin_.

            "All right," the man in question suddenly said, just as soon as the rest of them had wandered far enough away. I turned to him with as clear an expression as I could muster, calling on all my formidable lying skills to keep my unease in check. He was staring at me with narrowed eyes, clearly suspicious. "What was that about?"

            I knew I had two options then, though I was of course going to take the less honest one–I could tell James the whole truth, about Grace looking out for him instead of me and how, damn the consequences, I was going to keep him out of the public rendition of last night as much as possible...or I could tell him only the partial truth, hoping that he'd never be the wiser about his involvement in my deal with Grace. 

            I had never been so grateful for my crap traitor-of-a-mouth. It does have its uses.

            "I've asked Grace–as I'm going to ask you," I started slowly, "to please stop this silly damage control plan. I don't want you defending me–in fact, I don't want you saying anything at all. I'm going to take care of this mess myself. Let the rumours run rampant. Whatever is confirmed or denied will come directly from me. I don't think it's so much to ask."

            James stared. His expression was blank. 

"What?" he asked after a moment.

            "Say nothing," I explained again, more concisely. "You know nothing. You have no idea what happened. You weren't involved."

            He didn't look any more pleased by this second explanation. Bugger.

            "So let me get this straight," is what he said next, his voice slow and dry. "Someone comes up to me and asks whether it's true that last night you caught Diggory shagging Julie Little, then threw a few Killing Curses in their direction, and I'm supposed to shrug and walk off?"

            Killing Curses? Do I _look_ like the homicidal sort?

            Oh, all right. They _do_ say there’s always some truth to rumours.

            "Yes," I answered, giving a firm nod. When all that got from James was an entirely irritated huff of breath, I added, "Feel free to say something along the lines of, 'That sounds ludicrous, but I have no idea. Why don't you ask Lily about it?' That'll work."

            " _No_ , that won't–" James cut himself off, his hands going straight to his hair and clenching there in frustration. He looked like he might not mind banging his head–or perhaps mine–against the nearest wall. I would have gladly told him been there, done that, but he didn't give me much of a chance. He turned on me all agitated and bothered. "Where is this coming from?" he demanded. "If this is some convoluted plan of yours to protect all of us from your fallout, Infallible, then you better rethink it."

            I squirmed uncomfortably, hating how he knew exactly what I was about before I'd even had the chance to examine my own intentions extensively. But I reminded myself that I _wasn't_ really lying–I _wasn't_ protecting all of them, after all. Just him. That was quite an important difference.

“This isn't about that," I evaded, careful not to perjure myself too badly. "I know what I’m doing. It’s my life and my problems. And while I'm thankful that you want to help, I've got to do this on my own. I can handle the rumours myself. I get to pick the solution–and this is the one I’ve chosen. If you respect me at all, you’ll do as I ask.”�

            “This isn’t about respect!”� James cried, taking a step closer to me. He was growing truly cross now–I could tell by the way his jaw was clenching–but I still wasn't backing down. I let him glare at me. “But if it was, you’ve just guaranteed that you’ll lose about half of what you’ve got from everyone in Hogwarts if you let this shit run amuck! You can't defuse everything on your own, Lily!”�

            "Watch me!" I snapped, standing stiff in indignation. Now _I_ was starting to get annoyed. "But even if I couldn't, it'd be _my_ job to find a way to fix that! I'm not some wilting flower, James, all pathetic and dependent! Regardless of what it might seem like, I don't always need to go running to you every time something happens!"

            “I’m not saying you have to! But you _also_ don’t–”�

            “Yes, I _do_.”�

            “Lily–”�

            “Stop it! Just _stop_ it!”� I was nearly stomping in frustration. My arms lay rigid against my sides, my fingers tightly fisted. "Maybe I need to do this for myself, all right? Maybe I need this to make myself feel better about the whole thing. Can’t I at least have that?"

            This seemed to give James pause, if only for a moment. His jaw still clenched, but his rigid stance eased slightly. He was conflicted. If I made this about me, I realised, he would agree. The idea was humbling in the worst sort of way and probably would have broken my will with the guilt it brought if I wasn’t equally as determined to see to his welfare.

            “Please let me take care of this myself,”� I implored him softly, putting a hand on his tense arm. “I want to finish this on my own. You can help me by saying nothing. It’s what I want, James.”�

            I waited anxiously to see if this would finally push him over the edge. I prayed it would–prayed that he would agree and prayed more than that that this thing would work and that I could protect him as I wanted. If he didn’t agree, nothing Grace would say could keep him out of it. Any measure she took to belittle his involvement in last night would be completely counteracted by his own comments on the situation. My only hope was him agreeing to remain silent. So I prayed and hoped and bribed and pleaded with any fate who would listen. Please, _please_ let this work.

            It took him about twenty seconds to finally give his curt nod. But he did. He did and I nearly sobbed in relief.

            This would work. It _would_.

            “Thank you,”� I said quietly, resisting the urge to hug all that absurd annoyance out of him, seeing as I don’t think being seen all wrapped up in him in the middle of the corridor would really help the plan that was now possible. But I gave him my best smile and squeezed his arm thankfully. All I got for my appreciation was a grunt, but I was all right with that. He could be cross with me. In fact, that might be for the better. And it will all be worth it in the end. It really will.

            It _will_.

**_______________________________________**

**Still Later, Still in Charms  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 248**

 

_What happened? -EV_

What? -LE

            _What happened when you spoke with James? Grace told me about our new orders to keep quiet. I'm assuming by the way that he trudged all broody into class and you’ve been scribbling all tense and madly into your diary ever since that he put up a fight. Has he not agreed?_

            No, he agreed. Not exactly willingly, but he did. That should make things easier for Grace.

            _What do you mean?_

            Didn’t Grace tell you the real plan?

            _Real plan? No, she didn't say anything_ – _probably because Remus was with us. What’s the real plan? Please say that we don’t actually have to keep quiet and can contradict these stupid rumours._

            You can contradict James's involvement in any of these stupid rumours. That’s the real plan. I don't want him caught up in this, Em. I'm not tainting him with all of this mess. I’ve told Grace to damage control him.

_Oh_.

            You think I'm being foolish, don't you?

            _No. I think it's rather sweet, actually. But you don't need to deal with the rest of it on your own, Lil. And I'm sure James isn't exactly happy about you pushing him out of the whole situation._

            I didn't tell him that I'm having Grace censor for him. I just told him he had to keep quiet. And yes, I do have to deal with the rest on my own. I want to fix this myself, Em. I’m independent so rarely. I’m striving to mature.

            _Can’t we help you strive to mature?_

I don’t think it works like that.

            _I suppose you’re right_.

            Mm-hm.

            _I’ll keep quiet, then. Grace is going to be supremely disappointed that James didn’t change your mind._

            She’ll get over it. Or she’ll strangle me. Care to place a bet on which one?

            _I would, but you probably won’t be around to collect my winnings from._

            You’re such a sensible girl, Em.

**_______________________________________**

**Even Later, Defense  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 248**

         

            Hey, do you know what? Maybe I _can_ actually do this. Maybe it won’t be that bad.

            “Hey, Evans!”� Lars Larkin shouted just as Emma and I walked into the Defense classroom (we had left a less-than-pleased Grace doing her business somewhere behind us. I blew her kisses of thanks, but her only reply was a rather rude gesture I’d rather not describe). He was sitting with his stupid Slytherin mates and was smirking and leering like the utter git that he is. “Heard you had quite a night!”�

            “Most people’s are, in comparison to yours,”� I shot back smoothly, lifting my chin up as haughtily as I dared. Emma and I strode past, and Lars sputtered and growled as his mates laughed.

            “I’d toss you over, as well, stupid bint,”� he muttered crossly.

            I let out my most derisive laugh. “Silly boy. You realise someone would have to agree to _date_ you before you could toss them over, right?”�

            Lars turned an ugly shade of embarrassed red, but finally shut his trap. Emma and I took our seats at the front of the classroom.

            “Well played,”� Emma whispered to me with a grin. I grinned back, filled with pride and–all right, I admit it–a bit of surprise at my own wit and talents.

            Well played, indeed. I should be independent more often.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Still in Defense  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 248**

 

What 7th Years choose to do with their lessons instead of paying attention to our very important Defense lecture:

**Julie told me the truth about last night. You should be ashamed of yourself. —Kiki**

_EVANS,_  
_THAT WAS REALLY FUNNY. I’D DATE YOU EVEN IF YOU HEXED MY NETHERS.  
_ _JERVIS RENNET_

**_ARE YOU REALLY SHAGGING A PROFESSOR? WHICH ONE?_ **

_I don’t blame Amos Diggory._

**Unforgivables are illegal for a reason, you know.**

_CAN YOU HELP ME GET BACK AT MY EX-BOYFRIEND, AS WELL? HE’S A TOSSER._

            Not so bad.

            Right.

 

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Still in Defense  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 251**

Observation #249) I might be a bit more concerned over the fact that Dinah Smythe has just accosted me to inquire whether or not I intend to stay in school throughout my second and third trimesters if I wasn’t already almost entirely numbed to life.

Observation #250) I might be a bit more concerned over the fact that Olivia Hoss then came up behind Dinah Smythe and muttered, "She's already _in_ her second trimester, you inconsiderate cow!" if I wasn't already almost entirely numbed to life.

Observation #251) I should probably stop eating so much rice.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Lunch in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 251**

**TO: LILY C. EVANS  
THREE SEATS DOWN THE BENCH  
EATING A SANDWICH  
GREAT HALL, HOGWARTS  
SCOTLAND, WORLD**

 

**Dear Miss L. Evans,**

 

**Contained below is a DETAILED AND ENTIRELY TRUTHFUL list of a random assortment of conversations I’ve heard with my own FINELY-TUNED EARS, but did not respond to with my CLEVER AND PERSUASIVE MOUTH, as per the crap orders I’m presently unjustifiably shackled to. Please review them carefully and thoroughly:**

 

**Item #1) “ _I_ heard that all she saw them doing was walking innocently along Snog Row–just went ballistic for no reason at all! Curses and hexes everywhere! There are scorch marks on the walls. Go on and look. I heard they’re there!”�**

 

**Item #2) “It was some sort of ritual sacrifice gone wrong. They needed a virgin and apparently Little and Evans aren’t exactly the whitest, if you know what I mean.”�**

 

**Item #3) “Whose baby do you reckon it is? Do you think _she_ knows?”�**

 

**Item #4) “…that’s just wrong. The _true_ story is that it was Julie and Lily who were caught together. Lesbians. Didn’t you know?”�**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**[This additional space is to allow you some time to wallow properly in shame and regret. Go on. Cry.]**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**There were also a selected few remarks that I did, as per orders, choose to comment on and alter appropriately, but I’m sure you’ll understand after reading the above list why I am now avidly boycotting sharing those particular tidbits with you, both out of spite and bitterness, and because you clearly do not deserve the satisfaction. If you’d like to hear about these, you know what to do. I am actively awaiting a desperate, replying correspondence altering my present orders. Thank you.**

 

**Yours Sincerely Though Not Happily,  
           COLONEL GRACE REYNOLDS**

 

**_______________________________________**

**Bit Later, Still at Lunch in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 251**

 

TO: Colonel Grace Reynolds  
Three Seats to My Left  
Groping Christopher Lynch  
Great Hall, Hogwarts  
Scotland, World

            Dear Colonel Reynolds,

            Thank you for your informative and meticulous report. The items were interesting to hear and have given me a new perspective on life–i.e. don’t mess around with ritual sacrifices (even if such a thing would not, as I think we both know, have backfired, seeing as…well, yeah). 

I am quite pleased to inform you that I have already personally dealt with both Item #1 [“I’m sorry, Christa Forrester, can you _show_ _me_ these marks?”�] and Item #4 [“I know that all the way back in fourth year, Michael Davies chose me over you, but I’m no more a lesbian now than I was then, Josie Bennett. I think it’s time to let that one go.”�]. I presume that Item #3 will take care of itself in due time (as long as I cut back on the comfort rice) and that people will soon recall the fact that, up until only a few weeks ago, I was still Hogwarts’s resident prude. Good-bye, Item #2.

.

.

.

.

[This additional space is to allow you some time to properly grit your teeth in frustration and angrily shake your fist towards the heavens. Go on. Curse away.]

.

.

.

.

            Your blackmail is impressive, but your orders remain the same. It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Colonel.

            Yours With Fond Affection (Though Not For Your Blatant PDA. You’re Making Me Vomit),  
           LILY CHRISTINE EVANS

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Transfiguration  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 251**

            Why won’t people just _shut up_?

            No, I don’t want to talk. No, I don’t want to answer your questions. No, I don’t want to hear your thoughts on bitter females seeking unfair retribution. No, I don’t want to read your notes, hear your whispers, feel your stares or take your morning after potion, which, by the by, _don’t you think it would be a little late for?_ No, no, no, _no_.

            Kill me now. Seriously, just kill me _now_.

            Ah. Transfiguration. Perfect.

**_______________________________________**

**Even Later, Divination  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 252**

 

Observation #252) Though it’s often easy to forget it, there are occasionally the selected few residents of Hogwarts who are not evil, gossipy, pathetic buggers.

            Professor Freeman–in an attempt to make my already rather shit day worse, I’m sure–decided that this afternoon would be the perfect time to begin a partnered project, and then proceeded to pair Grace and Emma together, leaving me with a stranger-of-a-boy from Ravenclaw who I’m relatively certain I have never spoken to in my entire life.

            Much thanks, Professor. Love you, too.

            Gazing wistfully after Grace and Emma as they scooted over towards the other side of the room to begin working (or to begin _not_ working, as I truly believe the case to be), I sighed forlornly, watching as my partner made his way over towards me. I’d seen him before, of course–you don’t go to a school as small as Hogwarts without knowing most people by sight if not by name–but today was just not the day to be making new mates. When he finally reached my spot, he plopped himself down on the cushion previously vacated by Gracie and grinned.

            “Hello,”� he greeted cheerfully, sticking out his hand to me. “Name’s Rob Harms. Rhymes with Charms.”�

            Um.

            Yeah.

            “Name’s Lily Evans,”� I replied, placing my hand in his and shaking tentatively. “I don’t know what that rhymes with.”�

            “Heavens,”� Rob provided with a grin. “Leavens.”�

            “Leavens?”� I repeated dryly. I dropped my hand back down to my lap. “Well, there’s a word you hear quite often.”�

            Rob laughed at this, dropping his hand down, as well. “See, but that’s the thing about rhyming–the less sense, the less dense! Strange thing, rhyming. A bit mad, but not bad.”�

            He was smiling so brightly as he said this, and he wiggled his eyebrows at me like James sometimes does, and it was all just so _silly_ and stupid and I don’t even know what else and, for Merlin’s sake, the kid was speaking awful _verse_ in daily conversation…I laughed. Genuinely, really laughed. Loudly and earnestly. It was the first time in several hours that I had even had the idea to do so.

            Oh, god, it felt _good_.

Thank you, Rob Harms. _Thank_ you.

            “Right then,”� Rob said, reaching down to grab his Divination book from his bag. When he straightened back out, he plopped the book down on the table with a loud _thump_. “Hope you don’t mind me saying so,”� he started, with a slightly less bright grin. My heart sank inside my chest. Of, course. Great. Here it comes. “But now that we’re acquainted and all, I just thought I should let you know that I think Amos Diggory is a bloody nancy-boy berk and I can only hope that any hex or curse ever sent his way managed to hit its proper mark. Hard.”�

            Oh.

            _Oh_.

            Oh.

            “Do you know something, Rob-Harms-Rhymes-With-Charms?”� I said a few seconds later, after my brain had started functioning properly again and I could make words leave my mouth. I gave him my very best smile. “I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”�

             Rob shrugged and his smile got bright again. “My pleasure, treasure,”� he said, flipping open his book. “Now, let’s make shite up, yeah?”�

            I agreed with a nod and another laugh, and we did get down to work. Well, sort of. Truth be told, Rob’s actually been doing most of the work, creating a whole slew of rhyming predictions (“When the sun sets in the east, beware of the thorny beast!”�), but I’m contributing occasionally (“At the moon’s red hue, watch for the birth of something new!"). It’s not my fault that I am clearly the amateur of the group. Rob-the-Heartthrob (two guesses who picked _that_ one) has straight O’s in Divination. He says Freeman practically wets herself when he gives her his assignments. She thinks he’s a true seer. Rob and I had a good, long laugh over that one.

            You know, maybe today’s _not_ so rotten.

            My troubles, it seems, are forgotten.

            Har, har.          

**_______________________________________**

**Later Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 252**

            Well, _that_ contentment lasted all of three minutes.

            Shit.

            Double bloody fucking _shit_.

            “Well, _here’s_ something shocking. Hiding up here in shame, are you, Evans? I don’t blame you, I suppose. _I’d_ be mortified if _I’d_ been publicly chucked, as well.”�

            Dear Elisabeth Saunders,

            Shut. Up.

            Love, Lily.

            “Pity that everyone found out, Evans.”� Why is Carrie Lloyd talking to me? Seriously. Why? “You probably shouldn’t have hexed Diggory. Really bitter, don’t you think?”�

            Oh my god, go _away._

            “She _is_ bitter, Car. And alone. Sad, isn’t it?”�

            That’s it.

            “Excuse me, girls. Things to see, people to do. I believe James is expecting me. S’later!”�

            Ha.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Outside on the Courtyard Steps  
Observant Lily: Day 37<  
Total Observations: 252**

            All right, So on a scale of one to ten, the maturity level of that last comment was probably around a 1.3. I am properly ashamed.

            But whatever. I’ve already matured quite enough today. I’ve spent all day maturing. I needed a break. Besides, maybe it wasn’t so much immaturity as it was showing some backbone. I need to do that more often, don’t I? Of course, I do. And while I’m not exactly sure if trying to incite one’s more-or-less-mate-with-potential’s ex-girlfriend by lying about the fact that you’re off to go find him and sexually abuse him is really that grand a sign of backbone, it’s certainly not _not_ one. I could have sat there and taken all that cruelty, after all. But I didn’t. I was properly ruffled and acted accordingly. So…yeah.

            And while I could be embarrassed over the fact that I’ve yet _again_ made a public statement about James’s and my less-than-platonic relationship…well, I won’t be. I mean, the pair of them were there yesterday. They saw how absurdly obvious I was about it then. Moreover, if there was anyone in the world who _should_ be aware of the whole more-or-less-mates-with-potential-with-an- _emphasis_ -on-the-potential-bit situation, it’s Elisabeth Saunders. We can’t have the girl getting any ideas, after all.

            I mean, not that James would…right. Of course not. Most significant person, remember? He said that. About _me_. He did.

            I wonder if he ever said anything like that to...no.

            No, no.

            Out, damn thoughts, _out._

            I can’t even–

            “You’re wrong, Remus. You’re fucking _wrong_.”�

            “You’re not listening! She’s not the problem and you can’t–”�

            Oh, hell. 

Like I really need _this_ now.

**_______________________________________**

**Later Later, Still Outside on the Courtyard Steps  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 253**

            There was nowhere to hide. I thought about it–don’t think I didn’t–but I was sitting there on the stairs, open space all around, and the only possibility of disappearance lay in a quick dash around the corner of the castle off to my left which, as karma would have it, was exactly where the voices were coming from. There was no escape. I was trapped and I knew it. If I tried scurrying back inside the castle now, they would surely see my retreat and would undoubtedly realise I’d scampered away like a coward or would perhaps believe that I had heard things I shouldn’t have–which I actually hadn’t, but they wouldn’t know that. Either way, neither option was particularly appealing. I might have started to panic then, but my annoyance with the whole situation fortunately trumped that particular anxiety impulse. 

            Because, really, why should I have to hide? This was a public place, wasn’t it? These are my grounds as much as they're theirs and if they don't want their conversations overheard, then maybe they shouldn’t be talking so loudly. I mean, anyone can be around. Yes, indeed. Anyone at all!

            So I didn’t try to hide. In fact, I didn’t try to mask the fact that I’d heard their approach at all, not even bothering to look down and feign scribbling something in here in order to appear more casual. Instead, I sat up straight and stared defiantly towards my left. I was ready. I was dignified. Come what may.

            They came around the corner quickly, both looking wound up.

            “–you can’t get that, but if you don't leave off her, he's going to–oh.”�

            Remus stopped cold in his steps, his words stopping in their tracks, as well. He stared at me blankly, unblinking, as if I’d just caught him in some sort of nefarious act. At his abrupt halt, Sirius stopped, as well, staring at his mate in confusion. When he saw where Remus was staring, he turned. His eyes locked with mine. It took mere seconds for his annoyed expression to curl into an exasperated sneer. Despite the scorn in his look, I refused to cringe.

            “Fucking brilliant,”� he snapped. “Don’t you go _away_?”�

            “I have as much a right to be here as you do,”� I replied primly, lifting my chin stubbornly. “I’m sorry that you had the terrible misfortune of crossing paths with me.”�

            Sirius snorted crossly. “Terrible misfortune. That's one way of putting it."

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

            "You know, Sirius–"

            "Not now, Evans," Sirius interrupted, and was already walking again. Shooting Remus a parting glance over his shoulder that I couldn’t quite see, he strode right past me and up the steps, his footsteps quick and heavy. I refused to watch him storm off, but I heard the front doors open with a long creak, then fall closed with a resounding slam. I winced, closing my eyes and letting out a heavy sigh.

            Well, _that_ went spectacularly.

            “You can go, as well,”� I muttered miserably to Remus, opening my eyes and lifting my head. He was still gazing towards the doors, a grim frown on his face. “I suppose you hate me, as well. That’s fine."

            “I don’t hate you,”� Remus said, finally glancing down at me. “And Sirius doesn’t, either.”�

            I snorted quite indelicately at that. I was inclined to believe the first bit–it was unfair of me to accuse such a thing of Remus. He had never been anything but kind to me–but the latter was hardly an easily accepted claim. Sirius had said as much during detention, of course–that he didn’t really have a problem with me, or some other such rubbish, I mean–but that was before. At some point between now and then, I had the distinct feeling that that had changed.

            I waved my hand towards the doors behind me. “What do you call that, then? Love and affection at its best?”�

            Remus went to reply, then seemed to think better of it. His mouth creased into a deep frown. He looked tired and conflicted. I took this to mean that he understood my point, even if he was reluctant to air it out in the open. I probably would have been, as well, but I had already had a pretty crap morning and only a slightly-improved afternoon, so I was in no mood to be nancy-footing around this codswallop. And maybe it was just the fact that I was striving to be a more independent person, but I was suddenly entirely fed up with Sirius Black and his nasty attitude.

            Because, yes, from beginning until now, I’ve made about a million mistakes where James is concerned–and do you know what? I’ll probably make about a million more. I’m sorry I’m not perfect. I’m sorry that everything I do always seems to have some tint of wrong to it. I’m sorry that I’m not the most trusting of witches and I don’t like change and that James got the bad end of that stick. I’m _sorry_. But from the looks of things, James has accepted all of this. And I don’t know why the hell he puts up with me either, but for as long as he does, can’t Sirius just _back off_? Can’t he realise that I’m _not_ some horrible, terrible, man-eating, selfish brat? Because I’m _not_. I’m a lot of things, not all of them particularly lovely, but I'm not _that_ wretched. And I am so bloody _sick_ of trying to get people to believe that.

            I am so _sick_ of stupid Sirius Black.

            Or maybe I'm just sick of the entire world in general. But whatever. Sirius is part of that world, isn't he? Exactly.

             I sat there fuming, growing more and more cross by the moment, giving up my stare contest with Remus in order to give another derisive look over my shoulder in hopes that my glares could somehow penetrate the Hogwarts walls and reach their desired target. I wished Sirius had stayed outside so that I could give him hell. I wished that Remus would just leave so that I could seethe in peace. But the opposite happened in both cases–Sirius remained inside, entirely unaware and unscathed, while Remus let out a quiet sigh before taking a seat down on the steps beside me.

            Lovely.

            Like I was really in the mood for a _chat_.

            “Look,”� Remus said slowly, in that quiet, solemn voice of his. “There’s...there's a lot that you don’t understand, Lily.”�

            Well, thanks _graciously_ for that one, Remus. I never would have known.

            Psh.

            The look I gave him was probably not my friendliest, but come on, he deserved it.

            “It’s not for lack of _trying_ ,”� I shot back bitterly, kicking moodily at the stone stairs with the toe of my shoe. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Remus Lupin–I’m not stupid, all right? There are certain things I don’t need to be told to understand. And I know that this is all over me. I'm right, aren't I? Why James and Sirius are fighting? It’s because of me.”�

            “No,”� Remus denied instantly, shaking his head. “No, Lily, it’s–”�

            “Don’t lie to me!”� I snapped. “I’m so bloody _sick_ of being lied to! I’m just as–”�

            “I’m not lying to you!”� Remus cried, sounding more incensed than I think I’ve ever heard him. Even in my surprise, my eyes narrowed suspiciously. Remus just shook his head again, clearly frustrated. “I’m not lying,”� he told me again. “Hell, I wish I _were_. Merlin knows it’d be a lot damned simpler if it _were_ about it you. Unfortunately, you’re just getting the blame for the bigger problem.”�

            Blame for the bigger problem?

            But...

            I stared at him silently, still mostly dubious, though now it was tainted with some bothersome uncertainty. Could...could he be telling the truth? I mean, James had said practically the same thing that morning in the Common Room–he had called me a scapegoat–but I thought that he'd just been trying to keep me out of it, sparing my feelings. James would do that…but would Remus? I stared at him critically and wondered. Did he have a reason to lie? If there was an obvious motive other than following along with James’s story, I couldn’t see it. But still…

            Could it really _not_ be about me?

            “Explain it to me, then,”� I prodded stubbornly, pushing my advantage. “If it’s not me, then what is it?”�

            Remus’s frown deepened. He turned away from me, resting his arms on his propped knees and dropping his head down to hang in seeming defeat. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad one. Either way, I didn’t dare move–didn’t even breathe. When the pair of them had appeared around the corner, this certainly was not what I’d imagined the confrontation would lead to. But if Remus would give me some insight into this bloody James-Sirius madness, I would readily listen. Then maybe I could try to figure out what was to be done about it.

            Now he just had to start _talking_.

            “Remus,”� I said quietly, waiting until he’d lifted his head and looked at me again before I continued to speak. His eyes flickered with something that gave me hope. “Please tell me. I only want to understand. And whether or not you all care to admit it, I’m part of this now–scapegoat or not, it still involves me. ”�

            “It’s…complicated,”� Remus replied slowly, seeming to be thinking very carefully about each of the words that left his mouth. “I can’t explain it all. There are things….things James will explain to you when he's ready, if he wants to. A lot happened to him last year. He doesn't like to talk about it himself, I highly doubt he'd want me talking about it. Especially to you.”�

            "That's fair," I conceded, feeling a bit guilty over the fact that Sirius had obviously disagreed with Remus–or at least overruled his better inclinations enough to tell me what had happened last year. But I couldn't let Remus know that. If I actually _was_ just a scapegoat, I wouldn’t be for much longer if Sirius ever found out that I’d let it slip that he’d told me the truth about James last year. I was already high enough on that shit list, thank you very much. "I'm not asking you to tell me things you shouldn't," I told Remus next, even though that was pretty much exactly what I was doing. "I just...want to start feeling like the scapegoat rather than the evil shrew tearing James's life apart. You understand that, don't you?"

            "You're not tearing his life apart," Remus said, shaking his head. "Quite the opposite. This is the happiest I've seen him in...a really long time. Even with all this other rubbish going on. That's you, Lily."

            Oh, _hell_. My face flushed an undoubtedly obnoxious shade of crimson as I sputtered a pathetic sort of, "Oh. No. No, I'm sure...I mean..."

            "Trust me," Remus said, and now there was a bit of a smile pulling at the end of his lips. "It's you." 

            "Oh." I was now entirely red to the very tips of my hair. My stomach began fluttering all pathetically. "Well, that's...that's good."

            Remus nodded. "I think so." But then he looked away, his gaze shifting to the grounds spread out before us. A soft sigh fell from his lips. " _I_ think so," he said again. "But..."

            "Sirius doesn't agree," I finished for him, stomach flutters dying almost instantly. I looked towards the grounds, as well. "Right."

            "It's not that," Remus insisted. "Or not exactly, anyway."

            "Then what _is_ it exactly?"

            "Lily...I don't know–"

            I shot him a dirty look. "Honestly, Remus, I already told you–I just want to understand! I'm not asking you to divulge all your deepest and darkest here. All I'm asking is for a little bit of insight."

            I was hoping that my earnest imploring would crack some of the apparent armour Remus had wrapped so tightly around him, but I'm not sure if I succeeded. He let out a long breath of air, shaking his head. His forehead furrowed into a series of worn winkles that looked far too comfortable in their creased position for this sort of thing to be anything but a usual occurrence. That was hardly surprising–Remus is one of the most serious blokes I know–but at that moment, it worried me. Too much thought was not going to be good in this situation. I wanted answers– _an_ answer, _any_ answer–and somehow, I didn't think I would get a single thing if I left the idea brewing too long. Remus wasn't impulsive like Sirius. He was sensible and meticulous and if I gave him too much time to think this over, he'd remember that James, for whatever stupid reason , didn't want me to know about this. Then he'd close up.

            He could _not_ close up. Not now. I absolutely wouldn't let him.

            Luckily, I didn't have to fight for it. Thoughtlessly or not, Remus eventually spoke.

            I sighed in relief.

            “James has changed a lot over the past few years,”� he started softly, looking out at the grounds again. “Last year, this year…he’s been through a lot.”�

            “I know,”� I said without thinking. 

            Remus’s head instantly jerked up.

            “You know?”�

            Shit.

            Stupid, stupid _mouth_. Why don’t you ever shut _up_?

            “Not why,”� I covered up quickly, fighting off the urge to smack my head against the nearest hard surface. Damn it, _damn_ it. “But I remember what he was like,”� I went on, lying through my teeth. "I know he’s not the same as he is now. But I’m grateful for it. He’s a better person now.”�

            “Better, maybe...but is he the _same_ person?”� 

            My mouth dropped open.

            Same… _what_?

            “Same person?”� I sputtered, hardly believing what I was hearing. “What do you mean, 'is he the same person'? Of course, he's the same person! He's...I mean...how could you even..."

            Remus dropped his head back down by his knees, letting out a quiet sigh that I might not have heard had I not been sitting right there next to him. His hands came together in a tense sort of clasp. He seemed to be staring at some step just past our feet.

            “For the better part of the first five years I’d known James, he’d always been the same person,”� he told me, his voice almost flat. “You know how he was–that obvious confidence, that arrogance that made him think he was invincible. It’s just who he was. It rarely occurred to him to think that things wouldn’t work out in his favour eventually. He was a good person, even if he wasn’t always the most selfless. He was a good mate.”� Slowly, Remus lifted his head. His sharp glance stuck on me. “He was Sirius’s _best_ mate.”�

            Something about the way Remus said that–Sirius’s _best_ mate–made something click inside of my head. Suddenly, I remembered something Sirius had said that night in detention, something I hadn’t paid much attention to when so much else I’d been told that night had taken precedence. Now, however, it didn’t seem so insignificant.

_"That was_ my _James. How he_ used _to be. That kid didn't have a care in the world, except when it came to his mates and his family. And you, occasionally. Not like that now.”�_

Not like that now.

            He’d said it almost bitterly.

            Merlin.

            Is _that_ …

            “James went through a lot at the beginning of sixth-year,”� Remus went on, oblivious to the whirlwind of questions swarming through my head. I stared blankly at him, hardly able to listen. “He wasn't himself. He was…I don’t know if you remember, but he–”�

            “I remember,”� I said, almost automatically, though these were memories given to me by Sirius, not ones that I really recalled myself. “He was out of control. He didn’t care about anything. He wasn’t the same.”�

            “No, he wasn’t." Remus's eyes went sharp again. He didn't say anything else. 

            Well, _that_ wouldn't do.            

            “But he’s not like that anymore,”� I prodded, hoping my interjection would goad Remus on. “He's fine now. And that's a good thing, isn't it? He’s back to normal.”�

            Remus’s eyebrow instantly shot up.

“Normal?”� he asked flatly. “That’s rather relative, isn’t it?”�

Rather relative?

“What's that supposed to mean?”� I asked.

“James isn’t _normal_ , Lily–not in the sense that he’s back to who he once was. He's not even close.”�

_He's not even close_.

But...that couldn't be...of _course_ , he was...

I swallowed hard. Remus's words hung heavy in the air around us. There were things I wanted to say–protests mostly, though there were a multitude of questions and comments bursting to get out, as well–but not a single word made it past by lips. I was floundering. I was desperate. I was...Merlin, I couldn't breathe.

It _couldn't_ be true. Remus was wrong. He was so wrong.

“James spent the better part of the end of last year trying to atone for the first half,”� Remus began to explain, clearly not having the verbal difficulties I was so struggling with. “He wasn’t himself then, either–he was better, certainly, and Merlin knows we were all grateful he’d snapped out of it his funk, but he wasn’t the same. He was constantly on edge, always watching every step he made–a far cry away from the James Potter we'd known. By summer, he'd mellowed some, started coming back into himself, and we all reckoned that going back to school would be the final step. But then–”�

“He started up with me,”� I finished for him, words finally coming. “And he never fully changed back. Is that what you’re saying?”�

Remus paused only a moment, then nodded.

Oh, bloody _hell_.

“That wasn’t me!”� I protested instantly, sitting up straighter. “Merlin, Remus, it wasn’t _me_. He’s grown up! He went through something and it changed him! With or without me, he never would have been the same!”�

“Lily–"

“No!”� I interrupted, desperate to get this across. “That’s the biggest piece of rubbish I’ve ever heard! What sort of imbecile would think that James would change because of _me_? It’s–”�

“The Sirius sort of imbecile,”� Remus interrupted, effectively breaking off my frantic tirade. He stuck me with a stern look that actually managed to shut me up. “You’ve got to see it from his perspective, Lily. He’s wrong, but he’s not crazy. He’s watched James go through hell and back–we _all_ have–and wrong or right, he equates James finally being fine again with turning back into his old self. He wants his best mate back. He thinks that this new mature streak James has going is still him trying to atone for something. And he thinks that now he’s atoning for you.”�

Atoning for _me_?

_What_?

            “Atoning for me?”� I repeated. “How…what does that even mean?”�

            Remus put a hand to his forehead, scratching at the deep crevices still in place there. He sighed heavily, but explained.

            “Sirius thinks James is pretending to be someone else for you,”� he said slowly, carefully. “He says that James has always had it in his head that you would only ever give him the time of day if he was this sort of paragon, and that his final act of atonement for everything that happened last year would be to become that paragon. And that's what's stopping him from turning back into his old self. _That’s_ why Sirius is so cross,”� Remus told me firmly. “Not because he hates you. Not because he thinks you’re a terrible person. It’s because he doesn’t think James is being himself with you and no matter how happy he seems now, that will eventually make James miserable. And he wants James happy.”�

            He wants James happy.

            Oh...bugger.

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, _shit_.

            “I want James happy, too,”� I said quietly, unable to look at Remus’s stern gaze anymore. My eyes fell to the ground, and then closed tiredly. My head was a jumbled mess. It hurt to think. “But it’s not…I’m not the reason he’s not changing back into that person in fifth-year, Remus. I mean, maybe he _is_ trying...I never thought about...but that's not all. It can't be all. I'm not the only reason. I’m _not_.”�

            “ _I_ know that,”� Remus said, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder. It actually did very little, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “And James knows it, as well. He says he’s just cursed to be surrounded by people who are so suspicious of change that they’ll grasp onto every irrational excuse they can.”�

            Oh.

            Er.

            Hm.

            “Right,”� I muttered weakly, and glanced up to see that Remus was actually looking a bit amused. His lips quirked slightly at the ends. “Me.”�

            “You,”� Remus said, and dropped his hand from my shoulder. His small smile dropped, as well. “Give them some time,”� he advised. “Sirius has been fighting off accepting that James isn’t the same person he was for a long time. And maybe James _does_ need to figure out who exactly he is without trying to fit into anyone’s mold of him. Unfortunately, they’re both too bloody stubborn to admit they’re wrong, but they’ll figure it out eventually. I reckon that the rest of us will just have to be a bit patient in the meantime. And you _do_ make James happy, Lily. Don't forget that.”�

            I nodded, but couldn't get any actual words out. Somehow, the sentiment that had all of ten minutes earlier made my stomach a giddy mess no longer held the same appeal. I didn't want to look too much into that. Remus left soon after that, with nothing more than a look that said this conversation had never happened. I rather wish it hadn't. I watched him go without really paying attention.

            And now…Merlin, I don’t know. I just don’t _know_ anymore.

            _Am_ I forcing James into some sort of mold that he’s not? I mean, I know he’s a different person and _that’s_ not my doing–look at what the boy went through, for Merlin’s sake! _Anyone_ would be different after all that!–but is he...I mean…

            Oh, _hell_.

            Things were so much simpler when Sirius Black just hated me.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 254**

 

            All right. Okay. There is no reason to go all mad over this. There honestly and truly isn’t. I just need to think and focus. I know the truth. I know that Sirius is a few important bats and balls away from the completed Quidditch set and that the bloke is suffering from best mate withdrawal and that he can’t really be held accountable for his thoughts and actions. I know all this. I know all this and I believe it.

            But holy hell, what if he's _right_?

            What if his stupid rubbish about James and my James Mold is correct? Am I forcing James into my own little box?

            I want to say no. More than anything, I want to say no and mean it. But the fact of the matter is, the James Potter that I’m…I’m…well, whatever I am with him, is not the James Potter of before. He’s not Sirius’s Best Mate James. He’s just not. And while I can comfort myself by saying that there are definitely many distinct links between Old James and New James…that doesn’t make New James any less different. And that doesn’t make me any less entirely enamored with New James and quite glad that Old James is gone. I didn’t like Old James. Old James was selfish and cruel and careless and…and not _my_ James.

            But is James _my_ James? Or is he simply Old James trying to be New James for my sake? And what does that even _mean_?

            I wish I knew. I really wish I did. More than that, I wish I could talk to James about all this, but in order to do that, I’d have to let him know that a) Remus had told me about him and Sirius, as well as b) Sirius had told me about him and his year from hell. Somehow, I just don’t think Old or New James would be particularly gladdened about my gossiping with his mates. Even though it wasn’t really gossiping. It was more like…like delving into the intricacies of James Potter as a person in order to fully understand and appreciate him as a future…whatever he is now. That’s really what it was. Seriously. It was.

            Oh, all right. Maybe it _was_ a bit of my out-of-control meddling getting the better of me. But that’s really only a smidge of it. Seeing it like that is clearly missing the bigger point here. Which of course is…yeah. The bigger point.

            But I’m getting off topic here, aren’t I?

            Merlin, what am I supposed to do now? This honestly could not have come at a worse time. I mean, I’m already dealing with the Hogwarts population and their obviously very stupid and gullible takes on reality–who has time for anything more? Not me, certainly. Doing your own damage control is a bloody big and consuming job. Now on top of having to give up rice in order to decrease my growing baby bump, I have to try to figure out whether one of that baby’s potential fathers is actually going to end up wholly and utterly miserable with me and our child?

            Who has _time_ for these things?

            I’m not going to let this get to me. Honestly and truly, I’m just not. Sirius Black is a stupid, stupid person and his stupid worries about happiness and molds are codswallop. James went through this terrible, horrible year and came out changed because of it. Old James grew up–Sirius’s best mate _grew up_. I’m terribly sorry that he's unable to do the same and is therefore stuck in a past where he and James go frolicking through pastures of trouble and public misery together and that’s what equals to happiness and contentment for him, but that’s not my fault. It’s not my fault that Grown Up James meets the criteria for Lily’s James. It’s just not my problem. It benefits me, certainly, but I’m not to blame. So there.

            Right.

            _Right_.

            Hmph!

**_______________________________________**

**During Nap, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 255**

 

“You’re sleeping on the job. I can’t believe you’re sleeping on the _job_!”�

            “I’m on my _break_ , Gracie. Shhhh.”�

            “Do you think rumours sleep, Evans? Is that what you believe? Because let me tell you, they most certainly do _not_. What sort of damage controller are you?”�

            “An exhausted one.”�

            “I’m ashamed, Lil. I really am.”�

            “Okay.”�

`           

**_______________________________________**

**After Nap, Same  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 255**

  
**Things to Focus on for the Night (Seeing as Without Direction, Minds Seem to Wander to the Worst of Places)**  

1\. Waking up. Seeing as my nap was so rudely interrupted and never fully recovered its momentum, I am now left with that distinctly uncomfortable half-awake, unsatisfied feeling that equaled yawning and drooping every three to four seconds. Consider splashing some cool water on the face. Also consider maiming Grace.  
2\. Finding emotional/spiritual/psychological balance. Professor Freedman is always teaching us those mad breathing exercises and awkward body poses that are meant to bring inner peace. Where the hell are my notes on them? Did I _take_ notes on them?  
3\. Divination homework. I really should make up a few more rhymes for me and Rob’s project. I don’t want to be the slacker of the group, even if I’m clearly the underdog. I bet I could come up with some pretty top predictions if I really tried. What rhymes with 'misery'?  
4\. Study for my exams. Charms is tomorrow and Transfiguration is far too close for comfort. I should really be permanently immersed in academia at the moment.  
5\. Prepare for tutoring with MJ. I think I’ll teach him some really fun Charms tonight. You know, like a Forging Charm or something. I’m rather brill at Forging Charms. And maybe it will up his cool factor. You know, like by a centimeter. But still.  
6\. DON’T THINK ABOUT OTHER TUTORING BECAUSE, LET’S BE HONEST, YOU WOULD NOT REALLY BE THINKING ABOUT TRANSFIGURATION, NOW WOULD YOU?  
7\. Eating.  
8\. Sleeping.  
9\. Breathing.  
10\. Surviving.

**_______________________________________**

**Later Later, Dinner in the Great Hall  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 256**

            I walked down to the Great Hall with Emma (Grace had gone off earlier, still rather ashamed over the whole napping incident–as if I can control when my body decides it’s had enough!), walking out of the dormitory in the most cool and casual fashion that I could muster. I reminded myself that I had undoubtedly dealt with the worst of the Amos-Julie backlash already, and that when push came to shove, I could call upon my impeccable lying skills in order to convince myself–and others–that my conversation with Remus had never happened. As it was, I was rather hoping that James was not presently indulging in one of his more basic needs (eating) so that I wouldn’t have to face him and the unspoken dilemma he knew nothing about. Acting all cool and natural was fine and good when I wasn’t staring at Mold-James in action, but face-to-face was quite a different matter. And while I’d like to think that I would be equally as cool and unaffected when we finally cross paths…well, I’m not going to hold my breath. Let’s be honest here–being cool and unaffected has never been my forte.

But I wasn’t going to think about any of that. In fact, I was pretending that none of it even existed and that I was just your average witch traversing down to dinner with her mate. Unfortunately for me, however, said mate was a tad bit too perceptive for that. She shot me a distinctly concerned look over her shoulder as we climbed through the portrait hole.

“Are you all right, Lil?”� she asked, stopping to look at me as we made it out into the corridor. “You seem a bit skittish.”�

“I’m fine,”� I insisted, forcing out a smile and starting down the corridor at a brisk pace. I had already decided not to tell Emma or Grace about my conversation with Remus, even though I was rather certain that the pair of them would keep their mouths shut about it, not to mention that I could’ve certainly used some insight into the whole mad thing. But I didn’t want to disappoint Remus like that. We’d had a sort of tacit agreement there on the stairs that I couldn’t condone betraying. And besides, I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about it. Which I wasn’t. Obviously. “You know how it is,”� was all I said to Emma, shrugging my shoulders and hoping she’d leave it at that.

She didn’t, of course.

“Yes, I know,”� she replied, nodding all sympathetically. Then she winced. “I suppose that means you’ve heard?”�

I paused in my step.

Heard?

Oh, no.

“Heard what?”�

Emma paused, as well, her eyebrows shooting up. “Oh,”� she muttered, blinking. “I suppose you haven’t, then. It’s not really…well, Grace sent me up to the Hospital Wing again earlier–oh, quit giving me that look, would you? It _wasn’t_ as damage control. It was just to see what was happening up there! Anyway, Pomfrey said that Amos should be released some time tonight. I don’t know when exactly.”�

Amos…released?

Oh.

Oh, bloody hell.

I hadn’t even…with everything else…

Why am I always the _last_ to know these things?

“Does that mean that he could be down there right now?”� I asked, all of a sudden feeling lightheaded and panicked as potential run-in scenarios began to race through my head. Oh, _god_. “Is that what you’re saying?”�

            Emma bit guiltily at her lower lip, then lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know, Lil. It’s possible.”�

            Lovely.

            Just _lovely_.

This is _exactly_ what I need right now.

My head began to ache, any number of plans sprouting up in my mind as Emma stared, looking quite as if she was simply waiting for me to turn right about and run off like a miserable coward. And while I didn’t want to behave that spinelessly, I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that if Amos _was_ in that room, my entire casual faÃ§ade wouldn’t fall into complete tatters. It would. It totally, absolutely would. But what could I do about it? Now, tonight, tomorrow… it was going to happen eventually. He was going to leave the Hospital Wing sometime. So what if he was down there right now, sitting at the Hufflepuff table and looking all refreshed and recovered, reversing all my hard damage control work by spouting off his pathetic side of the story to anyone who would listen? There was nothing I could do to stop it. Perhaps it was better that it was sooner rather than later. 

I refused to be foolish about this. I would face Amos like a sensible adult–or as sensible an adult as I get, anyway. Everything would be fine. They would be _fine_.

            That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway, as Emma and I continued our trek to the Great Hall.

            My resolve lasted until we reached the Entrance Hall. That’s when I crumbled.

            Naturally.

            “Okay, new plan,”� I blurted out, grabbing Emma’s arm and jerking her over to the side of the room as soon as the open Great Hall doors came into sight. She followed along dutifully–undoubtedly used to this sort of manhandling from me by now–but shot me a look that spoke of her confusion. I took a deep breath, my eyes flickering nervously towards the noisy hall. “I can’t go in there,”� I said.

            Emma clicked her tongue at that confession, then shook her head sympathetically. “Don’t be silly, Lil. Of course, you can go in! Does it honestly matter if he’s in there? It’s–”�

            “Yes, it _does_ honestly matter!”� I cried, carrying on like the madwoman that I am. When all I got for that was an exasperated look, I went on. “You don’t understand, Em. There is already _far_ too much going on inside my head right now. I can’t handle it. If I have to go in there and see Amos… I’ll combust. I’m serious, Emma. I will absolutely _combust_. I mean, what if he tries to make a scene or something? Do I _look_ like I’m in any condition to handle a scene?”�

            “You looked _fine_ a moment ago–”�

            “That was all a farce! And that was _before_ I knew Amos might be waltzing around the castle!”�

            Emma looked like she was trying to be patient, but mostly couldn’t hide the you-are-ridiculously-overdramatic-let’s-please-think-about-this-in-a-sane-and-logical-manner-yeah? sentiment behind her placating smile. She stared me down with stupid sensibility. “So what would you like to do?”� she asked slowly. “Go back to the dormitory and starve yourself until you feel like you can face him? That’s just ludicrous, Lily.”�

            “Of course that’s not what I mean to do!”� I replied, even though that sounded exactly like something I might do. But whatever. I wasn’t doing it _now_. I gave Emma an exasperated look of my own. “The plan is simple." I gestured towards the Great Hall. “ _You’re_ going to go in there, look about to see if Amos is around, then come back out here where I’ll be loitering and tell me if he’s there. If he is, I’ll have time to mentally prepare myself. If he isn’t…well, then we’re fine. It’s as easy as that!”�

            Emma instantly started shaking her head. “Lily–”�

            “Emma, _please_ ,”� I begged, not above groveling. “You can call me mad or childish or cowardly or whatever you’d like, but _please_ just go see if he’s in there.”�

            Emma opened her mouth to reply–object, it looked like, by the way she was frowning at me–but at the last second, seemed to think better of it. She pressed her mouth into a grim line and eyed me critically, crossing her arms over her chest. I sent her my most pleading of looks, not bothering to feel ashamed over the sheer patheticness of my situation. And even though she didn’t look particularly pleased about it, Emma finally let out a large sigh and nodded.

            “Fine,”� she conceded, throwing up her hands and already turning towards the doors. “Wait here.”�

            “I love you, Emmeline Vance!”� I called after her, blowing her a kiss for good measure. She didn’t bother to respond to my public display of affection, but I think she felt the love and devotion nonetheless.

            I watched as she disappeared into the Great Hall, her walk brisk and purposeful. With that done, there was nothing left to do but dally about and wait for her to come back. I contented myself with restlessly pacing back and forth in the corner of the Entrance Hall, preparing for the worse. How long would it take her to discern Amos’s whereabouts? What if he was skulking in a corner and she didn’t see him? Amos would do something like that, the bloody coward. Or what if he chose this _very second_ to come down, arriving in the Entrance Hall at the same time I was loitering about? Oh, god, that _would_ happen, wouldn’t it? With endless dread, I pivoted on my heel and gazed warily towards the staircases. A couple of second-years ambled up from the dungeon stairway and John Abbott and Clare Carslie wandered down from the first floor practically molesting one another, but–

            Forceful footsteps sounded behind me.

            _Finally_.

            I whirled around quickly.

            “Was he in–oh. Er…you’re not Emma.”�

            “So good of you to notice,”� James quipped dryly, strolling over towards me with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. He looked amused. “She sent me out here to deal with you.”�

            I scowled. “’Deal with me’? Oh, that's nice. What brilliant mates I’ve got. Who are _you_ going to foist me upon?”�

            James grinned. “No one. I quite like having you foisted upon me, thanks.”�

            He was chuckling all charmingly and looking at me with that stupid expression of his that is really just like a snog invitation in face form, but I couldn’t make myself smile back or even move. Because of course this was exactly what I wished _wouldn’t_ happen, even before the Amos-Dinner Dilemma had sprouted up. I didn’t want to see James. I didn’t want to see him at all. It was too soon. Because now, instead of looking at him and seeing my dashing more-or-less-mate-with-potential, all I saw was…mold. My stupid, silly, real-self-sucking Mold.

            Shit, shit, _shit_.

            “What?”� James questioned at my continued silence, his eyes narrowing even as he kept smiling. I instantly shook my head.

            “Nothing,”� I lied. James stared.

            “Nothing,”� he repeated dubiously, practically dripping with sarcasm. “And I suppose that’s why you’re donning that charming panicked expression of yours? Care to try that one again, Infallible?”�

            “Go finish your dinner,”� I ordered, forcing myself to relax so that my ‘charming panicked expression’ wasn’t so blatantly obvious. Bloody hell, I hadn't even known I _had_ a 'charming panicked expression'. “I’m fine. I think I’m just going to go back to the Tower. I’m tired. I–”�

            “Yes, I’m sure,”� James interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Can’t we just save much time and needling and you can just telling me what exactly is wrong right now? It’ll be much simpler that way, I promise you.”�

            “Nothing is–”�

            “Lily.”�

            “ _What_?”�

            James frowned. “Why are you hiding out here? What exactly was Emma supposed to be doing in there?”� His expression grew more obstinate as he questioned me. “Tell me."

            I bristled at the command. “You can’t just–”�

            “Lily. _Tell_ me.”�

            “She was looking for Amos!”� I blurted out in frustration, throwing my hands up in defeat. “There. Are you happy now? I’ve told you. She was looking to see if Amos was inside–or that’s what she was _supposed_ to be doing. Instead, all I got was _you_.”�

            James ignored my pointed insult. “Diggory? The bastard’s out?”�

            “Sometime tonight,”� I muttered, folding my arms over my chest crossly. I turned away from James and glared moodily at the wall to the right. I heard him sigh.

            “You’re worried about it?”� he asked, and took a step closer to me. I jerked away when he reached out a hand.

            “What do you think?”� I snapped, turning my head back to glower at him. “I’ve spent the entire day being massacred with bloody rumours and lies about last night, and now that I’ve finally got it under at least a semblance of control, Amos is going to come along and ruin it all! Merlin only knows what he’s going to tell people. He’s certainly not going to keep his mouth shut like I have. It’s only going to get worse from here and pardon me for dreading it! I just wish…”�

            “Wish what?”� James prodded gently.

            I let out a soft sigh, lifting a hand to my temple in an attempt to massage away the headache that was quickly coming on. “I don’t know,”� I muttered, shrugging tiredly. “I suppose I wish I hadn’t lost it last night. If I hadn’t hexed him, this would all be so much easier. If I hadn’t come running to you all hysterically, you wouldn’t be involved. If I hadn’t…I don’t know. If I hadn’t everything.”�

            “Diggory deserved every hex he got–and then some,”� James told me, and this time when he placed a hand on my arm, I didn’t jerk away, even though we were in a very public place and I was supposed to be keeping him out of this and I couldn’t exactly enforce his lack of involvement when we were all cooped up close together in the corner of the Entrance Hall. But even if it’s just Mold James, whoever this person standing in front of me was had the uncanny ability to make even the most wretched of things better, and I was far too weak in my resolve to resist that sort of comfort. I wanted to burrow myself into him as I had last night and make it all go away, if only for a second. Thank Merlin I at least had enough sense not to do that.

            Instead, I took what consolation I could from James’s steady hand and let out a long breath. “I know that,”� I answered, biting at my lip. “That’s probably why I really don’t regret it, even when I wish it hadn’t happened. What I _really_ wish is that no one would know it was me, but I hardly think Amos will oblige me there. His only saving grace in the whole situation comes from the fact that I hexed him green.”�

            James let out a small laugh at that, but didn’t say anything more as he continued to gently stroke up and down my arm. I closed my eyes and tried to block out everything else–Amos, the Mold, the world. When I could finally pull it together enough to open my eyes again, I glanced back up at James. He was staring at me without blinking. It wasn’t difficult to see that he was thinking hard about something. I could practically see the river of fast thoughts crossing through his head.

            “Don’t worry about it,”� I tried to assure him, kicking myself for unloading all of that on him. This was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to keep him _out_ of, for Merlin’s sake. I was ruining all of Gracie’s fine work! “I’ll be fine. I’m just in a rather off mood. It’s been a long day.”�

            James finally blinked as I said that, a strange sort of expression coming across his face. I didn’t know exactly what it meant, but before I could do anything more than raise my eyebrows questioningly at him, he shook himself out of whatever unfortunate train of thought I had just forced him down and shot me a pointed look, back to normal. “It wouldn’t have been half as long if you’d just allowed the rest of us to help you,”� he said.

            I rolled my eyes. “Are you _still_ stuck on that? It doesn’t matter now. The day is over, the damage is done. Let’s move on, shall we?”�

            “Yes, let’s,”� James replied, though I think he gave in a bit too easily. When he smiled, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. James ignored that. “Don’t worry about Diggory,”� he told me instead, waving off the whole issue with a careless flick of his wrist. “It’ll all work out. It always does eventually, yeah?”�

            I snorted. 

All works out eventually? Seriously?

Aw, that was precious. 

“Maybe for those of you more karmic-ly blessed,”� I replied dryly. “For the rest of us, we merely hope to survive.”�

            James laughed, finally dropping his hand from my arm. “You’ll survive."

            I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the probability of that was constantly about 50/50. He was happier in his obliviousness.

            “Come on,”� he said then, placing a guiding hand on the small of my back. He pushed me towards the Great Hall. “Let’s go eat. Diggory isn’t in there. I would have noticed.”�

            “But you weren’t really looking for him,”� I protested instantly, my feet dragging along the floor as James continued to manhandle me. “He could still be in there. Or, you know, he could be hiding. He would do that, coward that he is. Perhaps I’m just better off–”�

            “You’re better off eating,”� James interrupted. “You’re too skinny.”�

            Oh, _ha_!

            “Too skinny?”� I repeated dubiously. “Haven’t you heard? I’m in my _third trimester_.”�

            “Well, then think about your poor child. You’re starving him.”�

            “I’m sorry, did you _see_ how much rice I ate at lunch?”�

            James had just opened his mouth to retort to that–I’d like to think it would’ve been something along the lines of, “Of course not, love. I was too busy gazing at your beauty and delicacy, etc. etc.”�, but it was probably something more like, “Yes. You packed down enough for triplets.”�–but before he could get anything out, he was (perhaps thankfully) cut off by the sound of a familiar voice shouting behind us.

            “Oy! Silly Lily, tart of my heart!”�

            James and I both turned just as my good mate, Rob-Harms-Rhymes-With-Charms, came grinning broadly down the stairs with a few of his fellow Ravenclaws. I laughed and gave him a wave.

            “Rob-the-Heartthrob, you brighten my night with delight!”�

            Rob cracked up at that. “Not too shabby, tabby. We should remember that one.”� As he got closer, he stopped next to James and me while his mates continued into the Great Hall. “I’ve got a useful tidbit for you to mull over,”� he told me, before glancing up at James briefly. “Evening, Potter,”� he said.

            “Harms,”� James replied, distinctly less than friendly. He stepped closer to me and kept his hand on my back. I shot him a look–was he honestly playing at being jealous of _Rob_ , the boy who just joyfully proclaimed me the ‘tart of his heart’? Be still my fluttering breast. _There’s_ a compliment guaranteed to have a girl swooning–but James ignored it. With an eye roll, I turned back to Rob. “What is it?”� I asked.

            In reply, Rob simply lifted his hands. He held up eight fingers.

            Er.

            Hm.

            “Eight is great?”� I tried, shaking my head in confusion. Rob laughed and shook his own head.

            “Eight _o’clock,_ lovey dove." He stuck me with a pointed look. When it still obviously wasn’t translating–what about eight o’clock? Did we have a date scheduled?–Rob went on. His voice grew quieter. “I have it on good authority,”� he began, “from Kiki Molter, who got it from Julie Little, who presumably got it from the source, that a certain man of recently damaged status is set to be released from his medical prison come the hour before curfew. I just thought you might care to know.”�

            I stared at Rob in shock.

            Oh, my god.

            Eight o’clock.

            I had until _eight o’clock_!

            “Rob,”� I said earnestly, giving him my biggest, best, _brightest_ smile. “You are a _star_.”�

            Rob chuckled happily at this and threw me a wink. “I know,”� was all he said, with a jaunty lift in his step. He turned, job now done, and waved. “Glad you approve. See you late, mate.”�

            Then he walked off, whistling to himself.

Mental Note: send Professor Freedman a thank-you fruit basket for bringing Rob Harms into my life–a very _large_ fruit basket.

            I turned to James with a happy laugh, hardly able to contain myself. Thank _Merlin_!

            “Can you believe that?”� I asked, clapping my hands together in delight. “What luck! Eight! We’ll be cooped up in the library studying stupid Transfiguration by then! Who knew the bloody thing had an actual use?”� 

            “Since when are you mates with Robbie Harms?”� James asked, ignoring my joy entirely. Now that I got a proper look at him, actually, he seemed to be particularly grim about the whole thing, despite Rob’s incredibly lovely and useful information. His eyes were sharp and a grim frown pulled his mouth tight. 

            Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

            “James,”� I said, filling my voice with mock-seriousness, “while I’m aware that you suffer from a dastardly inferiority complex that turns you completely irrational at the sight of other blokes–and I am also sympathetic to the fact that, yes, it’s difficult to believe that someone would willingly put up with you and your mood swings on a regular basis–for the sake of the potential side of our more-or-less-mates-with-potential relationship, I’m going to have to ask you to reconsider your outrage for the moment. Rob Harms is my Divination partner. He was nice to me today when very few people were. And he _did_ just manage to give us a useful piece of information that otherwise might have had me in fits all evening. That’s all. Now can we _please_ not get into a conversation that you will inevitably lose at the end of a very long and overdrawn shouting match, and just go eat dinner? My child and I are hungry.”�

            My partly-teasing-partly-entirely-serious monologue did its part in making James drop his sour look, if only so that he could roll his eyes at my antics. I gave him a smile as I tugged on his arm and started the walking process. He still looked like he had things to say, but I suppose he swallowed most of it down.

            Most of it.

            “Ponce is lucky he had useful information,”� he grumbled, walking all belligerently. He snorted in derision. “’Tart of my heart’. Wanker. He’s lucky I didn’t knock him off his rhyming arse.”�

            “Yes, yes, very lucky,”� I muttered, giving my own eyes a roll. “We’ll call up your seconds and meet at dawn. Do you prefer pistols or swords?”�

            “Fisticuffs,”� James replied.

            “Smashing. Be sure to be cleaned up by nine. Charms exam, you know.”�

            “You and your Charms, Infallible. Does honor mean nothing to you?”�

            “Plenty. But N.E.W.T.s mean more.”�

            James laughed as we crossed into the Great Hall, bantering pleasantly all the while.

**_______________________________________**

**Later, Library  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 257**

            All right. So that was a _slightly_ less than cool and casual exit.

            And by slightly, I rather mean bordering on catastrophic.

            But I suppose it was a long time in coming. I mean, all things considered, I _had_ just spent most of dinner managing to remain decently normal and composed, only slipping up a few times when James would do something particularly Mold-ish and I was left floundering as to how to react. Most of the time, I just got quiet and shot a look at Remus, who never really looked back. I don’t know whether that means I was making these Mold incidents up in my head, or whether Remus was simply too cautious and sensible to stare pointedly back at me each time. Either way, I was still a bit too giddy over the fact that Amos would still be holed up in the Hospital Wing for a few hours yet to make too great a fool of myself. But the pressure was mounting. Even as I laughed and ate and bantered with all the Gryffindors seated around us, I was growing more and more uneasy. I wished I could forget about stupid Remus and stupid Sirius and every other stupid thing, but it was rather difficult to do that when there they were, sitting right across from me.

            Inconvenient, that.

            Psh.

            But I had survived through most of it. It wasn’t until dinner was wrapping up–a good half-hour of escalating anxiety after James and I had arrived at the Gryffindor table–that I…well, I suppose ‘cracked’ is the best way to put it. Cracked rather pathetically under the pressure. It was just after the lot of us had risen from the table, chatting and making the ruckus that often comes with groups of Gryffindors, and went to leave the hall. From the other side of the room, my eye caught Rob’s, who was sitting with his mates at the Ravenclaw table. I gave him a smile and a wave. He gave me a salute with his fork.

            “It’d be a pity to cut it so close, you know,”� James said, coming up behind me. He was looking towards Rob, as well. He was frowning, but I wasn’t sure if it was in jest or seriousness.

            “Cut what so close?”� I asked.

            “The duel,”� James replied as we started to walk, trailing a bit behind the rest of the group. “In the name of academics, why should we risk the possibility of focusing on anything except our favourite Charms incantations? Who needs dawn? We’ll duel now. I’ll grab Harms and you can go start clearing the standard ten paces out on the grounds. You’ll stand as my second, of course. It’s only right.”�

            Oh, _brother_.

            “All in the name of academics, hm?”� I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t know you were so devoted.”�

            James slapped a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Really, Infallible. I’m _Head Boy_. My devotion to academics is paramount!”�

“Oh, I’m sure.”�

            “As you should be.”�

            “Be that as it may–”�

            “Oy! Prongs! Come on!”�

            From ahead of us, Peter’s calls caused James and me to glance up, only to see him quickly scurrying back towards us. Just past him, Remus and Sirius were waiting by the doors, looking restless. Remus wasn’t glancing our way, but Sirius was. I caught his eyes for only a second, but it was enough. His disdain was even more palpable than it had been earlier. I squirmed uncomfortably.

            _Bugger_ it.

            “Aren’t you coming?”� Peter asked James when he’d reached us, giving him an absurdly pointed look that I suppose I wasn’t supposed to notice. When James didn’t instantly move or reply, Peter felt it necessary to elaborate. Well, sort of. “You know,”� is what he said, all slow and emphatic. “To do _that thing_ with _the_ _thing_ in _that place_ with the lads?”�

            Oh, yes, of _course_. That thing with the thing in that place with the lads!

            He might as well have just said, “The stupid but blokes-find-utterly-hilarious thing that we’re planning but Lily can’t know about.”�

            Thank you, Peter.

            But instead of getting the eager sort of mischievous expression I was fully expecting to sprout up on James’s face and the quick-but-slightly-apologetic ditch I sensed coming, James shocked me by instead shooting Peter a pointed look of his own and saying, “I’m doing something with Lily right now, Pete.”�

            My heart skipped an important beat inside my chest.

            Doing something with Lily right now.

            Mold-James was _doing something with Lily right now_ rather than going off to cause trouble with his mates.

            Oh, buggering _shit_.

            Peter’s mouth practically fell to the floor.

            “B-but James… it’s the _thing_!”�

            “I’m aware, Pete, but like I _told_ Sirius earlier…go without me.”�

            “Without you? You’re really not coming? But–”�

            “He’s going.”�

            The words were out of my mouth before I could think too much about them. James and Peter snapped their heads around to stare at me in surprise. I felt my face grow red, but I didn’t take my dictate back. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried not to show how utterly ridiculous and unnerved I felt. Oh, _hell_.

            “I’m what?”� James asked.

            “Can she _do_ that?”� Peter muttered to James.

            I lifted my chin defiantly and ignored them. “Go,”� I ordered James instead, with resolve that I certainly wasn’t feeling inside. I wasn’t feeling much of anything, actually, save perhaps for panic. The panic was what was forcing these words out of my mouth–at an alarmingly fast rate, even. “Why shouldn’t you go? You should go. Have fun with your mates. Get into trouble. You like getting into trouble, don’t you? You haven’t been getting into trouble lately. So go. Go and be yourself and have fun and get into trouble.”�

            Shutupmouth.Shutupmouth. _Shutupmouth._

            The pair of them stared at me like I’d just declared my undying love for the Giant Squid. James’s mouth fell open. Peter’s eyes bugged out.

            Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

            “What?”� I demanded, now so red that I could feel my entire face burning. I let out an aggravated huff.

            “Who _are_ you?”� Peter asked in wonder, at the same time that James stuttered out a startled, “Excuse me?”�

            Lovely.

            Now they thought I’d _completely_ lost it.

            Truth be told, I might have.

            But I couldn’t take any of it back. As insane as I sounded, as mad as they thought me, as much as someone might soon tackle me to the ground and demand to know where the real Lily Evans had gone, I couldn’t take any of it back. My stupid panic over stupid Sirius Black and his stupid theories wouldn’t allow it. Because here it was– _here_ was Sirius’s evidence, standing right there before me, telling his mate that he wasn’t going to go do whatever things he ought to be doing with him. Since when did James Potter do that? Since when had he ever chosen _anything_ over getting into scrambles with his mates? It was wrong–it was _so_ wrong. And as much as I wanted to blame it on other things and insist that I didn’t know the whole story and that there were so many other factors involved…Merlin, how could I defend it? How, when the truth was staring me right in the face? And there I was, the cause of it. _I’m doing something with Lily right now_. Did Sirius get any more correct than that? If Remus was standing with us just then, there was no way that he wouldn’t be returning my pointed look this time. There’s just _no_ way.

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, _shit_.

            He was my Mold. Sirius was right. He _was_. What was I going to _do_?

            Unmold him, I decided then, quickly and without much thought to how exactly that was going to work. There wasn’t time to think about it extensively. All I knew was that here was an opportunity to prove that I didn’t need or want Mold-James–I could accept Real-James, all his troublemaking tendencies, and all of his less-than-perfect quirks, just like he accepted Real-Mad-Lily and all my insanity. He could be himself and be happy and still be with me. He _could_.

            Now if only James would _cooperate_.

            “Quit looking at me like that!”� I snapped, when both boys continued to stare at me in absolute disbelief. “What’s the big deal? All I said was that you should go and do things with your mates. I have to go meet MJ for tutoring, anyway.”�

            “What’s this about, Lily?”� James demanded, replacing his disbelief with dubiousness now that the initial shock had worn off. I checked the impulse to cringe guiltily.

            “Nothing!”� I cried instead, throwing my hands up in faux-frustration. Merlin, how could I be so obvious? Remus would surely hex me mute if he could hear me now. “Look, whatever, all right? Go or don’t go. All I’m saying is that I have to go to tutoring, so don’t be skipping out on things on my account.”�

            “That’s not what you said,”� James accused. “You said I should go get into trouble. You _want_ me to go get into trouble, Lily?”�

            _Yes!_ I wanted to shout. _Yes, get into trouble, go back to normal and break my stupid mold of you!_

            But I couldn’t say that, of course. Instead, I just shrugged as if James’s accusations meant nothing at all and went, “Well, it’s not as if I can stop you, can I? Trouble and fun are rather synonymous for you, aren’t they?”�

            James gave me a queer look. “Why are you–”�

            “I have to go,”� I interrupted, before he could get anything else out. I couldn't believe how much of an idiot I sounded like. “MJ will be waiting. I’ll see you later, all right?”�

            “Wait a second,”� James said, grabbing my arm. “What have you–”�

            “What’s going on?”� Emma suddenly asked, coming up behind us. I turned to her in surprise. I thought she’d gone off with the others up front.

            “Nothing,”� I tried to insist again. “It’s not–”�

            “Lily’s up to something,”� James cut in, eyes narrowed. He looked at Emma for answers. I was more than a million times grateful that she didn’t have them.

            “I’m not up to anything!”� I cried before Emma had a chance to put her two cents in, and jerked my arm out of James’s grasp. I had to make a quick exit. This was getting bad. “I’m off,”� I said before anyone could object. “You all do whatever you’d like to do with your evenings. Bye.”�

            I proved too quick for all of them, thank Merlin. Emma had started to object with a confused, “Lily?”� and James had let out a, “What in the name of…”� while I was still in earshot, but I strode away so hastily that I think the lot of them knew better than to attempt to stop me. I wanted to kick myself as I walked–for Merlin’s sake, what the bloody hell is _wrong_ with me? Why didn't I just _tell_ him about the Mold?–but settled instead for brooding internally, wondering if I had just screwed up royally. Was I jumping to conclusions? Did it matter? Would James figure out what this was about? Would he care? What about Remus? What about Sirius?

            As if conjured up by my thoughts, Remus and Sirius stood right where I’d last seen them as I quickly approached the doors. This time, Remus was looking at me, a confused expression etched across his face. Sirius was looking more excusatory than questioning.

            I stopped in front of them for only a moment.

            “I’m sorry,”� I blurted out, not entirely certain myself which one of them I was apologizing to, or for what exactly. “I’m sorry.”�

            “What?”� Sirius asked, sounding less hostile than I think I’ve heard in quite some time.

            Remus only lifted his eyebrows.

            I rushed off before anything else could be said or done.

            So now I’m here, a good twenty minutes before MJ will even think of appearing, left to my own stupidity and thoughts, which I have nothing else to do but second-guess.

            Is it…I mean, could James _actually_ …

            Merlin.

            I don’t _know_ anymore.

            Maybe I reacted too hastily. Maybe with the Amos problem out of the way, I had too much attention devoted to James and this stupid Mold dilemma and so I read way too much into something that could, when you think about it, be really, really stupid. I mean, so what if he didn’t want to do something with his mates? I love Emma and Gracie more than life itself, and I don’t always want to participate in every activity they get it into their heads to come up with. Isn’t that the same thing? That doesn’t make me any less…you know, _me_. And so what if James hasn’t been getting into his usual trouble lately? Didn’t I already attribute that to that silly little thing people call maturity? I mean, he said it himself–he’s Head Boy. Maybe he feels like he has to live up to the title. In that case, it has nothing to do with me. Even though I’m Head Girl. That has very little to do with it, actually. He must know that _I_ don’t hold him up to that sort of standard of stuffy perfection…well, even though that’s exactly what Sirius claims is the problem. The paragon problem. 

But I don’t _want_ him to be a paragon!

Merlin, I really _don’t_. I mean, yes, am I glad that he’s not the arrogant ponce he once was, that he doesn’t get off by hexing innocents in the corridors anymore, that he’s gained enough sensitivity to be able to say things like “You are possibly the most significant thing in my life”� and have me melt and believe it? Yes, of course. I’m _not_ going to deny any of that. But I’m also not claiming to be so ridiculous as to not expect that all of these things were part of him once and probably will never leave entirely. I’m not so arrogant as to think that I could ever ask him to change–or that I would even _want_ him to. I want him as he is, whatever that is. And while Sirius might have a point in saying that James is _somewhat_ trying to fit into my Mold of him…that’s not all it is. I _know_ him. I know him and I know that it’s not all a farce. It can’t be. It just _can’t_.

But then he does things like this. He does things that make it so hard to see the correlation between the person he was and the person he is, and I’m left as the catalyst. 

Or maybe not. I don’t know. Maybe it _is_ just all James growing up. Maybe.

I wish I could ask him.

I wish I could talk to him about this.

I just…want him to be happy. And I’m selfish enough to want that happiness to depend somewhat on me. And maybe that’s the problem, but...isn’t that rather normal in relationships? Aren’t you supposed to want to make your significant other or more-or-less-mate-with-potential or whatever you are, happy? I think so. So… _so_ …

Oh, hell. I’m talking myself in circles. This is ridiculous.

I can’t think about this anymore. I have to concentrate on something else. What was it that I was going to go over with MJ tonight? Fun things. Color-Changing and Forging Charms. Yes, he’ll like that. Of course.

Of course.

Right.

**_______________________________________**

**Later Later, Still in the Library  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 258**

 

Well, I’ll be damned.

Holy hell.

Holy hell in a hand basket.

That…well, I certainly didn’t see _that_ coming. Not at all. Not in the least. Truth be told, I’d forgotten entirely about the whole thing–my life hasn’t exactly been uneventful since the beginning of the year, after all–but even if I hadn’t…Merlin. I never would have…and then that whole thing afterwards…

Holy hell. What else is there to say? Holy, holy _hell_.

I suppose I _did_ ask for a distraction. Much thanks, Fates. You’re always so prompt.

            The library provided a semi-suitable diversion from the depressing dilemmas plaguing my life, even though I had to be sure to keep a wide berth around a certain section that housed a particular alcove that I had only recently become so well acquainted with. That was fine, though, seeing as the Charms section was quite a distance away from that particular spot and I wasn’t feeling nearly masochistic enough to be shooting the area even the sporadic glance. Instead, I scanned my beloved Charms shelves for anything that might help me entertain MJ (while simultaneously diverting my attention away from my rotten existence). There were quite a few fun selections, but none that I was particularly comfortable confronting a Charms-stunted third-year with–I figured I could save those for later, when he was as Charms-brilliant as I was–which was a bit frustrating. Still, it was amusing to look, and wasted the proper amount of time. In fact, when I finally wandered back to the table–empty-handed from my shelf adventures save for one pamphlet on Advanced Defensive Counter-Charms that was an entirely selfish find–MJ was already there.

            “Oh.”� I paused in my step, blinking in surprise. MJ was sitting in the seat across from my previously vacated one, his dark head buried in what looked like some sort of comic book. He lifted his head at my soft ‘Oh’ and gave me a small salute hello. I waved back before continuing to the table and sliding into my seat. “Sorry about that," I apologised. "I didn’t know you were here already. I was just searching through the shelves for something useful. For such a revered old library, this place is really sadly bereft of things I need.”�

            “There were forms of libraries existing all the way back to ancient _Sumeria_ ,”� was MJ’s only reply to my complaints. “Did you know that?”�

            Oh, right. The facts. 

As if I wasn’t _already_ aware of my great failure as an intellectual.

            “Nope, didn’t know that,”� I sighed, tossing my pamphlet down on the table. I flouted proper table manners and propped my elbows on the tabletop, dropping my chin into my hand. “So how were these libraries of ancient times, then? Better than Hogwarts’s, I hope. _This_ library is severely lacking in books about simple, fun charms. Really, it’s like they don’t trust us or something.”�

            “Maybe there aren’t any fun charms,”� MJ said, probably as close to a joke as the serious boy got. His lips _did_ seem to quirk a little bit, even as the rest of him continued to look all solemn. I took that as a great achievement, even if it was at the expense of my beloved Charms.

            “Of course, there are!”� I declared, giving him a very cheery smile (which I like to think was only partially forced). “And if Hogwarts–perhaps intelligently–doesn’t trust us with any, then we’ll just have to use my brain as a resource. What do you say?”�

MJ blinked at me. “They say that you only use 10% of your brain. I’m not sure if I believe that, though. Did you know that?”�

Hm.

Is it so much to ask for a _bit_ of enthusiasm here?

Psh.

            “Be that as it may,”� I replied dryly, reaching down to get one of my old Charms textbooks from my bag. It was an easy find–right on top–so I grabbed it and plopped it upon the table with what turned out to be a rather satisfying _thump_ , “I’m inclined to think that my puny 10% is sufficient enough. Unless you’ve got an objection?”�

            MJ instantly shook his head.

            Smart boy.

“All right, then.”� I nodded curtly and flipped the textbook open to some random section towards the middle. I began skimming through pages, keeping an eye out for anything interesting. It wasn’t exactly the most efficient method, but it was all I had at the moment. I really should have prepared a bit more beforehand, but there just hadn’t been time–I mean, my day hadn’t exactly lent itself to tutoring-planning. There were these little things like, oh, killing off a few of my unborn spawn and attempting to grapple with the fact that my sort-of-kind-of-significant-other is sort-of-kind-of-significantly not himself because of me, keeping me quite busy, you know. Just tiny things. Not that I was thinking about any of them, of course. I wasn’t. Of course not. What a horrific and unsatisfying waste of time _that_ would be. So I wasn’t thinking about them at all. No, I wasn’t.

Right.

Not at all.  

“Are you angry?”�

My head snapped up, my hand freezing mid-page turn. I stared at MJ in surprise. 

“Excuse me?”�

            “You look angry,”� he told me simply. He had his head cocked slightly to the side and was watching me with obvious scrutiny. I let out an offended noise, but squirmed in my seat. The boy was too unnerving for his own good. Those stupid blue eyes of his, and that damned seriousness, and his stupid hair that _still_ needing a good chopping, by the by…

Oh, hell.

“I’m not angry,”� I denied quickly, the words tumbling out of my mouth, practically one on top of another. “No. No, I’m not angry. Why would you think I’m angry? I’m not angry.”�

And I _wasn’t_. At least, I don’t think I was. I mean, angry? What would I have to be angry about? The fact that the entire school was talking about me? Or maybe because the idiot bloke who had made a complete fool of me and turned me into the current hot topic of cruel conversation was about to be unleashed on the public, undoubtedly set to make it all so much worse? Or perhaps it could have something to do with recently discovering that my more-or-less-mate-with-potential may be more-or-less a fraud? Or perhaps–

            Er.

            That’s…well…

            Angry?

            Really?

            I don’t know why I was surprised to discover it. I mean, for Merlin’s sake, of _course,_ I was cross– _look_ at the last twenty-four hours of my life!–but for one reason or another, anger was not an emotion I had expected to be feeling now. I’d been prepared for anxiousness and depression and panic and misery (all of which had made their rounds, of course), but I hadn’t really thought to be indignant. Perhaps because indignation seems to imply that all of this is someone else’s fault, and I can’t help putting the blame entirely on my shoulders. I mean, _I_ was the one foolish enough to go out with Amos. _I_ was the one unable to see his complete bastardry. _I_ was the one fueling the fires of gossip by playing coy instead of getting the true story out there before Amos could turn it all around his way. _I’m_ the one who James is trying to impress by being whoever he is now. Didn’t it all _seem_ like my fault? 

But I suppose not all of me believed that–or enough of me to get angry over all of it, anyway. Because I was. Angry, I mean. MJ was right. I absolutely was. Beneath all the stress and madness, there it was–not big and consuming and overflowing like it usually was with me, but subtle and deep and nonetheless distressing. 

            Angry. Huh. Interesting.

            MJ was still staring at me, looking quite torn between arguing against the ludicrousness of my denial and sitting back all complacently like a proper socially awkward pacifist. I took pity on him–after all, he _was_ the one to shed some light on my very complicated emotional state–and shook my head. I wasn’t going to let all of this erupt now. That was hardly fair to poor MJ, who had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. It had lain dormant all this time, it would stay that way until I could deal with it properly. In the meantime, I forced as assuring a smile as I could muster out onto my face.

            “It’s been a very long day,”� was what I told him, unable to keep the small sigh from escaping. I scratched at my forehead, feeling the stressed creases there and thinking suddenly of Remus, whose creases never seemed to leave. I looked at MJ. He didn’t have creases, or not that I could see beneath that massive fringe of his, anyway. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or skeptical of that. “Let’s just begin, all right?”� I said, sick of dwelling on all of this when I was trying desperately to escape it. Think Charms. Charms are safe. Charms are dependable. Charms are…not angry. “I’ve got a few fun spells we can work on that shouldn’t be too difficult. You ready?”�

            I don’t think MJ was too keen on letting the whole thing go. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he was either too shy or too embarrassed to push the issue. For once, I was grateful for his social ineptitude. When he hung his head a bit and gave a jerky nod, I had to hide my relief. I did so behind a perky-if-slightly-tight smile and flipped my old Charms textbook closed. What I wanted wouldn’t be found in there, anyway. 

            “Let’s see,”� I muttered, running through my mental rolodex of spells. What had I come up with earlier? “Oh, right! How about a Forging Charm? Have you ever–”�

            In a matter of seconds, all the blood had drained from MJ’s face.

            The words stopped in my mouth.

            What the…

            “MJ?”� I asked, startled. “What–”�

            “I can do that one!”� he burst out frantically, his tone panicked. “No need! I can do that one! We don’t have to do it!”� 

He clamped his mouth firmly shut after that, his face going an alarming shade of red. He writhed in his chair. His eyes began darting all over the place–the ceiling, the left, the right, his shoes–before finally settling on the table. He didn’t once look at me.

Oh, hell.

            This couldn’t be good.

            “You can?”� I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. He was still squirming like a regular flobberworm. His normally pale skin was now glowing a bright, telling scarlet. My stomach rolled uneasily. I’d never seen him like this. He looked…guilty. _So_ guilty. But what could that be about? I mean, all I’d done was mention a Forging Charm. Had he forged some kind of note and was worried that I’d judge him for it? For Merlin’s sake, I was about to _teach_ him the damn charm! I obviously couldn’t care less! So what was going on? “MJ, what’s wrong?”� I asked.

            His eyes finally darted up to my face, but only for a second. If it were possible, I think he may have flushed even more. His eyes flew away again. “Nothing,”� he said.

            Yeah, _right_.

            Psh.

            Thinking quickly, I reached down and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill from my bag. I dropped the parchment on the table and scribbled, “Hello, my name is Lily Christine Evans”� across the top. I spun the slab of paper around and slid it across the table until it rested just in front MJ. His eyes flashed to the parchment, then to me. I nodded towards the paper encouragingly. “Go on,”� I said. “Show me.”�

            MJ stared at me in horror.

            For Merlin’s sake, what the hell was _wrong_ with this kid?

            It was obviously something, but damned if I knew. I had no idea why he could be so spooked over a stupid Forging Charm and why showing me he could do one would be such a trial. He looked so panicked about the whole thing, it had to be something, though. I would have felt badly for causing him so much distress, but I was too curious now. I waited in slightly uneasy anticipation for him to do something. Watching him, I had serious doubts about whether he would actually even perform the charm or not. The conflict was clear on his face–he looked at me, then at the parchment, then at his wand that lay innocently enough on the table. He lifted a hand slowly, and his fingers wiggled. After several terse moments of indecision, he picked up the wand. With a defeated grimace, he waved it quickly–the proper, only slightly sloppy movements for a Forging Charm–and my hastily jotted name glowed a bit on the page before shifting. Without even looking at his finished work, MJ hung his head once again and jerkily thrust the parchment back in my direction. He didn’t say a word.

            More than a little intrigued, I lifted the parchment and read.

            _Hello, my name is Lily Christine Evans_.

            The words were the same. The handwriting was not.

            But I knew that handwriting. I _knew_ it.

            _Hello, my name is Lily Christine Evans_.

            _You’re welcome. Hope they kept you comfortable._

_Enjoy._

Oh my god.

            Oh my _god_.

            MJ was…he was... 

Mr./Mrs. Mysterious?

            _What_?

            “MJ,”� I started softly, dazed, my mouth dropping open. “What…”�

            “I’m sorry!”� he blurted out before I could finish, clearly distraught. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think you’d find out it was me! I didn’t think you’d be angry! You were just….I was trying to do…sometimes…I’m sorry!”�

            “I’m not angry!”� I cried, still utterly astonished. Holy _hell_ , I couldn’t believe it. But it made sense now–why he hadn’t wanted to show me the Forging Charm, I mean. People who don’t understand the advanced wandwork can only forge one type of handwriting. It’s why the younger years are all such rubbish at it–all their forgeries come out exactly the same. MJ must have known I would recognise his. “Of course, I’m not angry,”� I told him quickly. “Those things you did were…I mean, they were incredibly thoughtful and lovely, but... _why_ , MJ? Why would you do those things for me? And how? I mean, I didn’t even _know_ you then. I don’t understand.”�

            “You were nice to me,”� MJ confessed quietly, the words coming out through a quivering frown. When I could only stare at him in more confusion–nice to him? At tutoring? Well, of course, I was! But that was still only _after_ he’d already done all those things for me. We didn’t have our first session until weeks later!–MJ went on. “I don’t mean at tutoring,”� he said. Then, quickly added, “Not that you weren’t then! You were–are! And I…but that’s not…”� 

His mouth snapped shut. He twitched his pressed lips anxiously, clearly having difficulty finding the proper words, but wanting to get some sort of explanation out. I instantly commiserated with him, but didn’t know what to say to make it better when I still didn’t understand. But I had to do something. I couldn’t just leave him like that. With all the comfort I could muster, I reached out to put my hand over his. His fingers were gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles.

“Take a deep breath,”� I urged him, patting his stiff fingers. “It’s all right. I told you, I’m not angry. Not with you. That's not at all what I was angry about–I didn't even _know_ about this. You’re a regular Galahad, MJ. But I just don’t understand–”� 

“The first day of term,”� he interrupted, looking even more red and embarrassed. My hand paused in its patting. The first day of term? What? “In the station,”� he explained. “You don’t remember and that’s all right and I didn’t expect you to, but that day in Hogsmeade, Ben Burly grabbed my bag when we waiting in the carriage queue and threw it on the ground and all my things went everywhere and ink splattered everywhere and over everything and you… you helped. Even though everyone else was laughing. Even though you looked really distracted. You left your mates and told off Ben and cleaned it all up, and I…I don’t know. People don’t ever do that.”�

            _I don’t know. People don’t ever do that._

            Something inside of me sunk.

            Merlin.

            That’s…it’s…

            Poor MJ.

            Poor, _poor_ MJ.

            I sat there and stared, sputtering pathetically as MJ fixed his eyes on the table once more. I didn’t know what to say. It was all so mad– _absolutely_ mad. And the maddest thing about it all was that I didn’t even remember any of this! I mean, not really. Now that he’s brought it up, I have a vague recollection of telling off Ben Burly that day at the station, but that’s really it. I’ve looked back in here and I didn’t write about it, either. And granted, I probably _was_ distracted–that was my first run-in with Mold-James, after all, earlier at King’s Cross. And later, when I found out he was Head Boy and was all seething over it…but still. You’d think I’d have _some_ recollection of something that was so important to someone. But I don’t. At least not meeting MJ. He clearly remembered meeting me, though. Because people don’t ever do things like that for him.

            And how utterly sad was _that_?

            I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I knew what I _wanted_ to do–I _wanted_ to go over there and hug the poor boy to death and tell him about how the whole world is a terrible, awful place and it was a travesty beyond anything I’ve ever imagined that _I’ve_ somehow become the kind savior in his lonely life, but I wouldn’t embarrass him that way. He was already positively drowning in shame and humiliation. I couldn’t bear to make that worse by turning this into a giant ordeal about his life as an ostracized pariah. I mean, _that_ would hardly comfort him. But what were my other options? What else could I do? What else could I say?

            I suppose it didn’t matter what I _could’ve_ said, though. All that mattered was what I _did_ say. And what I _did_ say came out something like this:

            “Well. Right, then. Ben Burly is just a big, stupid tosser, you know.”�

            Yeah, all right. 

So perhaps it wasn't the _best_ reply ever conceived.

Eloquence, thy name is certainly not Lily Evans.

But for all its stupidity, my blather about Ben Burly didn’t seem to damage MJ’s fragile state too much. In fact, I felt his fingers relax ever-so-slightly beneath my hand. What do you say about that?

I know. I thought dumb luck, too.

            “You said that before,”� he told me quietly, his blush spreading down his neck. “When you were helping me fix my things. You called him a bullying toerag.”�

            Ha. That sounded like me.

            I gave MJ my first genuine smile of the night, squeezing his hand before pulling away. “Well, he is.”�

            I took it as a good sign that the redness began dulling from his neck, and more slowly in the regions above that, as well. I thought about waiting to question him further until he’d managed to lose his flush completely, but thought that might be a bit like ripping off the first bandage, waiting until the sting went away, then going and ripping off the second. It was probably better to get them off as close together as possible.

            I caught my lower lip and bit down. What was I supposed to ask without sounding like a complete hen?

            “So…that’s why you did those things?”� I finally asked slowly, eyeing MJ’s skittishness warily. “Because I did something nice for you? You thought to return the favor or something?”�

            MJ gave his shoulders a jerky shrug. “Or something. I just…I do that sometimes. Not all the time, but…well, it’s only right when people are nice to you, isn’t it? You want to be nice back.”�

“Sure. If there’s an opportunity, I suppose.”�

MJ nodded, then squirmed a bit more. “The first time, I was going down to the kitchen for dinner and I saw you sleeping on the couch and…well, I’ve slept on that thing before and it’s not that comfortable and those pillows give you a neck-crick, and I’m crack at Transfiguration, so it wasn’t hard to conjure up a real pillow and a blanket. And I was already going to the kitchens, and you’d were sleeping through dinner, so I just…”�

I nodded, sparing him from filling in the rest of the details. I knew what had happened. “And the second time?”� I asked instead. “What about the second time? The rice in my room?”�

MJ's lips twitched. “You were complaining really loudly at lunch.”�

Oh.

Heh. 

Um.

It was my turn to flush. “Oh. Er, that’s…it was a very bad day, you know. And I get a little mad about my rice.”�

MJ was really quite understanding, all things considered. “Rice is the staple food of more than one-half of the world's population,”� he said. “Did you know that?”�

“I know it’s my staple food,”� I replied. “And I was very appreciative of it that day. How did you get it up to my room, anyway?”�

“House Elves.”�

“Do you spend much time in the kitchens?”�

MJ shrugged.

I pursed my lips, wondering if I should press further. I mean, I already knew the boy lived a rather reclusive life. It shouldn’t be shocking in the least to learn that he spent many mealtimes in the kitchens by his lonesome rather than in the busy Great Hall. There was no denying that I was determined then more than ever to start Plan: Socialize MJ, but I didn’t want to embarrass him any more than I already had. Still, I couldn’t let it go entirely.

I was glad to see that most of his blush had faded to a merely bothered pink, even though he was still squirming about. As he watched me with slight wariness, I curled my lips into a supportive smile, hoping that might take away some of the edge. “MJ,”� I started, forcing my voice to remain as neutral as possible. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was you? Why all the secrecy? That’s silly. You were being thoughtful. Did you think I wouldn’t appreciate that?”�

MJ looked down at the table again. “Sometimes people don’t like when you do things for them,”� he answered, jerking his shoulders. “It’s not so easy, returning favours. People look at you strange, and think you expect something back. They think you...are trying to bribe them or something. I don't know. They just don’t like it.”�

            “So you leave forged notes? Even though they’ll never know you returned the favour that way?”�

            MJ shook his head. “I don’t usually leave notes. You did, so I wrote back, but...I don’t want people to know it’s me. That would just make them…they just don’t need to know.”�

            I frowned, and couldn't quite fight the pity impulse from engulfing me. I thought that was the saddest thing I’d ever heard. Not want them to know it was him? He was either inconceivably selfless…or inconceivably self-conscious. I would have loved to think it was the first, but knowing MJ’s social situation, I was disheartened to realise that it was more likely the second. And while I was hardly one to judge–I mean, hello? Inferiority Complex with a capital ‘I’ and ‘C’ here–I couldn’t help but to be dismayed. I mean, yes, the boy was a bit strange, but really, who isn’t these days? And yes, his social manner needed a bit of work, but it got quite endearing after awhile! And Merlin knows that Gryffindor houses more than a few much stranger oddballs and _they’ve_ managed to buy themselves a few mates. It wasn’t fair. And MJ was doing nothing to stop it.

            Suddenly feeling incensed–from pity or sympathy or perhaps just undercurrents from my already quite agitated state, I don't know–I stuck MJ with a reproving look. “Look, MJ. Some people are scum. I wish it were otherwise, but it’s an unpleasant fact of life. There’s no getting around it. But you can’t judge the world by those few cads! If you would just give people a chance–”�

            “It's not them. It's me."

            “It’s _not_ you. Everyone–”�

            “No. No, it is. You don’t understand.”� He looked positively devastated as he shook his head, not letting me finish. I wanted to argue more, but something stopped me–something in his dejected look. As I watched, he closed his eyes and hung his head, looking not quite unlike he had when he’d first shoved the Forged parchment back at me earlier. But it was different this time. Worse, somehow. My heart skipped a beat inside my chest.

            “MJ–”�

            “My family…they’re not good people, Lily.”�

            My breath caught inside my throat.

            Oh.

            Oh, _hell_.

            I opened my mouth to say something–what, I have absolutely no idea, because I didn’t know how to contradict that. Between Sirius’s story and from what I knew of Evan myself…well, they spoke for themselves. MJ’s family _did_ cross that moral line–it was pure luck that he’d been spared–but MJ spoke before I could.

            “My mother can be fine sometimes,”� he told me, his voice devoid of all emotion. “And Paul isn’t bad–he’s just quiet, and he doesn't go against my parents. But everyone else…Evan, and my father, and my grandfather, and my…”� He trailed away, shaking his head again. He continued to keep his gaze locked on his lap. “James hasn’t told you. You wouldn’t be talking to me if he had. But he’s got good reasons to hate me.”�

            I debated with myself whether to say anything. I thought in my head, _Don't do it._ Don't _do it. You're not supposed to know_ , but something equally as strong inside of me looked at MJ and couldn't leave him like that. He had to know. He had to understand.

            “I know what happened with James’s mother,”� I whispered, deliberately keeping my voice quiet, my only concession to my conscience. “If that’s what you’re talking about, I know.”�

            MJ’s head snapped up. “You _know_? He told you?”�

            I instantly shook my head. “No, not him. It was…actually, it doesn’t matter. I’m not supposed to know, but I do. I would appreciate you keeping that to yourself, by the way. But if that’s what this is about…MJ, that wasn’t you. You weren’t in that warehouse. You didn’t lift a wand, did you?”�

            MJ blinked at me. “Wizarding Law doesn’t allow magic outside of school until seventeen. You _do_ know that."

            Er.

            Well, I was going for more of a metaphorical thing, but I suppose literal works, as well.

            “Er, right. Exactly!”� I declared, just going with it. “I mean, sins of the father? Are we back to ancient times again? You’re _not_ your family, MJ. You can’t think of yourself that way.”�

            “I don't mean...it doesn’t work like that.”�

            “It _does_. How can you expect anyone to accept you for yourself if _you_ can’t?”�

            MJ opened his mouth, then closed it. His lips pressed into a tight line. After a few moments of apparent mental struggle, he shrugged. Then his entire being seemed to droop.

            Oh, hell. I didn’t mean to _entirely_ crush the poor boy’s spirits. Look at him, all depressed and dejected. _Bugger_ it.

            Even though I would have liked to press on and shake some more sense into the silly boy as carefully and undamaging-ly as possible–why was it that people were _so_ quick to rake themselves in with their families’ misdeeds, anyway? I mean, for Merlin’s sake, I hardly spoke to Petunia, much less took responsibility for whatever mad things she spent her days doing–I somehow managed to curve my meddling instincts enough to realise that that probably wasn’t the brightest of ideas. I mean, MJ already looked quite like I had run him through a garbage disposal and spit him out. Did I _really_ want to get into this right now? I mean, I did, but _should_ I? I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t want to make the poor thing any more miserable than he already was. But in my head, I was already making plans.

            This would not end here. I wouldn’t let MJ keep isolating himself, all because of his stupid, horrible family. They had already messed up enough people I cared about, thanks very much. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to make this boy realise that he _was_ a good person. And I was going to get other people to realise it, too.

            For the first time, my own problems didn’t seem so horrific.

            Too bad I couldn't take much pleasure in that.

            So I dropped it–the whole, ruddy thing. I shook my head, spouted out some nonsense about it not mattering, and told MJ that we should really just get to work. I might have second-guessed my decision if MJ hadn’t looked completely relieved by my change of topic. In fact, he acted almost eager to get back to Charms, nodding all frantically and opening his textbook–which was nothing if not desperation. But I let him have that, because I knew pushing him then would only force him to clam up even further, and I couldn't have that. But I didn’t stop thinking about it, not then and not forty minutes later when we’d finally finished with the basics of Color Changing Charms and MJ had dashed away like the devil himself was biting at his heels.

            And now I’m just…I don’t know. Shocked. Sad. Worried. Plotting. Can you be all those things at the same time? They’re making the rounds, in any case. Maybe by the time James gets here–

            Hey.

            Hey, wait a second.

            James.

            Holy hell, it’s nearly ten past. Where the bloody hell _is_ James?

_______________________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 258**

            I didn’t initially panic. I checked the clock again–8:11–and nibbled a bit at my lower lip, but wouldn’t let my worry go past that. I was actually rather surprised by my own restraint. Maybe it was because I already had so much on my mind, or perhaps it was simply because Unmold-James is surely less than punctual and, as Unmolding-Lily, I should be acceptingly unfazed by that, but for whatever reason, I managed to remain mostly in control of my easily lost serenity. This wasn’t a big deal. That’s what I told myself, over and over. This was _so_ not a big deal. I mean, so what if the boy was eleven–twelve–minutes late? Maybe he…fell. You know, on the stairs or something. He might be particularly graceful on the Quidditch pitch, but off it, he stumbles about occasionally–he’s got that whole lanky-body-knobby-knees sort of thing going for him, you know. Clumsiness happens. Clumsiness that…that lasts twelve minutes.

            Er.

            Whatever. It could happen. A twelve-minute fall, I mean. Or perhaps it was a _series_ of falls that _accumulated_ to twelve minutes. Or perhaps he’s fallen and _he can’t get up_!

            Oh, hell. Fallen and can’t get up? What sort of vermin hopes for that? What if he _is_ lying unconscious at the bottom of some stairwell? What if that’s truly where he’s been for the past twelve–thirteen–minutes, and all the while, I’ve been casually contemplating it like a callous cad? What sort of more-or-less-mate-with-potential _does_ that? For Merlin’s sake, he could need _help_!

            Initially, I didn’t panic.

Two minutes later, however, I had thrown myself into it with a vengeance.

Naturally.

            Fuck, fuck, shit, _hell_. James was bleeding out in a mangled heap of limbs and ligaments at the bottom of some stairwell and I was just _sitting_ _there_ fiddling my thumbs and mulling over his athletic vs. real life agility! What the buggering _hell_ is wrong with me? One ruddy sob story given by an unfortunate little boy and my entire brain turns to mush. How could I _possibly_ –

Oh.

Er, right. 

Never mind, then. False alarm. There he is.

Heh. Jolly good timing there, old fellow.

            With no small increment of embarrassment over my ever-unnecessary dramatics, I watched as James burst through the open library doors–limbs and ligaments in their proper places, I was relieved to note–in what appeared to be mid-sprint, skidding to a halt just inside the doorway. From her desk, Pince made a loud noise of disapproval, which James acknowledged with some kind of apologetic hand wave. His head swiveled back and forth around the room until he spotted me sitting at the table. He grinned widely and gave a jerky sort of nod in my direction before pivoting sharply on his heel and quickly tromping towards me... _really_ quickly tromping, actually. In fact, he was... _why_ was he…

            My eyes narrowed as he approached. His every movement seemed exaggeratingly jittery and jolly. His strides were sharp and his movements jumpy and sudden, almost as if he’d just tossed back a few dozen espresso beans, or perhaps was going through some sort of mad adrenaline rush. He all but jogged towards the table, rounding it quickly and dropping himself into the chair next to mine in a less-than-fluid movement. But even sitting, he didn’t stay still. His feet tapped, his fingers drummed against his thighs, and before I could open my mouth to demand to know what the bloody hell the idiot was on, he’d leaned over and pressed a swift kiss against my lips.

            All right, _that_ was quite enough!

            “Sorry,”� he said, flashing me an entirely less-than-contrite grin. He sounded out of breath.

            “Don't make me slap you," I huffed, sticking the prat with a good frown. When that only caused his grin to widen, I rolled my eyes. I knew a lost cause when I saw one. I only wished abuse would work. “Where have you been?”� I asked instead. “And why do you look as if you’ve just run some sort of twenty kilometer race and are practically hopping to dash out a few more?”�

            James let out a breathless sort of snort. “Twenty kilometers? You think I could run that far?”�

            I shot him a dirty look. “I think you’re evading the question. If you think that's going to make me forget–oh, for Merlin’s sake, what is _wrong_ with you?”�

            James stopped drumming a random rhythm against the table at my exasperated question. But instead of dropping his foolish grin and instantly growing all calm and apologetic, he only threw his head back and laughed.

            You know, perhaps I was wrong. Maybe he _had_ fallen–fallen and smashed his head against some hard floor, destroying whatever few functioning neurons were left inside that now entirely worthless skull of his.

            Psh. The delirious idiot.

            “Nothing’s wrong,”� he chuckled, leaning back in his chair until it balanced precariously on its two back legs. His grin was positively manic. He reached up a hand to ruffle his hair. “Not a damned thing. Sorry I was late. I had to take care of something. Did you miss me?”�

            “Hardly,”� I scoffed, and briefly considered giving the prat a good shove, knocking the remaining two chair legs out from beneath him. But that was perhaps a bit too childish, even for me. Besides, judging by the way he was still squirming about, he might just do it himself.  My eyes narrowed in on him again. “What are you up to?”� I asked.

            James laughed again and finally dropped the chair back on all fours. Letting out a dramatic sigh, he leaned in close. His hand moved from his own hair to mine. “So suspicious,”� he said.

            I brushed his hand away impatiently and stuck him with an annoyed look, even though I think he knew as well as I did that his hands on my person tended to make me forget what I was cross about. “You’re hiding something,”� I accused.

            James shrugged, his smile fading slightly. “So were you.”�

            My eyebrows shot up. It took me a moment to realise what he meant–the Great Hall. He was talking about the madness that had ensued earlier in the Great Hall when the pressure had proved too much for me and I’d let loose that tirade of utter nonsense about wanting him to get into trouble. With all my worries about MJ, it had been pushed back into the dark recesses of my mind. What’s more, I suddenly realised why he was practically twitching with excess energy. Good lord, Lily, _obviously_. 

“Oh,”� I blurted out stupidly, my annoyance fading fast. “Oh, right. Of course. I should have…the, er, thing with the thing in the place with the lads. You went, then.”�

            James looked surprised. “What?”�

            “No, it’s all right,”� I replied quickly, nodding all idiotically. Then it happened again. Tirade of Utter Nonsense, Round Two. “I’m glad you went. Really. I mean, I told you to go–not that you have to listen to anything I say, of course! You don’t. That’s…I mean, really, more often than not, it’s wrong or silly or…right. Don’t even know why you bother with me–don’t even know why you bothered to show up here, actually–did you want to stay? With your mates, I mean? Because you could’ve. Honestly. Who cares about tutoring, anyway? You know how I feel about Transfiguration. Stupid subject. Stupid me. Stupid you for even trying to teach it to stupid me. You can go back. Really, I won’t mind in the least–”�

            Shutupmouth.Shutupmouth. _Shutupmouth_.

            I finally trailed off in complete shame and embarrassment, clamping my mouth shut and begging it to stay that way for everyone's sakes. I could feel my face heating up. Taking a page out of MJ’s book, I deliberately evaded James’s gaze, looking up, then down, then decided it was a positively brill time to start picking at the lint on my skirt. Nevertheless, without even looking, I knew James was frowning. My madness had effectively killed his buzz. Lovely.

            “Are you done?”� he asked flatly, a few seconds after Lint-gate had begun. Not trusting my mouth to speak, I merely gave a jerky nod. James waited a few more seconds, then, “Lily?”�

            “What?”� I demanded, unable to keep from sounding utterly defensive. I’d run out of invisible lint. I started picking at my cuticles instead. James sighed heavily, but didn’t say anything. We sat in silence. But I’m really quite terrible with silence, especially when there’s all this rubbish that should be said, but isn’t. So even in spite of my determination to keep my eyes fixated on my actually relatively smooth finger beds, I found my gaze snapping back up to James as I once again barked out a cross, “ _What_?”�

            “Quiet,”� he ordered, staring at me through slightly narrowed eyes. They seemed to be regarding me more in thought than in anger, though. I still fidgeted uneasily in my chair.

            "Why?"

            “I’m trying to decide something."

            “Decide what?”�

            James let out another sigh. “Whether or not to let you have it now–I was hoping to save this for leverage later, you know." He shot me a put out look at this, as if I was utterly rude for having the audacity to hasten his preconceived schedule. He shook his head in disappointment. “And I was having _such_ a good evening, too.”�

            I blinked, trying not to grow too alarmed over his muttering. 

            Let me have it? Oh, dear.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”� I said, not all that confidently. “What do you mean?”�

            “You know _exactly_ what I mean,”� he replied curtly, his eyes darkening behind his glasses. “Don’t play stupid, Lily.”�

            “I’m not–”�

            “All this rubbish about me going off with my mates to get in trouble? You didn’t honestly think that I was going to believe that, did you? That I wouldn’t figure it out? That they wouldn’t _tell_ me what was going on?”�

            My heart froze inside my chest.

            No.

No, they wouldn’t have. They wouldn’t have…

            But they would–they _had_.

They’d told him.

            They’d told him I knew about the Mold.

            _Fuck_.

            “James–”�

            “Don’t bother,”� he snapped, not looking the least bit jittery or jolly now. I tried to keep going, but he cut me off again. “It was a stupid plan. I don’t care what you were trying to do. It was…bloody hell, Lily, did you honestly expect me to _buy_ all that, ‘You should go get in trouble’ rubbish? That you were _glad_? Since bloody _when_?”�

            I tried desperately to explain. My mind was in a tizzy. How much did he know? How much had they told him _I_ knew? Merlin, this could get ugly. “I just thought–”�

            “I don’t know what makes me more cross,”� he interrupted again. “What you did, or the _way_ you did it. There were bloody better ways of trying to get me away from you, you know–ways that you probably would have thought of if you’d cared to think about this whole stupid plan for more than half a second! But even if you had, it still wouldn’t have worked. I’m not going to let you cut me out of your life every time something gets a little complicated! Did you think I would?”�

            I…

            Wait, what?

            Cut him out of my life? 

What the bloody hell was he _talking_ about?

            “I was right this morning,”� he ranted on, entirely oblivious to my sudden confusion. Inside my chest, my heart began beating again, an unsteady rhythm. “This whole taking-care-of-it-yourself shit _was_ just some convoluted plan of yours. But instead of pushing everyone out of it, you only decided to push _me_. Well, guess again, Evans. It’s not happening.”�

            Oh.

            _Oh._

            Oh, thank _Merlin_.

            He didn’t know about the Mold. He thought this was about stupid _damage control_. He was cross about my protecting him from the Amos fallout!

You know, it’s bloody difficult to figure out what you’ve been outed about when you’ve got about a million secrets to discover. People really have to quit telling me things I shouldn’t know.

            I shouldn’t have been feeling relieved–I clearly wasn't out of trouble, judging by the way James was glaring daggers at me–but I couldn’t help it. Discovering that I was attempting to cut him out of last night in order to protect him was a _hell_ of a lot simpler than opening up the can of worms that would come with discovering I knew about his Mold-James problem. I mean, there was a certain absolutely precariously dangerous unraveling that came with the Mold problem–if he knew about that, then he’d undoubtedly find out that I hadn’t left his and Sirius’s fight alone like he’d asked. He’d find out that Remus had told me about it. He’d find out that, in order to understand the Mold problem, I would’ve needed to know where his changes had started. Therefore, he’d find out that Sirius had told me all about last year. And perhaps worst of all, he’d find out that I’d been keeping all of this from him.

            Yeah.

            I think I’ll take the damage control, thanks.

            Not that that meant I wasn’t mighty displeased about _that_ one getting out, mind you. I was going to strangle Grace Reynolds with my dressing gown belt, then leave her hanging from the ceiling in the common room for all to see. That’d show her and her meddling mouth.

            Hiding my relief behind a mask of not-entirely-false annoyance, I frowned deeply at James. “Firstly,”� I began, holding up an accusatory finger, “thanks _kindly_ for gossiping with Grace about me. I can’t believe she told you!”�

            “She didn’t,”� James said. When all he got for that was my disbelieving snort–ha! As if he could save her now! That girl's fate was already sealed–he revealed the dirty truth. “I cracked Emma first. _Then_ I went after Grace. She knew more.”�

            Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_. Is there no loyalty left in the world? 

            This was quickly becoming a mass lynching.

            I let out a distinct noise of distress. “Emma? You harassed poor Emma?”�

            James let out a disbelieving snort of his own. “I hate to break this to you, Infallible, but 'poor Emma' was rather quick to give you up. She called it ‘return meddling,’ I believe.”�

            Right, then. She’ll be the first to go.

            “Traitors,”� I hissed crossly, folding my arms over my chest and brooding in outrage. “Every last damned one of them! I was better off with pet rocks as mates!”�

            “I would have cracked the rocks, as well," James drawled.

The sad thing was that I didn't doubt he could. The damn, persuasive bastard.

            Clenching my fists against my chest, I straightened in taut fury, giving him my worst sort of glower. “You’re a big jerk, do you know that? Where do you get off giving me hell? I was only doing it to protect you. Excuse me for not wanting everyone to think you’d been used and then foolishly felt the need to go off and defend my tattered pride by hexing Amos! How _awful_ of me.”�

            “It _is_!”� James cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. Even though the bastard had no right to be cross, he was. “Don’t you get it? You can’t _do_ that, Lily! You can’t just shove me aside every time something gets difficult, and then bring me back in when things are pleasant again! Foisting me off on my mates for the night while you go around spreading whatever nonsense about last night you’d like is not going to work. That's not how _relationships_ work. You can’t select when I’m involved and when I’m not!”�

            I huffed petulantly, not even bothering to correct his assumptions about why I'd been insisting he go off with his mates. “You think? We’ll see.”�

            “Yeah, we will,”� James snapped back, an odd sort of sharpness entering his voice. He stared at me defiantly. “You thought I’d let you get away with this? Hardly.”�

            “You can’t do anything about it!”� I replied stubbornly, seriously disliking the threatening edge to his words. I sat rigidly, obstinate. “If you go about telling everyone I went to you last night, or whatever the hell you want to tell them, then you’re just going to look like ten times an idiot because I’ll deny until my dying breath! You may not care about what people think about you, but _I_ care for you. You’re not being tainted by this. Not because of me. Amos doesn’t get that, too.”�

            “He’s not getting _any_ –" James’s mouth twitched, then closed. The words seemed to be piling up behind his closed lips, but he somehow managed to swallow them down. I would have applauded his strength if I weren’t so angry.

            Because, honestly, where did he get off? Seriously, where? I mean, it wasn’t as if I’d asked Grace to go about proclaiming, “James and Lily have nothing to do with each other and never will!”� All she’d done was made a _few_ minor alterations to the night so that no one would believe that James was embroiled in the mess–which he really _wasn’t_. I mean, letting me molest him in a slaggish frenzy for comfort isn’t exactly a key role in the mad evening. But Hogwarts couldn’t be trusted with even that small morsel. Want to talk about people who _really_ make mountains out of molehills? Well, there you go. I’ve got nothing on the Hogwarts Gossip Mill. You’ll have to forgive me for not wanting the better part of the school to be tearing James apart, too. How _dare_ I?

            He wasn’t going to win this one. He could pout and snap and complain all he’d like, he could withhold however much milk he could produce, but I wasn’t calling Grace off. And I’d meant what I said–I would deny his involvement until my very last breath. There was nothing he could do about it.

            Nothing.

            “I’m sorry that you’re upset,”� I forced myself to say, even though I was actually feeling entirely less-than-sorry about it. Then I decided to tell him that. “Actually, I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I’m _not_ sorry about what I did. If our positions were reversed, you would have done the exact same thing!”�

            James shook his head. “That’s not–“

            “It _is_ true! You’ve got a White Knight streak that runs eons deep and don’t you dare try to deny it! If you thought something was going to hurt me, you’d do any number of entirely idiotic things to stop it!”�

            “You’re right,”� James replied.

“I can't _believe_ you'd–”� 

The retort died on my lips. 

Wait, _right_? Really?

            “What?”� I blurted out, thrown by his easy compliance. He wasn’t supposed to agree. We were supposed to argue about it. One of us might have had to storm off in the end. But neither James’s agreement nor his sudden fierce demeanor shifted. He leaned in close again, holding his face mere centimeters from mine.

            “If I thought something was going to hurt you, I would do something about it,”� he told me, the words coming out slowly, with a careful sort of steely deliberateness. My heart did an odd sort of jump in my chest, not entirely certain whether to flutter in glee, or pound in trepidation. He looked far too serious. I had suddenly forgotten the point of my argument. Where had this started? Did it even matter? Where was it _going_?

            “Okay,”� was the only pathetic response my scattered brain could come up with, even though there were about a million things I could have– _should_ have–said then. I continued to stare, more or less gaping like an idiot. I was an absolute fool. Merlin, why were we even arguing about this? I didn’t even care anymore. “I don’t want to fight with you,”� I said tiredly, letting my shoulders droop in defeat. “This has been a really long day. My mind aches and I’ve got too many thoughts in my head and I’m not even sure what I’m trying to prove to you anymore.”�

            James’s hand went back to my hair, his fingers sifting easily through the strands. “You don’t have to worry about Diggory.”�

            “What?”� I muttered, before realizing what he meant. Amos. Holy hell, _Amos_. Eight o’clock and come and gone. He was out of the Hospital Wing now. “Oh. Oh, no, that’s not…I honestly wasn’t even thinking about Amos. Though I suppose he’s even now running about the castle doing his worst.”�

            “I wouldn’t count on it,”� James said. I threw him a look, grateful for the support, but knowing if there was one thing I _could_ count on, it was Amos’s desperation to save his own image. Merlin only knew what story he was presently spewing. But if James realised this, he didn’t show it. Instead, he only grinned. “What?”� he asked at my exasperated look. “You hexed him good, didn’t you? I bet he’s even now moaning and groaning in his bed, regretting ever crossing you.”�

            “I’ve never heard of a hex quite that long-lasting,”� I replied drily, though couldn’t quite stop the wistful smile from creeping across my face. “It’s a pleasant image, though, isn’t it?”�

            James laughed. “Stellar.”�

            I sighed lightly, letting myself fall back against my chair. James turned, shifting sideways on his seat and resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs, cupping his chin in one of his hands. Without really thinking too much about it, I lifted my own hand to brush against his head, running my fingers through the mops of dark hair there. When he let out a little contented noise, I almost stopped, but decided that I liked being the one doing it for once. I don't know why it hadn’t occurred to me before that my hands undoubtedly made James equally as scatterbrained as his made me. “Are you still angry with me?”� I asked.

            James grunted. “I’m thinking about it,”� he said, but he didn’t sound the least bit cross anymore. I smiled. He lifted his eyes and caught my grin, then seemed to think he needed to make a show of it and scowled. “Yes, very,”� he decided.

            I laughed. The prat. “Yes, of course.”�

            James muttered something under his breath, then sat up. My hand dropped back down to my side. “That’s unfair coercion,”� he accused.

            I put on my most innocent of looks and shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”�

            James snorted. “My arse.”�

            I laughed again, relishing in the sudden lightness that settled over me, reveling in the pleasant sensation. It was positively ludicrous–Merlin only knew how two people could be yelling at each other one minute, then perfectly content and joking the next. It was maddening, but I wasn’t about to pull it apart and dissect the intricacies of it. I had no idea how James and I worked. I was only glad that we did.

            Deciding that it was best if we just moved on to safer territories–I could really only deal with so many arguments in one day, no matter my proclivity for flighting–I grabbed my abandoned school bag from the floor and hefted it onto my lap. I began shuffling through the books and papers inside, searching for my Transfiguration notes. When they remained elusive–for Merlin’s sake, I _really_ needed to clean this thing out–I began carelessly tossing things onto the table. 

“What are you doing?”�

I rolled my eyes as James watched me with raised eyebrows. “Curing world hunger," I bit off sarcastically. I heaved a few more books onto the table–Herbology and Divination. "What does it look like I’m doing, idiot? I’m getting out my Transfiguration notes–well, if I could just _find_ them in this…ah-ha!”� I cried, spotting the offending papers at the very bottom of my bag. I grabbed the loose pile and held the papers up victoriously. “Got ‘em.”�

“Congratulations,”� James said.

“Thank you,”� I replied primly, setting the notes off to the side of the table where they wouldn’t mix with everything else I’d just unloaded. I began repacking. “Make yourself useful, would you? Hand me those books.”�

James–smart bloke that he is–did as he was told. “Don’t you get backaches carrying all of this shit?”�

“I charm it,”� I told him, unceremoniously stuffing things back inside. “If I don’t have everything with me, I’ll forget them. Or lose them. This works much better.”�

When James didn’t respond with another one of his usual droll witticisms, I glanced up from my packing to see what the delay was about. He was busy gazing down at a piece of parchment, a small smirk on his face. He looked up at me and smiled in full.

“An identity crisis?”� he asked.

“What?”�

He handed me the parchment. I glanced to see what it was.

_Hello, my name is Lily Christine Evans_.

Oh, _hell_.

            Feeling my face go a bit white, I instantly crumpled up the piece of parchment and shoved it none-too-gently inside of my bag, taking extra care to make sure it sunk to the very bottom. I didn’t look at James as I finished tossing the rest of my books inside, but he seemed to find my reaction to his quip amusing. He chuckled all happily.

            “I’m a little disappointed, actually,”� he told me, leaning back in his chair as I dropped my bag onto the floor and sat all rigid in mine. “I was rather hoping your class doodles would at _least_ contain my initials. And perhaps a heart or two. You know, for added effect.”�

            “They weren’t class doodles,”� I replied stiffly, immediately grabbing for my Transfiguration notes and searching them for a distraction. I spoke quickly–too quickly, probably. “I think we need to go over chickens. I _despise_ chickens.”�

            “I remember,”� James replied, but there was a suspicious edge to his voice now, one that I’m sure was not discouraged by the fact that I was staring down at my Transfiguration notes as if they were the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen. “Lily,”� he began slowly.

            I _hated_ when he said my name like that.

            “I don’t want to talk about it,”� I snapped.

            Oh, yes, _so_ casual. Way to handle that one, Lil.

            Really, is it _so_ much to ask that I just get to stay content for a single, bloody _second_?

            "What's wrong?" James asked, genuine curiosity filling his voice now. I shifted about uncomfortably, but didn't answer. "I was only teasing you about the notes, Lil."

            "I know. It's not that." I was surprised by how much the story wanted to pour out of me. With James to focus on, MJ and our session together had been pushed back to a mere twinge in the back of my mind, but now that the reminder of it was back in the forefront...Merlin, I wanted to talk to James about it. I really, _really_ did. "It's just that..."

            "That, what?"

            I bit my lip, and pulled nervously at an errant stand of hair. Merlin, _could_ I talk about this with him? "I... I don't know if I can tell you," I confessed. "You might get irrational."

            James's eyebrows rose. "Irrational? Why the hell would I get–"

            "It's about MJ."

            James's mouth snapped shut. His face went guarded. Then, almost instantly, it turned angry. His eyes blazed. "What did that shit do to you?"

            " _Do_ to me?" I couldn't stop the hysteric edge from entering my voice. " _Do_? See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! You get completely irrational! MJ didn't _do_ anything to me, you prat! He... _Merlin_."

            "He, what?" James snapped, his expression still taut with resentment. "You're clearly upset about it, Lily. What did you expect me to assume?"

            "You shouldn't have _assumed_ anything! That's the problem–that's _everyone's_ problem!"

            "What are you talking–"

            "Do you want to know what I found out today?" I asked without thinking, the words finally breaking through the dam of trepidation my brain had been trying to keep it behind. With sharp, angry movements, I grabbed for my bag. I stuck my hand straight to the bottom and for once didn't have to search for what I needed. My fingers felt the crumpled parchment almost instantly. I pulled it out and chucked it at James again. "Look at that," I ordered. When all he did was blink at me uncertainly, I waved an angry hand in his direction. "Go on! Look at it again!"

            James uncrumpled the parchment carefully, his wary gaze flickering back and forth between the paper and me. "What?" he asked, when his eyes had skimmed over the line once more.

            "It's not my handwriting," I said. "It's not mine."

            "It's charmed," James replied slowly. His eyes scanned the words again. He ran a finger across the top of the page, then nodded in confirmation. "The ink's raised. It's a Forging Charm. I thought you were just messing around. You didn't write this?"

            "No, I did," I answered, rather surprised by his knowledge of forgery detection, though I suppose I shouldn't have been. "But I didn't charm it. MJ did."

            James almost flinched at the name, which was just the stupidest reaction I could have ever conceived, but I knew I was prodding a sleeping bear if I tried to call him out on it. In his defense, he _did_ recover rather quickly, but his face only shifted back into that hard, guarded expression. "All right," he said flatly. "What does that mean?"

            I sighed, feeling only a moment's hesitation before my mouth took over. For once, I wasn't sure if I minded its assertiveness. "Can you listen?" was my brain's last ditch attempt at some control. "Can you hear me out and please try not to let whatever problems you have with MJ stop you from really listening?"

            James paused. Then, curtly, he nodded.

            I took a deep breath...then began speaking.

            I told him everything. And right or wrong, tainted or open-minded, justified in his hatred or not, James listened. I told him about Mr./Mrs. Mysterious. I told him about the Forging Charm. I told him about MJ's reaction. I told him about how isolated the poor boy was, how utterly terrified he was to even do something nice for someone because he thought people would think he was trying to bribe them into friendship. I told him–very carefully and with much censored concerning everything to do with James himself and everything I wasn't supposed to know–how MJ felt about his family.

            I told him everything.

            And after I was done, I sagged in relief.

            _Merlin_ , it was wondrous to get it out–to _talk_ to him. It really, really did.

            James didn't say anything. During my entire retelling and throughout the several terse seconds afterwards, he remained silent. His face was impassive, unreadable. His jaw was clenched and he wasn't looking at me–once I'd finished, he's stuck his gaze on the table and kept it there. I couldn't tell if what I'd just said had made any sort of impact, but I couldn't imagine it hadn't. I mean, James _had_ to see that MJ was innocent in all of this–it was completely illogical to blame him for the things his family had done, even if MJ himself couldn't yet get past that. It was sad and terrible and _unfair_.

            James would get that. He _would_.

            "Do you understand now?" I asked him quietly, when I couldn't take the silence anymore and his steely look seemed to be making me more anxious than any concrete reaction could have. "He's just...he's just a kid, James. And yet everyone judges him as if he's already this Death Eater–and he _lets_ them. There has to be something I can do. I mean, even if it's only to give him a little bit of confidence. He just needs a friend–one person to convince him that his path's not already set. Don't you think?"

            It was an earnest sentiment, and one I believed completely. How could James argue with this sort of truthful sincerity?

            Well, apparently he could.

            Though I suppose it wasn't actually an argument. More like a blatant rejection.

            "You don't understand," is what he finally said, his voice granite hard. His eyes flickered up to me. They were sharp as jagged rocks. "You don't understand that family. You don't understand that kid. His path _is_ already set."

            _What_?

            Dear lord, did he hear _anything_ I'd just told him?

            "What?" I cried, unable to believe what I was hearing. "James, you can't be serious!"

            James shook his head. "How many times can I tell you this, Lily? How many times before you finally get it? That kid is _no good_. Do you honestly think anyone could grow up in a family like his and come out of it completely unscathed?"

            I glared daggers him. "I'm sorry, but isn't that your _best friend's_ exact situation?"

            James let out a humourless laugh. "And you don't think Sirius isn't warped as fuck because of it? Trust me; he's got his own problems. _No one_ escapes that sort of thing, Lily. And you don't know the Rosiers."

            _What about your mother?_ I wanted to ask, scream, in frustration. _What about her? Did she escape it?_

            But I knew I couldn't ask that. Maybe if I hadn't had the scare earlier when I thought James had found out I knew about all of it, maybe if I hadn't just discovered how _completely_ blocked off he was to anything that had to do with last year, I would have let it burst out, but I was too aware of how tenuous the situation was now. Because if his reaction to my story about MJ had taught me anything, it was how seriously last year had warped _James_. Before that moment, I'd only gotten glimpses of how hardened he was against his mother's family, how much it had affected his own normal logic. Stories Sirius had told me weren't enough, weren't real–here, _this,_ was real. If James could so easily toss aside everything I had just said about MJ–a bloody innocent _thirteen-year-old_ , warped himself or not–then he wasn't going to listen to anything. It seemed so ridiculous. For all his quirks, James was an extremely logical person–with everything _except_ his family, it seemed. And I wanted to understand, really I did. I had never imagined there could be so much hardness in him. This wasn't Old James, or Mold James, or any James I knew. And yet, it _was_.

            It made me want to beat him in frustration and hug him in a sad attempt to take it all away at the same time.

            I hated this. I hated it _so_ much.

            I suddenly regretted bringing it up, telling James anything at all. I wished he had never found that stupid piece of parchment. I wished I had had the intelligence to laugh off his stupid quip about identity crises and let it go. I wished that there was something I could do other than just sit there stupidly and blink at him. I wished that he knew _I_ knew so that we could talk the whole thing out like people in relationships are supposed to do. I wished–

            Then it came to me.

_I wished that he knew_ I _knew so that we could talk the whole thing out like people in relationships are supposed to do._

            I couldn't tell him that I already knew. 

            But maybe– _maybe_ –I could get him to tell me himself.

            Something inside me sparked. I think it might have been hope.

            "Look," I started slowly, choosing my words carefully. "I know...I'm Muggleborn, all right? For all that we would love to claim that it doesn't make a difference, I suppose in these sorts of cases, it does. I can't pretend I understand old Wizarding families and how deep in or against the Dark Arts everyone is, how everyone intertwines or doesn't. All I know is what I see, and what I see is a poor boy who's been made a complete pariah because of what people think he _might_ do–or what his _family_ might do. It's not enough for me to go on. I have enough assumed about me on a daily basis because of my own family that I can't take assumptions and innuendo as truth. So _tell_ me, James," I pleaded, almost desperately. " _Tell_ me why the Rosiers are so bad. Make me understand. That's all I want."

            Please _._

 

Please _._

 

_Please_.

            James didn't even hesitate when he answered. He didn't even flinch.

            "I can't, Lily. It's not specific like that. They're just bad people."

            Inside of my chest, I felt like something broke.

            It might have been my heart. Maybe just a little.

            He couldn't. Okay. He couldn't. That's...I mean, of course he couldn't. He...

            But _God_ , he lied so easily. 'Nothing specific'? How could he even _say_ that? And was it just about this...or did he lie about other things, too?

            I didn't want to think about it–I _don't_ want to think about it. I shoved the thought to the farthest recesses of my mind. I remembered what both Sirius _and_ Remus had said: " _For fuck's sake, James doesn't even talk to_ me _about it.""James will explain it to you when he's ready, if he wants to. A lot happened to him last year. He doesn't like to talk about it himself, I highly doubt he'd want me talking about it.”�_ –and grappled to hold onto that like a lifeline. He doesn't like to talk about it–of _course_ he doesn't like to talk about it! Why the bloody hell did I think he would pour his heart out to me in the middle of the ruddy library during a stupid bloody tutoring session just because I'd shared a little sad ditty about his cousin with him? That's not how these things work. These things take _time_. And for Merlin's sake, I'm not even his...his girlfriend or something or whatever. _I_ said no to that. Now I'm expecting too much. I shouldn't be disappointed. I _shouldn't_.

            I forced myself to smile. If it wavered a little bit, I hoped James would simply chalk it up to disappointment over the whole conversation, or perhaps he wasn't even paying enough attention to notice. Either way, he wouldn't guess the truth. He couldn't.

            "How do we always get into these serious conversations?" I joked weakly, letting out a pathetic sort of laugh. "Merlin, I thought we were going to talk about chickens."

            James laughed, too, but it wasn't his normal laugh and for just a second, I thought I spotted a flash of regret cross over his face. But it was gone in a moment, too soon for me to tell if it was really there, or only wishful thinking. In any case, he looked relieved to be moving on.

            "I really don't know," he said, running a quick hand through his hair. "Strange, isn't it? We're not very serious people."

            "Not in the least. A very un-serious pair."

            More awkward laughter. It was cringe-worthy to hear. It was also cringe-worthy how quickly the topic was dropped. I kept telling myself that I was feeling so uncomfortable because the conversation didn't have any closure–one awkward joke about a chicken and that was it, MJ wasn't mentioned again. Then I told myself it was the stress–I mean, up, down, up, down. Have you ever seen a conversation span so many emotional hills? I think not. But whatever the case, it wasn't spoken of again. James nudged my shoulder and asked if we needed to go over the distinct differences between chickens and lizards before we started, I was all, "Ha ha, you _slay_ me with your wit," and that was the end of it. Transfiguration, here we come. It was like I hadn't even mentioned it. 

            But I understood. This was difficult for him. I shouldn't have expected anything. Of course he wouldn't tell me. He would when he was ready. It wasn't really lying–it was self-preservation. I shouldn't be disappointed. I wasn't.

            Looking back now, I have no idea how I managed to last the next half-hour without losing it. But I somehow listened, I somehow responded, and I somehow acted like I didn't feel a bit like someone was pressing up against my windpipe and holding the pressure there. James and I joked and spoke as usual, with nothing out of the ordinary occurring until near the end of the session. It was in the midst of an explanation about the fourth or fifth Elemental Law of Transfiguration (I don't know which. I care even less now than I did then) that James's thrilling lecture was interrupted by an unexpected visitor of the second-year variety.

            "Excuse me," the kid–a Gryffindor, though I couldn't for the life of me recall his name–said loudly, coming up behind James and prodding him in the back with something. We both turned. The thing he was prodding James with was a folded up piece of parchment. He handed it to James. "It's from McGonagall," the kid explained.

            "Ah," James said, and flipped open the note. His eyes scanned it quickly, then darted back to the boy. "Thanks, mate."

            The kid seemed to be delighted to be spoken to by James Potter, for he grinned ear-to-ear and gave a little satisfied flounce before turning around and walking off. I watched him for a second, then turned back to James. He was reading the note again, but quickly closed it when his eyes glanced up and caught mine. He shoved it in his pocket.

            "What's that about?" I asked.

            James grinned. "She wants me to come to her office. Do you reckon she wants to proposition me?"

            I chose to ignore his suggestive quip. "To her office? _Now_? But it's nearly curfew!"

            James shrugged, as if such a thing was usual for him, which I sometimes forget it probably is–or was. Or is. I don't know anymore. "It's not so late," he said. "It probably won't be a long meeting."

            "What's it about? Did she say?"

            James shook his head. He surprised me by reaching back into his pocket and pulling out the note again. He handed it over to me. I flipped the folded parchment open and read:

            _Mr. Potter,_

_Please find your way immediately to my office._

_M. McGonagall_

            Ech, that sounded ominous.

            But what could she want–

            Oh.

            Oh, right.

            "Ah," I muttered shortly, pursing my lips and handing the note back to James. "Right. Of course. I forgot again. The thing with the thing in the place with the lads. Sounds successful."

            James's eyes went a bit wide, though why he was surprised that I'd figured this out, I have no idea. He hesitated for a moment, then began to speak. "You know, it's not–"

            "Please don't tell me," I interrupted, holding up a halting hand. Then added quickly, "If you even _were_ going to tell me. You probably have some sort of manly Marauder code that stops you from divulging all your doings or whatever. That's fine. Keep them to yourself. If it was bad enough, I figure I'll hear all about it through the gossip grapevines in the morning, anyway. Let me sleep easy for one more night, all right?"

            James raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you _wanted_ me to get into trouble."

            I thought I wanted a lot of things.

            "Yes, well, I've changed my mind," I answered, and began to gather together my books. I checked the clock–8:56–and reached down to grab my bag from the floor once again. "You better get going," I said, throwing my notes inside. "You know how McGonagall is. I figure immediately means you're already late."

            "She can wait," James insisted, a confused sort of slowness filling his words. I could feel his eyes on me as I quickly finished packing and rose from my seat. "I'll walk you back up to the Tower."

            I shook my head, perhaps a bit too frantically. "No. No, don't be silly. It'd be completely out of the way. And McGonagall _can't_ wait."

            "Lil." I had begun to step away from the table, but James grabbed my wrist, halting my movement. Reluctantly, I let my eyes drift towards his. His gaze was sharp...and something. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.

            "What? No. Of course I'm not angry with you. Why would I be angry with you?" Possibly for the first time, I wasn't sure whether I was lying or not. It was an unsettling realisation. "Are you angry with me?"

            "No," James said, though not with any particular amount of force or conviction. His eyes were still flickering over my face. I squirmed. I wondered if he might be lying, too.

            "Good, then." I twisted my wrist and pulled, feeling a strange sort of jump in my stomach when James easily released his hold on me. I dropped my hand back down to my side. "No one is angry with anyone. Except maybe McGonagall. You really shouldn't keep her waiting. And I should get back to my room. It's...I'm tired. It's been a really long day."

            "I'm sorry," James said.

            My heart stopped inside of my chest.

            Sorry.

            He was sorry.

            I readjusted my bag on my shoulder. "What?"

            "I'm sorry," he said again, and I'll be damned if my entire body didn't sigh at the words, a wealth of relief rushing over me. Then, "I'm sorry that your day has been so rotten. Tomorrow will be better. Probably."

            Oh.

            Oh, right, of course. 

            He was sorry about my day.

            That's...that's nice of him.

            I don't know if the smile I sent him then was strained. I might have succeeded in hiding it, but it sure as hell felt strained to me. "Right. Thanks, then. Here's hoping. Night."

            "Lily–"

            But I didn't stay to hear him finish. Whatever words were supposed to come after my name were drowned out by the sudden whoosh that flew past my ears as I strode quickly from the library, my heartbeat pounding with every hard step of my feet. And James– _my_ James. Mold James. Some James–didn't come after me. He stayed right where he was, or went off to McGonagall's, or didn't, I don't know. All I know is that he wasn't with me. By the time I'd crossed into the corridor, I was practically jogging. I just wanted to be away from there.

            And I _know_ I shouldn't be feeling this way. I _know_ that it's completely ridiculous and completely hypocritical and utterly unrealistic to expect that James would just toss aside every natural private inclination he's ever had and just bear his soul to me whenever I decide I'd like to hear about it. That's not life. That's not _normal_. And yet here I am, lying all miserably in bed, disappointed. And hurt. And maybe a little angry, I don't know.

            And for Merlin's sake, it's _not_ like I'm one to judge. How many secrets am I presently keeping from James, hm? How many things don't I tell him on a regular basis? And I can't even _pretend_ that I'm not the biggest pathological liar this side of the Atlantic–even _without_ my mouth doing whatever it likes! Not that James really _lied_ , now that I'm thinking about it. I mean, he didn't tell me the truth, but is that even the same thing? And really, even if he may have _technically_ lied, couldn't that all be chalked up to a situational thing? Like, of _course_ he's going to lie in order to protect his tender feelings concerning his family and the embarrassment he has over his shameful conduct or whatever exactly happened last year, but that _doesn't_ mean he'll lie about _everything_ –say, like, when he tells you that you are possibly the most significant thing in his entire life. He wouldn't lie about something like _that_.

            Unless...well, unless he was trying to protect _my_ tender feelings. He _did_ say that if someone was going to hurt me, he'd do something about it. He never said that person couldn't be him.

            Not that I'm...I mean, of course, he wouldn't...

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, _shit_.

            Why did he have to _do_ that? Why did he have to...have to...goddamn it, why did he have to Unmold _now_? Or was it even Unmolding? Who is the James that I left brooding in the library? And what sort of Lily am I supposed to be to make myself all right with that?

            Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Maybe I _want_ Mold-James. Maybe I'm only fooling myself when I say that I want him to go back to normal and be happy and not be the exact person that _I_ want him to be. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe it's...I don't know, a warning. You can't have a relationship with a Mold, after all. Eventually, the Mold will break. Perhaps...perhaps it's already begun to.

            Mold-James would have told me.

            _My_ James would have told me.

            James didn't.

            In the end, I suppose he's the only one that really matters.

_______________________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
Observant Lily: Day 37  
Total Observations: 259**

****WORDS THAT RHYME WITH MOLD:  
Bold, cold, old, hold, rolled, sold, scold, strolled, unfold, controlled, withhold.

"Behold the mold that withholds the old."

"The mold that's cold is too controlled to hold."

"Be bold with the mold, scold to unfold."

Observation #259) There might be something to Divination after all.


	21. October 23rd: Navigating the Two-Way Street

**Author’s Notes:** One down, one to go. I told you it’d only take (well, about) a week. That’s a better estimate than most of my other timeframe endeavors. I think I am improving. For this chapter, many, many thanks go out to both Andie and Ben, my miracle worker betas, who somehow managed to turn this thing around in a ridiculously short amount of time, and also managed to do a stellar, brilliant job. Without them, this would be more crap than usual. Also, to Dina, whose read forty-seven versions of this chapter, one-hundred-and-forty-seven times. I hope you all enjoy...your dairy. =)

 

“A good way to threaten somebody is to light a stick of dynamite. Then you call the guy and hold the burning fuse up to the phone. ‘Hear that?’ you say. ‘That's dynamite, baby.’”�  

-Jack Handy

_______________________________________

**Thursday, October 23rd, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 260**

                Some people have big, red settees and professionally-trained-to-handle-these-sorts-of-things therapists. I have a four-poster bed inside the 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory and Emmeline Vance.

                A rather fair substitution, I think.

                “Emma. _Em_.”�

                It was sickeningly easy to accost the girl in the early hours of the morning. Emma sleeps all curled up on one side of her bed (quite unlike Grace, whose various limbs tend to flail out at random with little to no warning), which is quite lovely as it leaves this nice little patch of space open beside her. This spot proved to be simply perfect for me and the cocoon of blankets I dragged along with me from my bed whilst crawling into Emma’s. 

                As I snuggled up all comfortably beside her, it was almost as if she’d been anticipating my visit and had lovingly fashioned a nice resting place for just such an occasion. It was really terribly sweet of her.

                Now if she would just get _up_ so that I could thank her properly, everything would be fine.

                “Em? Emmeline, are you awake?”�

                She made this little humming sound of protest, but seemed to remain mostly asleep despite my rather persistent attempts to nudge her otherwise. She curled more tightly into her slumber-ball. And while some might have taken this as a sign to remove themselves and their blankets from their mate’s bed and let them sleep…I am not part of that some. I am part of the some that sees this for what it really is–encouragement for the utilization of your trusty pointer finger.

                Poke, poke, prod.

                “ _Emma_!”�

                “Wzlil?”� Emma moaned groggily, her eyes blinking open. It took a few seconds for them to actually focus on me. Then, “Why’re you in my bed?”�

                Psh. So much for my warm welcome.

                Well, two could play the blunt game.

                “Have you spoken with Mac yet?”�

                “What?”�

                “I said, have you–”�

                “I heard what you said,”� Emma snapped irritably. She rubbed a bit at her eyes with a clenched fist. I was kind enough to excuse her unnecessary curtness on account of fatigue. “You want to talk about this _now_?”� she whined. “What time is it?”�

                “Early,”� I answered, because I’m pretty certain that she wouldn’t have reacted too well to the admission that the sun had only just bothered to light up the grounds all of ten minutes before. Early was a safer answer–and not even technically a lie! “I need a nice mate snuggle and chat,”� I informed her. “Time has no place in these things, Emmeline.”�

                This confession should have prompted immediate compliance. Anyone with any bit of sympathy in the world acknowledges the plea for a mately chat and snuggle with the proper amount of comfort and understanding. I suppose Emma needs to go back to Proper Mateship: The Introductory Class, however, because instead of indulging in the aforementioned chat and snuggle, she decided it was time for an interrogation.

                “A chat and snuggle? Really?”� Her eyebrows did this inquisitive wiggle nonsense. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the utter gloom mood you were drowning yourself in last night, would it?”�

                Oy, with the accusations! I bet Freud never did this to his patients. 

                “I was _not_ in an utter gloom mood,”� I snapped, glaring. “I was being contemplative!”�

                Emma–the cad–only rolled her eyes. “Contemplative? You barricaded yourself behind your bed curtains and were blasting the wireless sob station, Lily.”�

                “So I could _think_!”� I cried, and thought to add that Wanda’s Wireless Woes station is not _all_ oh-look-is-that-a-brick-tied-to-my-ankles?-Let’s-go-for-a-swim music, but knew the kind of close-minded response I would undoubtedly receive. Really, Wanda is so misunderstood. “Can I just tell you what I was thinking about, please?”� I asked before Emma could spew any further codswallop. “It’s really quite important and enlightening.”�

                I suppose I should have been more offended when all I got at that declaration was a look that clearly read, “Important? Enlightened? You?”� but considering the girl _does_ have a point there, I decided that it was not worth becoming affronted over. Instead, I comforted myself with the fact that my present ponderings were _so_ important and _so_ enlightened that Emma would clearly need to pull me out of her “Silly, Shallow, Inane”� box and drop me into the “Two Steps Away From Solving The World’s Biggest Philosophical Dilemmas”� slot, and everything would be lovely.

                Yes, indeed.

                Confucius has nothing on me.

                “All right. Let’s hear it,”� Emma said with a sigh, sounding none too enthralled at the prospect. I was not to be discouraged, despite her moans and groans. My insights would soon blow her away.

                “Trust,”� I pronounced emphatically, “is a _two-way street_.”�

                Oh, yes.

                _Brilliant_ , isn’t it?

                Too bad Emma didn’t quite see it that way.

                “Trust is what?”� she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. I let out an exasperated sigh.

                “A two-way street!”� I cried again. “It goes both ways, Em!”�

                I was waiting patiently for the epiphany moment when Emma would suddenly realise that yes, I had just solved most of the contemporary world’s (or at least my) greatest problems, when she finally spoke.

                Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so shocked to be disappointed by her response.

                “Wait a second.”� Her eyes narrowed on me. “ _That’s_ what this is about? You’re worried that James doesn’t trust you?”�

                Oh, bleeding, bloody _hell_.                

                I was pretty much a sputtering idiot after that.  

                “I didn’t say that. Did I say that? I didn’t say that.”�

                Emma sighed sympathetically. “Oh, Lily.”�

                 But I didn’t want to hear that. I didn’t want her sympathy or her “Oh, Lily,”�’s, or anything even remotely resembling any of that because all of those things generally implied that there was something to be sympathetic about. And while I know my present life is anything but perfect, I had spent the better part of Wanda’s late night shows convincing myself–no, not convincing. Figuring out. Logically and sensibly _discovering_ –that this was, in fact, _not_ a problem. 

                Or at the very least, not one that wasn’t partially my fault and couldn’t be fixed with a bit of time and patience. Sympathy could not play into that. So I wouldn’t have it. I just wouldn’t.

                But Emma didn’t quite get that.

                “Lil, what’s all this about?”� she asked before I could explain any of this, though she undoubtedly saw the alarm etched in my face.

                I considered lying. I knew it was a possibility. I mean, how much could I really tell her, anyway? It’s not as if I could be all, “James was in severe emotional pain last year due to loads of tragic family drama and he won’t tell me a thing about it or let me help or _anything_ even though he’s clearly still dealing with the remnants of it and even though I already sort of know exactly what happened,”� because then Sirius will kill me and I’m far too young to die. But it wasn’t like Emma hadn’t already guessed the crux of the problem, anyway. I could hint at what was wrong without ever going into specifics, couldn’t I? Besides, I _wanted_ to talk about it with someone. And while it would have been magnificent to get the whole thing in all its horrifying glory off my chest, I would take what I could get. 

                But now I had to figure out how to explain all of it. That’s where the problem came in.

                “It’s sort of…complicated,”� I began slowly, nibbling a bit at my lower lip. I snuggled further beneath my covers, and then just…word vomited. A lot. “I’m not saying that…I don’t think he–it’s not like…trust is a really tenuous thing, you know?”� I finally blurted out, trying to sound firm about it. “Of course it is. Because people trust in _degrees_ , you see? I mean, I _trust_ James, but that doesn’t mean that I want to be spilling out my every thought and deeply hidden secret to him. Why the bloody hell would I do something like that? And if _I_ won’t do it, I can hardly expect _him_ to.”� I paused for a moment, letting out a quiet sigh. “That’s just not right. It’d be entirely hypocritical. So until _I_ can do what I’m expecting _him_ to do, I can’t go around being all cross and bitter about it. I have to _trust_ that there’s a reason he’s not telling me things–and _that’s_ the two-way street. Trust goes both ways. I have to trust his judgment _not_ to tell me things just as much as I do when he does!”�

                My less-than-stellar explanation had ended on a pointed note, but it all came out in such a rush and with such desperation that I didn’t have time to consider whether I was making the least bit of sense to anyone but myself. I hadn’t realised how nervous I was about it until it was out of my mouth and floating around in the world and Emma was staring at me all silent and wide-eyed. I couldn’t tell if that meant that she was startled by my astuteness or simply trying to discover a way to let me down gently. But I went over the argument in my head again and it still sounded logical to me. 

                The way I saw it, I could have taken this thing two ways: one, I could have completely melted down. I could have decided that the James I had come to know was nothing more than a mirage and how could you begin a relationship with a mold-mirage? You _can’t_. And I could have seen this whole not-trusting-me-enough-to-tell-me-about-his-family dilemma as just the first very large step in the direction of De-Molding, and what does it say about me–and _us_ –that I couldn’t stand that? That I didn’t _like_ that James? That I would rather a fake James that constantly obliged me than a real James that didn’t? These thoughts were there. I was not going to lie and pretend that they weren’t. They were.

                But there was also a second way I could go. And this second choice came down to one thing.

                Was I willing to lose James over this, or not? 

                Because that’s what would happen if I let all of this madness run rampant inside of my head. I know myself well enough to recognize that I’m already skittish about running into this relationship as it is, if I _also_ have the added pressure of questioning every damn thing James does or doesn’t do, I’ll ruin it. It will all fall apart. And maybe I’m slightly uneasy about a lot of this, but that’s one thing I just…No. I couldn’t take that. I didn’t want to lose James. Not as a person, not as a mate, not as a…I don’t know. Whatever he might be one day. That was just…not an option.

                So I forced myself to sit and think about all of this rationally. I pumped up Wanda and her wailing tunes and just _thought_. And at the end of it all, the one thing that really stuck out was something Remus had said to me yesterday, right before he’d left the courtyard–the bit about James perhaps needing to figure out who he was without fitting into anyone’s mold of him. Because the thing is…hell, don’t we _all_ have to do that at some point? That’s part of growing up, isn’t it? So what if James has a bit more to sort out than the rest of us? No one’s perfect. And the fact of the matter is, whatever part of James isn’t truly himself right now, there’s still a substantial part of him that _is_. And regardless of last night, _that’s_ the part I’ve grown to care about. I know it is. And that’s what’s important.

                Because last night was an anomaly, not the norm. I had to remember that. And it was like I’d just told Emma–if I ever wanted this thing between James and me to work out, I had to stop worrying about him trusting me and work on trusting _him_ instead. One I could control, the other I couldn’t. And if James didn’t feel comfortable confiding in me about the Rosiers and his mother and everything else that had happened last year… I had to accept that. I had to _trust_ that he was doing it not to slight me, but to protect himself. It’s not easy to throw your own self-preservation to the wind like that, even for someone you care about. Anyone could understand that.

                The two-way street was important. We both had to work at it. And I was…well, perhaps not _glad_ about it, per se, but I accepted it. It was an integral part of relationships. And as much as that word still makes me want to scratch at a newly-formed hive, it was getting easier to say. Which was certainly improvement, no?

                Of course, it was.

                Which probably meant I was maturing. It was bound to happen at some point.

                I was going through all of this in my head again, reassuring myself that I hadn’t completely lost my mind, as Emma continued to stare blankly at me, silent. I waited for her to say something, but it became obvious that she needed some prompting in that direction. I cocked an eyebrow at her and prodded her along. “Emma? Well?”�

                “You thought of that all on your own?”� she finally asked.

                I shrugged. “With the help of Wanda’s Wireless Woes.”�

                It took a moment, but an impressed smirk soon spread across Emma’s face.

                Huzzah!

                I _knew_ she’d see it my way eventually.

                “You know, Lily, I reckon that _does_ have a touch of enlightenment to it.”� I was so pleased by the words, I didn’t even gripe at her blatantly disbelieving tone. Or even when she added, “And is much more sensible than I expected from you, in all honesty.”�

                “No worries,”� I assured her instead, beaming happily. “I was quite startled by my own rationality, as well. Didn’t know I had that side to me.”�

                “You must be growing wise in your old age.”�

                “Well, clearly.”�

                We had ourselves a nice little giggle at that one, which made me decide that Emma probably wasn’t so rotten at this snuggle and chat thing, after all. Perhaps she just needed a few moments to get into the swing of things.

                “Now it’s your turn,”� I told her after our girlish moment had passed. I sat up, quite giddy with accomplishment and maturity. “Don’t you see? The two-way street works just as well for you! You never answered my question. Have you spoken to Mac yet?”�

                Emma looked a bit panicked at my sudden flipping of the conversation. She grappled for an excuse. “Wait a second, we hadn’t finished talking about you yet! What did James do? What happened last night?”�

                “It doesn’t matter. I’ve let it go,”� I replied quickly, though I’m not entirely certain whether this was the truth or if I was suddenly just as anxious not to talk about my problems as Emma was. Probably a bit of both. Either way, I wasn’t letting Emma off the hook. “Now we’re talking about you. Answer my question, Diverting Donna. Have you spoken to Mac yet?”�

                Emma squirmed uncomfortably about in the bed, but eventually muttered out a response. “I smiled at him in the corridor the other day. Does that count?”�

                “Um. No.”� Honestly. Smiling at him in corridor? Psh. “What exactly are you waiting for, Emmeline? It’s been weeks since he gave you the letter! Does Grace have to shove you into him again in order to get you to talk?”�

                “ _No._ ”� Emma visibly blanched. “Merlin, that was _so_ mortifying.”�

                “Well, _someone_ had to do something,”� I stubbornly declared. “If we left it up to you, you’d be puttering around decrepit with a walking stick before you decided to give the poor boy another chance. He’s clearly sorry, Em. And if _I_ think you should forgive him–and need I remind you the whole slew of silly problems that boy caused me this year?–than you damned well should, too!”�

                I don’t think Emma quite knew what to do with that. She started a helpless tirade of little words, her mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. “I don’t…it’s not…but–“

                “But nothing!”� I cut in firmly, giving her my best pointed stare. “It’s a two-way street, remember? You have to trust that Mac had his reasons for not telling you about all the Potions business. That’s how it works!”�

                “You say that as if it’s _easy_ ,”� Emma complained, looking quite discouraged.

                “Of course it’s not easy,”� I replied, understanding all too well. “But what’s your other option? Being miserable and alone, that’s what. And what sort of option is that?”�

                 “A bad one,”� Emma finally confessed, giving me hope that the two-way street fervor might have caught her, as well. I knew I had hidden brilliance. It just took a while to develop.

                This time, I was the one who got to nod all sympathetically. “Yes, indeed. Now what are you going to do about it?”�

                Emma seemed to be thinking about that. She burrowed a bit in her covers and pursed her lips in that, “Hmmm,”� sort of way she has, and even though the answer was obvious– _talk_ to the boy! Forgive him! Snog him! _Something!_ –I suppose it was only proper for me to wait and let her sort it out on her own. After all, how long had everyone waited around for me to sort out my feelings for James? Only about an eon or so. I could at least give Emma a few minutes.

                …though if she took too long, awfully sorry, but someone would have to step in. Someone with meddling skills and a recent enlightened breakthrough, perhaps?

                Yes, I think so.

                “Maybe…maybe I’ll talk to him today,”� Emma finally said, and I very nearly cheered. As it was, I smiled goofily and gave her the thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes and blushed, muttering an embarrassed, “Stop it.”�

                “What?”� I tried to look stern, but I was far too pleased with myself to do a proper job of it. “I’m being supportive!”�

                “You’re being smug,”� Emma muttered dryly. I thought about correcting her, but what was the point? I _was_ smug. Didn’t I deserve to be? I was sensible so rarely.

                “I think this chat has been very beneficial,”� is what I said instead, nodding in a definitive manner. “We are clearly ace chat and snugglers.”�

                “Grace is going to be very bitter that we didn’t include her,”� Emma said, glancing over her shoulder towards where Grace was still fast asleep in her four-poster. “Perhaps we should go wake her up?”�

                I pulled a face, watching as Grace shifted in her bed and her arm flailed in a sweeping arch. “ _You_ can go wake her up,”� I told Emma flatly. “I don’t want my eye poked out by a wayward limb–though I suppose I’m already planning on a Hospital Wing trip. What’s one more injury?”�

                “Hospital Wing?”� Emma’s brow furrowed. “What’d you do?”�

                I lifted my still bandaged wrist up for inspection. “I have to get the bandage changed. Plus, it’s still horridly ugly. It’s not fair that Pomfrey likes my company so much that she doesn’t heal me properly in order to extend my visits. I think I’m going to have a firm chat with her about it.”�

                Emma gave my wrist a concerned look. “It’s _still_ not healing? What exactly was in that acid?”�

                I shrugged my shoulders, wondering the same thing myself. “Who knows? I just don’t heal well, I suppose. Remember my ankle? That thing _still_ twinges and I’ve had it healed about forty-seven times.”�

                “Maybe you _should_ talk to Pomfrey,”� Emma said. “That’s not normal.”�

                I nodded, even though I really wasn’t much concerned–I was hardly dying, after all, just a bit damaged. And all things considered, I was far more worried about my mental health than I was my physical. Though both have a tendency towards occasions of peril, one occurs far more frequently than the other.

                “So here’s the thing,”� Emma announced, after we had both regarded my woebegone wrist for a proper amount of time. She was staring at me all pointedly now. “If I’m going to talk to Mac, you’ve got to speak with James.”�

                My eyebrows lifted. “Speak with James? About what?”�

                Emma shot me a look. “It’s all well and good that you’ve accepted this two-way street business, but maybe you should introduce James to the concept, as well. So that he’s aware there’s a problem.”�

                “He’s aware that there’s a problem,”� I muttered flatly, trying not to wince. “I sort of abruptly ditched him at tutoring last night.”�

                Emma didn’t look nearly as surprised about that as I thought she would. Perhaps that had something to do with the whole barricading-myself-behind-my-bed-curtains-when-I-got-back bit. Or perhaps it was just a, “Running away? Classic Lily reaction,”� moment. In any case, she wouldn’t drop it.

                “I still think you should talk to him,”� she told me. She paused and tauntingly lifted her eyebrows. “Unless, of course, you don’t _trust_ James to trust _you_.”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

                Go ahead and push the knife a bit deeper, Em. Might as well give it a little twist, as well.

                “Ouch,”� was all I could say. Emma hastily shook her head.

                “I’m not saying he _doesn’t_.”� She looked as if she meant it, but I couldn’t be sure. “All I’m saying is that there’s no use in having a two-way street if you’re the only one driving along it. You should let James know that the, er… roadblock’s been moved! See?”�

                No, I did not see. I thought that was the stupidest idea I’d ever heard. But I knew Emma, and I knew that for all her seeming sweetness and meekness, the girl had a head like a brick wall. She was more obstinate than I was. So even though I had zero intention of doing so (I mean, honestly, could you imagine it? “Hullo, there, James. Care to _trust_ me this morning?”�), I nodded my head in a most thoughtful manner and muttered out a grudging, “Yeah, perhaps. I suppose we should chat.”�

                That’s right. Chat. About the weather. Or Charms. Or hippopotami. _Not_ the level at which we were willing to expose our inner selves to one another. 

                And if Emma didn’t make me agree to something more specific than that, it was her own damned fault.

                Emma and I continued with our chat and snuggle until she realised what time it was, looked at me as if I were mad and then kicked me out of her bed so that she could go back to sleep. I tried to argue that time was just a number, she was already up, and it was just plain rude after all our extensive bonding to toss me aside like an old Chocolate Frog wrapper, but Emma was already curled into her little ball of slumber, her eyes contentedly closed. 

                I considered disturbing her peace, but figured newly matured witches probably didn’t do things like that. So I flopped back onto my bed, as well, even though I couldn’t really sleep. Instead, I revised a bit for our Charms exam, then wrote this down. And now that that’s done, I think that I’ll shower and then get on with my Pomfrey visit. I’m sure that she will be quite delighted to see me.

                Right. Good plan.

_______________________________________

**Later, Hospital Wing**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 261**

                I am going to kill him.

                _Kill_ him, do you understand? With my wand, or a desk, or a painfully blunt quill, or my own _bloody hands_ if need be _,_ but in any case he is going to DIE and I am not going to feel BAD or SORRY or ANYTHING AT ALL except HAPPINESS because he will be GONE AND AWAY. FOREVER.

                The _bastard_. The complete and utterly traitorous, backstabbing _bastard_! I can’t believe he did it. I can't _believe_ it! After everything that I did–the wholebloody _night_ I spent rationalizing!–and then he goes and does _this_? As if it doesn’t even _matter_? As if what I feel, or asked, or he _promised_ mean _nothing?_ And I don’t give a bloody damn that he technically did it before I spent the _whole ruddy night_ trying to salvage our damn relationship–or whatever the hell it is now that I’m going to _murder_ him–because that’s not even…that’s _so_ not… _Merlin_.

                He said he'd stay out of it.

                He bloody fucking _said_ he'd stay out of it, and I _trusted_ him to mean it.

                AND THEN HE WENT AND DID IT, ANYWAY.

                And I had no idea. Didn’t suspect it for a single, damned second, though Merlin knows I should have. I mean, he practically _told_ me last night. I just wasn’t listening. It wasn’t until I had meandered all innocently into the Hospital Wing, feeling light and refreshed after my chat with Emma, that I was hit with the truth of it. Before that, I had been perfectly oblivious, more concerned with my stupid, scorched wrist than anything else. I had hid the gross and gruesome burn behind the sleeve of my shirt figuring I would let Madam Pomfrey be nice to me for a few minutes before she caught a glance of it and somehow found a way to blame me for its lack of healing. That was the plan. It was a good plan. 

                Walking into the Wing, I put on my best smile. Pomfrey was scurrying about the room, setting things straight. She turned at the sound of the opening door.

                “Good morn–oh. It’s you."

                Seriously. Just like that. That was my warm, welcoming greeting from the delighted Hogwarts Healer–“Oh. It’s you.”�

                Bloody hell, _manners_ , much?

                My smile dropped into a frown. “Er, yes. Me.”�

                But if Pomfrey saw my confusion or sensed the injustice of her unfriendliness, she didn’t show it. In fact, if anything, she gave me an even _more_ scathing look, snapping a white bed sheet with more force than was really necessary.

                “I’ve had quite the night,”� she muttered as she smoothed the sheet out on the cot, as if that innuendo should mean something to me. She was staring at me with disapproval and seemed to be waiting for a reply.

                I shrugged my rucksack higher up my shoulder and shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Um. Sorry?”�

                Pomfrey turned away at my confused apology, mumbling under her breath. I couldn’t hear what she was going on about, but from her tone, I imagined it wasn’t too nice.

                What exactly was happening here? I thought we were mates!

                As Pomfrey went to her desk and began sorting through papers, muttering to herself as she did so, I shuffled towards an empty cot and sat down on the end. I dropped my rucksack to the ground and waited for the woman to quit puttering around all bitterly and tell me what I’d done to ruin her night or morning or whatever it was that I’d done. She didn’t seem too eager to do so. I sat there for a good five minutes before realising that I’d have to start up the conversation myself.

                “I just need a new bandage,”� I called as Pomfrey disappeared into a supply closet. I leaned over, trying to glance inside to see if she’d heard me, but the door blocked my sight of her and there was no reply. “Er...for my burn? On my wrist? Remember the... acid…you said I should come back…”�

                I trailed off when all my confused blabbering got in response was the sound of what I assumed to be Pomfrey moving about supplies in the closet. There were clatters and bangs and slight scraping noises, but no coherent words. The woman was ignoring me. My good mate Pomfrey. Totally and completely pretending I wasn’t there. Hmph!

                Starting to grow a bit annoyed, I was seriously considering letting out a long and pitiful diatribe about how much pain I was in and how Pomfrey was clearly a failure at healing because my wrist was still in tatters and didn’t she _care_ about us poor children that she had pledged her life to help and heal, when I was interrupted. The first petulant cry had just escaped my mouth when the Hospital Wing door opened again and someone walked in. Someone I knew. The rant died on my lips.

                “Remus.”� I stared at him in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”�

                Remus seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Judging by the way his head swiveled around at my voice, I knew that he hadn’t spotted me there until I’d spoken up. When he did, his eyes widened and he seemed nervous, as if I’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar or something. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but he covered it up rather quickly in any case. 

                I know now that it probably had something to do with what he knew and I didn’t.

                “Lily.”� He said my name a bit tightly, though he got out a small smile that seemed true enough. “I’m…er. What’re you–“

                “Mr. Lupin.”� Pomfrey came out of the supply closet, a fresh roll of bandages resting in the crook of her arm. So she _had_ been listening! “It’s quite early,”� she said to Remus, as if time had some factor in his ailments. Remus opened his mouth to say something, but Pomfrey waved his explanation off with a flick of her free hand. She pointed to the empty cot next to mine. “Sit. I’ll be back.”�

                She dropped the bandages down on an empty side table, then turned on her heel and disappeared back inside the closet. Remus shuffled over to the cot next to mine and sat down. I noticed then that he looked rather ashen, and more strained than usual. I was surprised by that. I mean, he’d seemed fine when I'd spoken with him yesterday, though I suppose our subject matter was enough to sicken any delicate fellow. Still, I didn't quite think that's what was ailing him. Apparently some bug had caught him between then and now.

                “Are you ill?”� I asked before realising what a stupid question that was. Of _course,_ he was ill. Hadn’t I just thought that he looked sickly? Didn’t he? “Sorry. Of course you are. You’re here. I’m sorry you’re sick.”�

                Remus shrugged off my apology with a jerk of his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. My immune system’s never been that strong. I catch things easily.”�

                I nodded, because of course I knew that, as well. Ever since first-year, Remus had just been one of those people who always spent an inordinate amount of time in the Hospital Wing. And it wasn’t like he was faking it, either. For one, despite his troublemaking group of mates, Remus wasn’t the sort to try to skive off class that way. He honestly likes lessons. Secondly, you couldn’t fake this kind of pallor. He really did look quite wretched. Not that I would tell him that, of course. I’m not that rude–well, not without proper provocation, anyway.

                “What’re you here for?”� Remus asked, thankfully before I could make a bigger fool of myself. I quickly lifted up my injured arm.

                “New bandage,”� I told him, and nodded towards where Pomfrey had abandoned the roll of fresh bandages on the side table. “It was supposed to be a quick visit, but I’ve somehow managed to make Pomfrey cross. She seems to have transferred blame for her horrid night onto me. Lovely, hm?”�

                I expected a chuckle, or a, “Been there,”� sort of conspiring eye roll, or at the very _least_ a smile at that. It was quite the comical Pomfrey occurrence, after all. 

                Instead, Remus visibly blanched.

                What in the _world_ …

                And maybe it says something about me (and my clearly spot-on instincts) that Remus’s strange reaction immediately made me suspicious. I didn’t consider that his condition might have suddenly worsened, or that he had perhaps had a sudden thought of something frightening, or any other codswallop explanation…I went straight to the, “What does he know?”� theory. Something was off. That had _not_ been a casual response.

                My eyes narrowed.

                “Ha!”� Remus gave a lackluster and far-too-late single chuckle, clearly trying to cover up his mistake. The pathetic laughter turned into a cough. “That Pomfrey. Mad.”�

                “Pardon?”� The Healer in question stepped out from the supply closet just as Remus let loose his little cough-quip. She didn’t look too pleased by his assertion as to her mental health and gave him a good Pomfrey-glare to let him know it. Normally, I would have felt quite guilty for getting him in trouble with the touchy Pomfrey, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to care this time.

                Remus knew something.

                I didn’t know what, I didn’t know why, but I knew that he did. And I knew that he didn’t want _me_ to know.

                I suddenly wasn’t feeling so nice and refreshed anymore.

                “Remus–”�

                “Are you two gossiping?”� Pomfrey snapped, switching her glare onto both of us now. She was distinctly ticked off at the prospect, as if we'd been sitting there plotting her murder or something. “This is a place for ill and injured students. You can hold you morning tea sessions elsewhere!”�

                 “Yes, ma’am,”� Remus replied instantly. His eyes skipped over to me briefly, but I said nothing. Pomfrey stared at me expectantly, as well, but my mind was moving too quickly to give her a contrite look or a murmured apology. 

                Because she _did_ have a reason to be angry with me, I realised suddenly, and couldn't believe that I’d forgotten it. Amos. Of _course_. If she, as Emma had suggested yesterday morning, had reason to suspect that it was me who'd put Amos into one of these empty cots the other night, she had more than a right to be giving me the cold shoulder. But she had specifically said that she’d “had quite the night.”� As in last night. I sent Amos into his colour-changing coma Tuesday night. She’d released him last night. What could be so eventful about that? And even if it had been, I had nothing to do with it. I had been in tutoring, then spent the rest of the night with Wanda. I had witnesses. Witnesses!

                But try telling Pomfrey that. She still looked as if she wouldn’t quite mind giving my neck a good, tight strangle.

                And even though I knew it may very well get me into even more trouble, I decided to ask the blunt question. Because I had the sinking suspicion that I already knew exactly what this was about.

                “Madam Pomfrey, what exactly happened last night?”�

                Pomfrey’s eyes widened. Remus sputtered out another cough, then started blabbering about Medical Charms.

                And that’s when I was sure. That’s when I knew my sinking suspicion had been spot on. Because there was only one reason why Remus would know something that I didn’t, and why he would be trying to keep it from me. And there was only one person who could have made Amos’s being released from the Hospital Wing last night into a fiasco. Only one. The very same person who had turned _my_ night into a fiasco. That seems to be his forte as of late.

                My blood ran cold.

                No.

                No, no, _no_.

                I whirled on Remus.

                “ _What_ ,”� I spat out, “did he _do_?”�

                Even without an answer, I was already furious. I already knew along what lines the crime would be. Remus looked very much like he would have seriously enjoyed the earth opening up and swallowing him down whole, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. When all he managed to do was shake his head and mutter a half-hearted, “Don’t jump to conclusions…not really all that bad…”� I turned to Pomfrey. She, I knew, would tell me the truth. She wouldn’t try to sugarcoat anything for _him_.

                “What happened?”� I demanded.

                Pomfrey merely lifted her thinly arched eyebrows. Her eyes flickered over to Remus. “She doesn’t know?”� she asked.

                Remus shook his head miserably.

                I was ready to make him feel a whole hell of a lot _more_ miserable if someone didn’t _start talking soon_.

                “What,”� I snapped for the last time, “ _happened_?”�

                I think they both realised that I was about to start firing off curses, because Pomfrey finally began talking and Remus–looking entirely despondent–didn’t stop her.

                “There was a commotion out in the corridor last night,”� she finally said, her tone pointed. 

                “Let me guess,”� I muttered bitterly, unable to stop myself. “Some time around eight o’clock, wouldn’t it have been?”�

                Pomfrey nodded, as if that was necessary. “I imagine it was around then. I had just released Mr. Diggory.”� The healer’s eyebrows lifted again. “You know Mr. Diggory, don’t you?”�

                For Merlin’s sake, Poppy, this is _not_ the _time_.

                “Oh, god,”� I moaned, already seeing all sorts of scenes in my head. I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, _god_.”�

                Remus was still trying to play peacemaker, the idiot.

                “You know, maybe you shouldn’t be hearing this from–“

                “Shut _up_ , Remus.”� I lifted my head from my hands to shoot him an angry glare. Then I looked towards Pomfrey again. I had to hear this. I had to know what happened. “Go on.”�

                Pomfrey didn’t look too pleased about my ordering her about, but her need to vent her frustrations about whatever had occurred yesterday had clearly overridden that particular emotion. Her face was grim and aggravated as she recounted the rest of the story in usual blunt-and-bleak Pomfrey fashion.

                “I released Mr. Diggory last night after his”�–she shot me another pointed look here–“previous injuries had been properly dealt with. Not five minutes had passed before there was yelling out in the corridor. I ignored it at first, of course–not _my_ business to be dealing with silly student feuds–but it was getting quite loud and then there was this _sound_.”�

                Oh, bloody hell. Sounds are never good.

                “Sound?”� I repeated with dread.

                Pomfrey gave a disdainful nod. “A _squealing_ sound.”�

                A… _what_ sound?

                If Pomfrey saw my shocked consternation at this revelation, she didn’t curb her words or tone to soften the rest of the story. She had worked herself into quite a tizzy at this point, and continued with an outraged sort of vigor.

                “It was hardly my duty, but it was so alarming that I was just about to go investigate what trouble was brewing when a…a _giant pig_ comes _barging_ into _my_ Hospital Wing–“

                “It was actually a boar,”� Remus put in glumly. “James doesn’t do pigs.”�

                “– _contaminating_ my Wing and running amuck, overturning supply carts and darting beneath clean cots and _terrorizing_ my patients–“

                “That wasn’t _James’s_ fault–“

                “–and who would come _casually_ waltzing in through the door then but Mr. _Potter_ , who cared to inform me that the manic creature _tearing apart_ my Hospital Wing was in fact Mr. _Diggory_ , who would probably need medical attention once someone managed to transform him back into a boy! And he did! A broken nose and two bruised ribs! From brawling outside _my_ Hospital Wing!”�

                Remus had nothing to say to that.

                But Pomfrey wasn’t quite finished yet.

                “And _then_ , before the culprit _strolled off_ into the corridor as if nothing had happened, he just as offhandedly mentioned that it was _he_ who had sent Mr. Diggory here in the first place and hadn’t thought that he’d been ‘properly damaged and kept away’ for long enough the first time!”�

                Oh, god.

                _Oh, my god_.

                That’s when I lost it.

                Completely and utterly _lost_ it.

                But can you _blame_ me?

                “ _No_!”� I shouted, jumping to my feet. “No, he… _no_.”�

                “Yes!”� Pomfrey shouted back, seeming to be quite happy that someone was sharing her outrage, but I wasn’t even listening to her. I quickly rounded on Remus.

                “I’m going to _kill_ him, do you understand?”� I seethed, hissing the words. “I am going to find him and _murder_ him. I hope you are fine with having only two mates because _the other one is not going to survive the day_!”�

                Remus was looking distinctly alarmed. “Come on, Lily–“

                “Don’t you _dare_ ‘Come on, Lily’ me! He _promised_. I told him to stay out of it and then he goes and…and…Merlin, I’m going to kill him. _Kill_ him!”�

                “Don’t be rash–“

                “ _Rash_?”� Oh, he was _really_ pushing it. “You’re telling _me_ not to be rash? When that…that...complete and utter _moron_ went off and _attacked_ someone? And then admitted to something that he didn’t even…and _I’m_ the one who’s rash?”�

                “You know why he did it,”� Remus tried to reason, as if that were even possible. “You know how he thinks. It wasn’t–“

                But I was so far from listening to whatever the hell sort of logic Remus would try to attach to this. Because no matter what blather he pulled out of his arse, there _was_ no logic. There was no good side to this, no justification. I had known that something was up with James last night, the way he’d run in to the library all late and out of breath–adrenaline from a _fight_. Merlin, how could I not have seen it?–and was saying all those _stupid_ things about doing something if someone was going to hurt me. 

                Well, _he’d_ be the one who needed protecting now because I wasn’t going to stop at just hurting him. I would keep going until he wasn’t breathing. And then I’d transform _him_ into a bloody _boar_ and see how he bloody well liked it!

                …well, all right. Maybe I’d transform him into a plate or something. Boar is a little too difficult for me. But whatever. The sentiment is the same. And it’s not like it would even matter if I messed up some of his internal organs because he wouldn’t be needing them anymore, anyway. You know, seeing as he’d be _dead_.

                But even that wouldn’t be enough. Because no matter how much I hurt him, it wouldn’t change the fact that…well, there I was. Hurting, as well.

                He’d lied to me.

                He’d lied to me _again_.

                And this time, it wasn’t as a shield for emotional pain or because of any fault in any two-way street. It was because of his goddamn giant _ego_. It was because he couldn’t control his damned _pride_ long enough to remember that we had discussed the I’m-going-to-go-off-and-tear-Diggory-limb-by-limb idea _several_ times and every single time I’d told him to put his wand and fists _away_. I thought I’d been explicitly clear about that–I _had_ been! And if he thought that this was something that could be easily forgiven, he was in for a rude awakening. 

                 Because this wasn’t a joke. I wasn’t going to let this go. James had gone too far this time.

                I was livid. I was seething. I wanted to go find James and hex him until he couldn’t walk. He would be down in the Great Hall by now, wouldn’t he? Yes. Yes, he would. I was instantly in motion. I was bending to grab my rucksack off the ground with shaking hands before I’d decided on a plan. All I knew was that I had to do something. I needed to get away from there. I needed to find James and I needed to…needed to…

                “I have to go. I–”�

                “Sit!”� Pomfrey snapped, stepping into my path and pointing a firm finger back at the cot. She was a formidable lady, but I was ready to shove past her if I had to. Fury allows for a strength and stupidity like no other. I struggled not to glare outright as we stared each other down.

                “Madam Pomfrey,”� I bit out through clenched teeth, “I have to _go_.”�

                “Sit _down_ ,”� Pomfrey ordered again. She looked like she meant business. Her pointing finger did not waver. “I haven’t treated you yet.”�

                Oh, as if she really _cared_ about my stupid wrist!

                “It’s not–“

                “Lily,”� Remus said. “Come on. Sit down.”�

                “Don’t you tell me what to do!”� I snapped, turning furiously on him. “You’re as bad as any of them! I bet you were waiting around the corner while James did his business! I bet you hissed a few hex suggestions when he was running out of ideas!”�

                “I had nothing to do with it,”� Remus insisted quietly. “We only found out when James came back to the dorm after curfew. We had no idea he was going to pull something like this.”�

                I realise now that Remus had very little reason to lie about that. It would gain him nothing save a bit of culpability in front of Pomfrey, which I didn’t think he was much concerned over. Still, I was too furious to think that logically then. I only reacted from anger, frustration and a whole cauldron full of bitterness at my own stupidity. It was not a pleasant mixture.

                “Oh, _ha_ ,”� I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “As if I’m going to believe that! As if I would believe anything that any of you have to say ever again! You’re all rotten, bloody _liars_.”� Still fuming, I glanced back over at Pomfrey. “You can’t force me to stay here,”� I told her. “You can’t.”�

                Pomfrey looked quite ready to argue with me on that point–and probably, I’ll grudgingly admit now, had _every_ right to force me to stay, being a staff member and medical authority and all that–but she was cut off when the Hospital Wing door swung open for the third time that morning. We all watched as two younger Slytherins walked in. One of them had big, ugly, red boils covering his face. The other was shuffling about on his feet, looking distinctly guilty. Pomfrey lifted her eyes towards the ceiling.

                “Children,”� she sighed. Her eyes drifted down from the heavens long enough to shoot me a stern look. She pointed to the empty cot again. “Sit,”� she said in a voice that allowed no argument. “I’ll be back to look at your wrist in a few moments. And you,”�–she pointed at Remus–“your potion is in the closet.”�

                Then she strode off to deal with the Slytherins, crying, “What have you children done?”� as she went.

                Which left me standing there alone with Remus.

                And the thing was, I knew I could have left then. Who was really going to stop me? Yes, Pomfrey had given her dictate to remain and it was scary enough, but she was too busy screeching at the poor Slytherins to really enforce it, and Remus certainly wasn’t going to take me on. But I suppose it says something about the damn stupid, inconvenient bloody hold James Potter had somehow managed to gain over me that even through my absolute _fury_ …I wanted to give him an hour or so more to live. If only so that he could dwell in misery a bit longer at the thought of me finding out about his treachery.

                And…well, maybe there was a bit of something other than prolonging his torture, as well. Because the thing was, if I’d gone after James then and made quick work of destroying his body and eternal soul, I would probably have made quick work of my fury, as well. And if the fury was gone, some other emotion would undoubtedly take its place. And for everyone involved–but me especially–there was distinct trouble concerning what that emotion might be. I really didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to acknowledge that this could end in anything other than rage. It was easier to stay furious. 

                I had the feeling that whatever came after it was not going to bode well for either of us.

                I think that I surprised Remus, then, when I didn’t immediately head for the door. I could see he’d been expecting it, perhaps even considered trying to stop me. But when I instead dropped my rucksack back onto the ground and stomped over towards the cot again, he had to do a bit of a double-take. As I flung myself onto the cot, he watched warily.

                “Er.”� He scratched his chin, clearly confused. “Good. Stay.”�

                “Go take your potion,”� I told him in a voice that sounded hard and stony even to my own ears. “Go take your potion and then get the hell out of here and warn your mate that his bloody secret’s out. I should hate to leave him left unaware. Merlin forbid he should actually have to hear it from me.”�

                But instead of going off and doing as I asked, Remus wouldn’t let up on the voice-of-sane-wisdom routine. 

                “Look, Lily,”� he said. “I know that what he did was wrong, but just think about this, all right? You don’t want to…I’m sure you won’t like–”�

                “What?”� I snapped. “Won’t like, what, Remus? Losing the really brill and trusting relationship James and I share now? Oh, yeah. What a _pity_ to ruin that one.”�

                Remus shook his head sadly. “Don’t do this, Lily. Think. You know he thinks he did this for you. His methods are off, but his heart is in the right place. He just…”�

                “Don’t defend him,”� I said quietly. “Just…leave me alone. I need to think. Leave me alone.”�

                I imagine Remus would have kept going, but I didn’t give him much of a choice. I curled up on the cot and turned my back towards him. He gave a big sigh, but I couldn’t be bothered with his disappointment in me. I was disappointed, too. And out of the pair of us, I’d say that I had a damn sight more to be disappointed over than he does.

                But anger’s easier than disappointment, as well, so I suppose I’ll let him win that contest. Much easier that way.

_______________________________________

**Still Later, Hospital Wing**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 262**

                Remus has taken his potion and gone off, telling Pomfrey he’ll probably be back later.

                Well, at least _someone_ listens to me.

_______________________________________

**Still Still Later, Hospital Wing**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 262**

                You’d think that the woman might be a bit nicer after the morning I’ve had. Does she have no soul? No wisp of understanding or sympathy? What happened to the witch who let me hide in the Hospital Wing that one morning when my bastard definitely-more-mate-than-potential-perhaps-not- _even-_ mate-right-now was trying to accost me? I want her. Let’s get her back.

                “What have you been doing to this wrist? It’s hardly healed at all!”�

                “I haven’t done anything! My body’s crap at healing. I can’t help that.”�

                “Maybe if you worried a bit more about taking care of yourself and a bit less about your romantic troubles, you wouldn’t have such problems.”�

                Thanks, Poppy. Thanks oodles. Love you, too.

                And just for that, I’m staying here until Charms and there is _nothing_ she can do about it, even though she’s kindly told me to leave about fifty times. I have kindly told her that I am focusing on my healing, as she suggested, and what better place to do so than the Hospital Wing?

                Ha.

_______________________________________

**Later, History of Magic**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 263**

                Eventually, I had to leave the Hospital Wing. Around Pomfrey’s four-hundredth, “Miss Evans, I do believe you are _quite perfectly fine_ ,”� I glanced at the clock, saw that I had about ten minutes to get to Charms, responded with a, “Yes, I think you’re quite perfectly right,”� and finally hopped off my cot. I figure Pomfrey was probably relieved to be rid of me and my brooding misery, but was too surprised by my sudden compliance to show it. Instead, she just sort of stared. Regardless, I grabbed my rucksack, gave the crotchety woman a wave (which she did not return), and left the Wing. I had an exam to take. That’s what I was focusing on. Flitwick’s Charms exam.

                The easiest way to get to the third floor was through the Great Hall, but I wasn’t about to stroll straight into the eye of the storm (also known as the Hogwarts population) before I absolutely had to, so I took the long way to the staircases. There were thankfully only a handful of younger students milling about the stairs by the time I got there, and they were either too ignorant or too polite to point and whisper at me. That wouldn’t last, I knew. There was little doubt in my mind that word of James’s attack had already reached the ears of the public. The whispers and stares would start up soon enough. I suppose I’m almost used to them by now.

                The Charms corridor was a bit crowded when I finally reached it, but most of the seventh-years were thankfully too concerned with sticking their heads behind their textbooks and trying to fit in some last-minute revisions to notice my arrival. Unfortunately, there were the selected few who couldn’t be bothered with such academic concerns. Before I could properly fix my gaze ahead and steel my expression, I spotted Kiki Molter standing off to the side of the corridor. Julie Little was standing next to her. The pair of them gave me such looks of hatred that I actually reeled back for a moment. I’m quite glad that my exam-focused self had managed to retain enough anger to give them a frighteningly scathing glare back, however. I strode off before either of them could get up the gumption to actually say something to me.

                Keep walking. Just keep _walking_.

                Grace and Emma were standing at the far end of the corridor, their heads ducked close together as they whispered furiously. I kept my gaze on them, the light at the end of the tunnel. Emma was the first to see me coming towards them, spotting me out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze caught mine. She bit at her lower lip anxiously. Grace glanced over, as well, but didn’t bother looking worried. Naturally.

                “Lily,”� Emma said when I’d stopped in front of them. Her small smile was visibly strained. “Er. Hullo.”�

                Emma was never very good at this sort of thing.

                “Hello,”� I replied in as casual a voice as I could manage. My eyes shifted between the pair of them. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”�

                Grace cocked an eyebrow while Emma’s forehead furrowed in concern. Emma leaned in close, her voice hushed. “Have you…you’ve heard…”�

                “Heard what?”� I asked with much faux innocence. “That this Charms exam is supposed to be difficult? That I missed breakfast this morning? No? Oh. You must mean have I heard that I’m going to tear James Potter apart limb from bloody limb until there’s nothing left but gore and bones.”�

                Grace grinned. 

                “Oh, good,”� she said. “You have heard.”�

                Always a sense of humour, that one.

                “Oh, dear,”� Emma said, frowning. She looked so worried, I almost felt bad for her. “That… I understand that you’re angry, Lil, but perhaps you shouldn’t be considering murder _quite_ yet–“

                “I’m not,”� I replied calmly. When Emma began to look relieved, I added, “I have every intention of taking this Charms exam first. _Then_ I’ll murder him.”�

                Grace cackled loudly and gave my shoulder an affectionate pat. “Well, at least you’ve got your priorities straight.”�

                I nodded. “Academia first.”�

                As Grace and I grinned and giggled as only the most insane of us can, Emma continued to fret. Her hands clamped and unclamped nervously as she regarded me with a well-founded amount of wariness. I think my cool demeanor and jokes alarmed her. She had expected screaming, not snickering. I didn’t blame her, I suppose. She clearly didn’t understand–as I think Grace did–that I had reached the end of my rope.

                Didn’t you ever wonder why the madwomen in the straitjackets were always laughing?

                Well, now you know.

                After awhile, being so damn uncontrollably angry, it just got bloody _funny_. Why not giggle?

                St. Mungo’s, here I come.

                “You don’t seem…I mean, you’re taking this much better than I expected,”� Emma said, though she didn’t sound the least bit glad about it. She twirled a bit of hair on her pointer finger. “Well, not the murder part, of course, but…well, you haven’t killed anyone yet. And that’s good.”�

                “I think so,”� I said through my still-manic laughter. I couldn’t help it. It wouldn’t stop. “It’s a mad, mad world, Emmeline. And do you know what? The way I see it–and I’ve had awhile to think about this, mind you–I can do one of two things. I can go off now and _Avada Kedavra_ everyone who annoys me–which, while probably quite therapeutic, might create a bit of a legal mess that I’m not sure could be so easily explained– _or_ I can simply wait until I come across the one person who I think any jury of sensible witches would acquit me for the murder of, and effectively unleash all my pent-up fury on him. And in the meantime, I can have a bit of a giggle. It looks better for my insanity plea. Wouldn’t you agree, Gracie?”�

                I turned to Grace, ready for a nice giggle and an approving nod or two because she can so often be depended on for such things, but instead, Grace was furiously shaking her head.

                Psh. What’s this?

                “No?”� I said, with much mock indignation. “Well, then, what–“

                But it was then that I realised that I wasn’t the object of Grace’s ferocious head shaking. Instead, her eyes were locked on something–someone–located just past my left ear. I would have been gladdened by this–it was nice to know that she wasn’t so vehemently disagreeing with my very sensible thoughts–except for the fact that her head immediately ceased its movements when she noticed me staring. The strangest sort of smile spread across her face. Shooting her a look, I glanced over my shoulder to see whom exactly she was signaling behind me.

                …and spotted James’s Potter’s form quickly disappearing around the corridor corner.

                …

                Just like that…explosion.

                Really. I don’t know how else to put it. I exploded.

                “WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON, ANYWAY?”� was what I–yeah, all right–screeched at Grace, in a level of voice that can probably only be classified as earsplitting. I was too furious to be properly embarrassed, though I’m sure I was getting any number of looks from the students in the corridor. I didn’t even notice them. I was too busy glaring daggers at Grace.

                “The house elves’!”� was Grace’s shrill reply. She had the nerve to joke. “Really, Lil–blood in the corridors before nine? They’ve probably only just finished clearing breakfast.”�

                “THIS IS NOT FUNNY.”�

                “You were _laughing_ just a–“

                But I didn’t wait around to hear Grace’s silly (er, if truthful) excuses. The fucking bastard was getting away. Grace had signaled him, and now he had a head start. And even though I had been determined to remain cool and calm and collected at least until after this stupid Charms exam was over, that was all suddenly vastly unimportant. James bloody Potter was getting away, and I had to catch him. Because if I didn’t catch him, how was I supposed to kill him? The angry red hue that I’m rather certain dominated my face matched the seas of red blood I was happily envisioning spilling all over the Charms corridor. _His_ seas of red blood. The transition from witch to beast was instantaneous. I may be crap at Human Transfiguration, but I could bloody well capture the animalistic spirit when the occasion called for it.

                And at that moment, I’m afraid I may have turned rabid lion.

                Not exactly the most attractive of qualities in a girl, but there are just some things you can’t control. Unfortunately, I don’t think even old Godric Gryffindor would be proud.

                “Hold this,”� I snapped, shoving my rucksack at Emma. I didn’t give her time to do anything more than squeak the start of a protesting, “Lil–“ before I had already turned on my heel and dashed off after Prickhead Potter. I was careening around the corner before I had even bothered to settle on a plan of action.

                …I also hadn’t bothered to keep my ruddy eyes on the bloody path in front of me. This is probably why I careened around the corner and straight into Sirius Black.

                “Ugh–bloody hell, Evans,”� he said, stumbling back and grabbing my forearms. “And here I was thinking our brawl wouldn’t end in physical violence.”�

                “Where is he?”� I demanded, jerking free of Sirius’s grip as my head instantly went all a-swivel. “Where did he go?”�

                “Who?”� asked Peter, stepping out from behind Sirius.

                “Oh, don’t give me that!”� I shouted, my gaze snapping back to the pair of them. Where _was_ he? “I _saw_ him come around here! WHERE THE BLOODY HELL DID HE GO?”�

                The pair of them just stared at me as if I’d completely lost my mind–which I very well might have done, but I _knew_ what I’d seen. Grace had gone and signaled the stupid blighter and he’d scurried off around the corner. I’d _seen_ him do it. But…Merlin, where had he disappeared to, then? We were standing in one long corridor, the nearest branching hallway at least twenty meters off. There was no way he could have made it there so quickly. There was no way he could have rounded the next corner without me seeing him do it. 

                But where _had_ he gone, then? I looked and I looked, even pushing Sirius aside so that he didn’t block my vision, but James was nowhere in sight. I was getting my fair share of strange looks from the other students milling about, but not one from the person I sought.

                Which really only made me _more_ furious…if that’s possible.

                Thankfully, Sirius was there to take it out on.

                “Where did he go?”� I screeched again, turning on him with my most scathing of glares. “You’re hiding him and I want to know where!”�

                Sirius–the utter arse–merely grinned.

                “Hiding him where?”� he asked innocently, lifting his arm. “Up my sleeve?”�

                Peter gave a twittering laugh.

                I was in no mood to deal with Sirius Black’s stupid bloody witticisms and Peter Pettigrew’s ruddy annoying chuckles. With a sort of strength that I think only comes with utter rage, I shoved Sirius hard in the chest and got some distinct satisfaction when he stumbled back, catching himself on the wall behind him. He straightened out with a sort of stunned expression. Peter shut up.

                “This isn’t a _joke_ , arsehole!”� I hissed, and stuck a shaking finger right in his face. “You tell that…that _lying toerag_ mate of yours that he can hide all he likes, but I’m _still_ going to find him. And when I do–oh, when I _do_ …”�

                “What?”� Peter squeaked, eyes wide. “What’re you going to do?”�

                I didn’t answer. I just stuck him with my most murderous look and let that speak for itself.

                I suppose my point got across, because Peter gulped.

                At least _he_ got it. Sirius was just sort of staring.

                “Don’t you think you’re blowing this a bit out of proportion, Evans?”� was what he asked, though I was quite proud of the fact that even he had begun to sound a bit hesitant, as if afraid to say the wrong thing. “He didn’t _kill_ anyone.”�

                But instead of putting things in some sort of Marauders warped perspective, Sirius’s comment only served as a further kick in the stomach.

                Kill someone? No, he hadn’t.

                “Not someone,”� I somehow managed to answer tightly, my face hardening into a stony expression. I kept my eyes on Sirius’s. “Some _thing_. Something I thought was rather important to him. I hope it was worth it.”�

                Sirius’s eyes narrowed and I knew he got my meaning. And even though he looked like he had something to say to that, I didn’t want to hear it. James wasn’t there–or not where I could see, anyway. Perhaps he’d ducked into a classroom or something, I don’t know–and I didn’t feel like going a few more rounds with his mate. Because that’s the thing about my fury–it flares up quickly and impressively, but it’s just as quick to burn out. And if I stood there battling it out with Sirius, he was going to use up all my good anger that I really had to save for the proper target.

                Pivoting on my heel, I left a confused Peter and a mid-syllable Sirius behind me as I strode back around the corner and towards the Charms classroom. By then, most of the class had wandered inside, including Grace and Emma. I stomped inside without much attention and took the seat next to Emma at the front of the room. I felt some stares on my back, but not enough to cause more annoyance than I was already feeling. From my right, Grace dropped a hand onto my shoulder.

                “Sorry,”� she whispered. I could hear the wince in her voice. “I just figured you might want to think a bit more about this whole murder plot. Azkaban’s cold. And Emma mentioned something about a two-way street.”�

                Psh.

                Two-way street.

                James had killed our two-way street. Now I had to kill him.

                I shrugged off Grace’s apology, knowing that it wasn’t really her fault, not having anyone else to take my annoyance out on. I busied myself by pulling my Charms textbook out of my rucksack and burying my head in it, even though I could recite and rewrite these spells backwards and forwards. A few minutes later, Flitwick strolled into the room. I didn’t need Grace’s elbowing to know that James had slipped in after him. There was that telltale prickling at the back of my neck and I knew he was there, and probably watching me, as well. 

                Even though that should have been enough to drive me completely over the edge, I suppose Dumbledore might not have been _completely_ sloshed on Firewhisky when appointing me Head Girl, because I was somehow able to push all of it away long enough to concentrate on the exam. 

                And when class was over and I turned in my exam, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Peter turning in James’s exam along with his own and the latter already gone.

                One must give him points for self-preservation. I suppose that means Sirius passed on my message.

                I tried to be clever and sat in the back of the History classroom so that James would be forced to sit in front of me and therefore wouldn’t be able to enter or leave without passing me by, but the damn bastard (slipping in at the last second _again_ ) somehow conned Carrie Lloyd out of her seat in the last row on the opposite side of the room. So now not only does he _not_ have to pass by me to leave (he’s closer to the door), but it gives my neck an annoying crick when I attempt to stare and glare at him. _And_ he’s sitting next to Saunders, who keeps leaning in close to his ear and whispering things to him, even though he _clearly_ doesn’t care because he’s sitting there diligently taking notes like a proper Head Boy. Even though this is History of Magic. And no one ever takes notes in History of Magic. He obviously just doesn’t want to talk to her. She is too pathetic to notice that. 

                And I know it _looks_ like he sometimes replies with something other than a curt, “Shut up. I don’t care,”� but perhaps that’s just because he’s saying, “Shut up. I don’t care. You are a hag and I hate you and even though my more-or-less-mate-with-potential wants to kill me right now, she is still my mate-with-potential and you are not and so there.”�

                I was trying to read his lips, and he _could_ have said that. Or, you know, something like it.

                Double bloody fucking shit, can she just _stop_?

_______________________________________

**A Bit Later, Still in History of Magic**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 264**

 

_WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU STUPID, STUPID, MORONIC IDIOT? —LE_

_Oh, don’t you DARE be shoving these things inside your bag without reading them! OPEN THIS UP, YOU STUPID PONCE._

_You are such a COWARD, running away and ignoring my notes. What would Godric Gryffindor say, hm? I’ll tell you what he would say–he would CRY IN SHAME, Potter. CRY. IN. SHAME._

_Tell Saunders I’m sorry that my last note accelerated straight into her stupid eye. (Except that I’m not. I did it on purpose.)_

_And in case you were THINKING it, accelerating a bit of parchment into someone’s eye IS NOT AT ALL THE SAME AS PHYSICALLY MAULING THEM AND THEN TURNING THEM INTO A GIANT PIG._

_I’m not sorry about that one landing rather forcefully against her stupid, empty head, either. BUT IT’S STILL NOT THE SAME._

_I HATE YOU._

**What are you doing? —GR**

_Venting my frustrations via note. —LE_

**But he’s not reading them.**

_He’ll read them later. The sentiments will remain the same._

_I told him I hated him._

**But you don’t.**

_I could._

**But you don’t.**

_I should._

**Maybe.**

_I am furious with him–_ so _furious with him. And what’s with all this running away and ignoring my notes, hm? Why doesn’t he just face me like a man?_

**Because you’re scary. I’m sure he figures that if he waits it out a bit, you will calm down some and perhaps not be so quick to hex before thinking.**

_You think?_

**Um, no. I know. He told me.**

_HE SPOKE TO YOU?_

**Before History–kind of waylaid me while you and Emma sped ahead intent on catching him. Appeared out of bloody nowhere. He’s a wreck, Lil. And what’s this about him ‘killing’ something?**

_Heard about that, did he?_

**Sounded like it. He kept saying it. “She’s not serious, is she? She’ll calm down, won’t she? I haven’t killed it, have I?”� Full of questions, that one.**

_I hope he chokes on them._

**What happened to your two-way street, then? I thought you were working on the trust thing?**

_Ha! Because he’s so trustworthy. Forgive me if my lane suddenly spouted up a few massive roadblocks._

**Lil. Come on. So he duffed up Diggory? The git deserved it. And James is a bloke–a bloke who thinks the sun rises and sets on your silly, little head, might I remind you. They’re not known for using their words.**

_But I told him to stay out of it. And he said he would–I trusted him to keep his word!_

**Just think before you hex, Lil. That’s all I’m saying. Because clearly James didn’t, and here we are.**

_Shut up, Grace._

_______________________________________

**Still a Bit Later, Still Still in History of Magic**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 264**

I don’t want to think before I hex. I want to _hex_ before I hex. I want to take my fingers and wrap them around his stupid neck and wring until there is nothing left to wring and then hex him postmortem. I don’t want to be the bigger person. The bigger person is the most stodgy, annoying, crap person to be. And he can’t just get _away_ with this. I won’t let him. It’s not bloody fair. He did something wrong–something _very_ wrong–and now he should have to pay. Justice should prevail!

                And I don’t care if they’re all bloody right and it’s utter rubbish because it’s just not _possible_ to hold onto an erupting volcano of anger for so bloody _long_ , even though he _deserves_ a volcano eruption right on his stupid head. I am determined to retain it. I will not calm down. I _won’t_.

                AND IF THAT STUPID BLOODY SLAG DOES NOT STOP TOUCHING HIM SHE WILL BE THE FIRST TO GO.

_______________________________________

**Still a Bit Later, Lunch**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 265**

                Well, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?

                James has been called to Dumbledore’s office.

                Yes, that’s right. Dumbledore. The Headmaster. The be-all-end-all. The one who rarely gets involved in stupid, student disciplinary cases because he is a big, important wizard and has much more significant things to do with his mornings like saving the world and similar endeavours. _He’s_ called James to his office.

                Oh, god, what if James loses Head Boy over this? What if he’s suspended? Or _expelled_? Because of _me_?

                And I haven’t even gotten the chance to bloody _speak_ to the idiot yet!

                All of this information came through Grace, who seems to have–disloyally enough–claimed herself bloody neutral and is flitting between both camps at her own whim. I would be more upset about this ultimate best mate betrayal if it weren’t for the fact that without her, I would basically know nothing, seeing as James has still somehow managed to keep successfully dodging me every step of the way. So I decided to cut my losses and reap what benefits I could from her treachery.

                “Problem,”� was the first thing Gracie said as she slid into the spot next to me at the Gryffindor table a few minutes after Emma and I had arrived for lunch. She was a bit out of breath, as if she’d dashed her way here–which she very well might have done–and had that jittery look that she gets when she’s got something big to say. James was not in the Great Hall.

                “Another one?”� Emma asked with a tired sigh, drooping over her plate of salad. “I thought we’d run out at this point.”�

                “Karma,”� was all I muttered, though I did seriously consider lifting my fist into the air and giving an angry shake or two towards the Heavens. Someone up there had severe qualms with me. I wish I knew why. 

                “It’s not over yet,”� Grace said, shaking her head. “I’ve just spoken to James–“

                “Really? How nice for you.”�

                “–and Dumbledore’s called him in for a meeting after lunch.”�

                My mouth slammed shut.

                Double bloody fucking _shit_.

                “Oh, dear,”� Emma said.

                “ _What_?”� I choked out.

                Grace nodded. “I know. He thought McGonagall had chewed him out enough last night for three professors–oh, and then there’s Filch. Did you know James’s got a week’s detention? And that bloody caretaker’s already been taunting him about how he’s going to be polishing plaques in the trophy room tonight until his arm falls off. How rubbish is that? It’s like–“

                “Grace,”� I interrupted with a look. “ _Dumbledore_.”�

                “Right. Sorry.”� She grinned sheepishly, then went on. “James got the note after History. He’s to go during Transfiguration, so I suppose Dumbledore and McGonagall have had a chat. The note was polite enough, and James didn’t seem particularly worried over it, but I don’t know. It’s Dumbledore, after all. He and James are chummy enough, I think, but the old codger could do anything.”�

                “But he wouldn’t…I mean, you don’t think he’d…”� I left the question unfinished. The words kept getting caught in my throat. Grace could only grimace and shrug.

                “Dunno,”� she said.

                That was not the answer I was hoping for, and proved to be radically less than reassuring. And even though I was still cross– _am_ still cross. Extremely so!–I couldn’t stop myself from worrying.Because even though he’s a manipulative, lying, stupid, bastard git…well, he probably still has like, one good quality. You know, deep down inside. 

                Plus, a seventeen-year-old witch is comprised of mostly hormones and while they’re not the most intelligent of sorts, they _do_ know what they want, so really, it’s not my fault that while my brain’s all, “Off with his head!”� they’re all, “Um, can we snog it first?”� Hormones are silly and impressionable like that. And slaggish. Which turn _me_ slaggish. And slaggish people don’t like when the object of their slaggishness could possibly be taken permanently away from them…even if said object is a giant prat. He’s a hormone-approved, giant prat. Which makes not worrying about him extremely difficult and frustrating.

                So because of that–and _only_ because of that–my mind began jumping to the worst sorts of possibilities. James’s track record is spotty at best. Between all the pranks he and his mates thought it fine and dandy to pull and whatever exactly had happened last year, I panicked over the fact that this might be some sort of last straw. What if Dumbledore thought this meant James had reverted back to his old ways? What if he thought James wasn’t stable enough to stay in school? What if he… bloody hell, there were too many possibilities. Too many bad, horrible, all-my-fault possibilities.

                And my hormones just couldn’t deal with that. They just couldn’t.

                But Dumbledore had been the one to give James Head Boy in the first place, my brain was kind enough to reason. He did it despite James’s shady past and impulsive nature. That had to count for something, didn’t it? So he wouldn’t…I mean, he _couldn’t_ …could he?

                I don’t know. Grace was right. The old codger _could_ do anything.

                As I was sorting all of this out in my head (with both my brain and my hormones throwing in their two Knuts at will), Emma and Grace continued their quiet conversation regarding the impending meeting.

                “People throw punches at one another all the time,”� was Grace’s logic. “Why should James get in more trouble than anyone else for doing it?”�

                “But he’s Head Boy,”� Emma answered. “That’s important.”�

                Grace let off a loud scoff. “So what? Lily’s Head Girl and she’s the one who put the blighter in the Wing in the first place!”� 

                Which was just spectacular mately moral support and I let her know it with the dirtiest look I could muster.                 

                “Firstly,”� I cut in, holding up an objecting finger, “do not compare me to that lying, backstabbing, git-on-a-stick. The situations were different in every possible way. And secondly, if you’d care to remember, I’m no longer _responsible_ for putting the blighter in the Wing in the first place. James took credit for that, as well!”�

                “Only so that you wouldn’t get into trouble,”� Grace said. “If you ask me, the bloke was being rather chivalrous.”�

                I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yes. He’s a regular Galahad.”�

                But despite my facetious wit, Grace wasn’t letting up. She seemed quite put out with me, even though I should have been the one put out with her, the traitor.

                “Do you know what James _is_ panicked over?”� she asked with an extremely pointed look in my direction. She didn’t wait for a reply. “Not Dumbledore–the prat couldn’t give a fig about that. He’s too busy fussying over _you_. Why’d you have to go and tell him you hated him?”�

                Ha. So he _had_ read them!

                “Because I do!”� I shot back stubbornly, but when all I got in response to that was eye rolls, I added grudgingly, “Well, I’m _thinking_ about it.”�

                “Well, _he_ doesn’t know that,”� Grace muttered, as if I should care. Her eyes suddenly went all twitchy. She grabbed a roll from out of the basket and took a large bite. She was chewing so furiously that I almost didn’t hear her when she added, “…or at least, he _didn’t_ until I told him you were full of it.”�

                THAT TRAITOR.

                “ _Grace_!”� I smacked her hard in the arm, not even caring that I did it so forcefully that she choked a bit and dropped what remained of her roll onto the ground. “What the bloody hell did you go and do that for?”�

                Grace–recovering quite annoyingly quickly from my petty abuse–merely shot me an irritated look and reached over to grab the sandwich off my plate. She took a hefty bite. “Cuz ‘is t’ _truf_ ,”� was her full-mouth response.

                Like _that_ was a legitimate excuse!

                “What’s the truth got to do with any of it?”� I asked, throwing my hands up in frustration and bringing them back down onto the table with a loud smack. “This is _war._ There’s no place for truth in war!”�

                “Oh. Okay, then, Deb Drama.”�

                “You had no right–“

                “But you _don’t_ hate him,”� Emma interceded, cutting off my angry, bitter tirade about the rights of neutral parties and how easily such people can just be knocked off the face of the Earth for the better of the fight, and what-did-she-think-about-that-eh? Emma was all about the sensible, non-tirade. She stared at me imploringly. “You were so rational this morning. What happened to that? I think part of the two-way of the street is accepting the other person when they botch things up, isn’t it?”�

                Oh, she _would_ go and try to turn that bloody rubbish on me.

                “I think there are certain limitations to the ‘blotch up’ clause,”� I answered bitterly. “It doesn’t cover betrayals and _boars_.”�

                “It could have been worse,”� Grace replied thoughtfully. She was still eating my sandwich. “He could have transfigured the dunce into a cockroach and stepped on him. Or an ant. Imagine trying to find one little ant! Oh, that would have been bloody _priceless_.”�

Observation #265) GET. NEW. MATES.

_______________________________________

**Later, Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 265**

                There’s nothing I can do. He’s there, and there’s nothing I can do. And in the end, there’s nothing I should _have_ to do, even if I could. I am not responsible for the stupid decisions that he makes. That is not my job. Even if I were his bloody _wife_ , I still wouldn’t be accountable for the rubbish he pulls, much less as merely his more-or-less-mate-with-potential. It’s all him. _All_ him.

                I think.

_______________________________________

**Still Later, Transfiguration**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 265**

                Not that I would _ever_ think of something as utterly idiotic as _marrying_ him. Please. Not even in my lowest of the low slag moments. That would be…for Merlin’s sake, I can’t even last twenty-four hours without wanting to kill him at least once. Could you imagine? I’d be thrown into Azkaban for husband-icide in a matter of days. And I’d probably be _relieved_ because at least then I’d be away from him.

                Right.

                Merlin, how stupid.

_______________________________________

**Still Later, Still in Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 265**                 

                You know what? I think I might _actually_ hate him.

                Hate him.

                HATE. HIM.

_______________________________________

**More Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 265**

                He hasn’t been expelled. Or suspended. Or dethroned as Head Boy.

                As far as Grace could discern from Sirius (who is her only source of information now seeing as James is back in hiding, the bastard), Dumbledore and James had a long chat filled with strict warnings and disappointment in his actions, but nothing more permanent than that.

                I don’t know whether or not to be relieved.

                I mean, of course I’m _relieved_ –I’m not responsible for the desecration of someone’s future! Huzzah!–but at the same time…bloody hell, how does he do it? How, even when he is _so completely wrong_ , does he somehow wiggle out of serious repercussions? Why does everyone just let the stupid git off? I mean, even _Dumbledore_ is sucked into the James Potter curse.

                And if he’s even corrupted Dumbledore, what chance do I stand?

                Because I’m still angry. I really, honestly am. And more than angry, I’m…hurt. And upset. And confused about where exactly I’m supposed to go from here. Because last night, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m not good at this whole trust and relationship business, but I think I would be a damn sight better at it if I didn’t constantly need to be thinking about it because it’s constantly being compromised. 

                And I _know_ that it’s not all James’s fault–I am not perfect. Who’s the one who brought Amos into this situation in the first place? Who tried (even with the best of intentions) to push James away throughout the whole thing? That’d be me. And it’s not like I don’t have secrets, as well. I do. Probably more than James even, though you can never really tell with him. But every time I give an inch, he does something like this and then I want to scurry back three and I’m so _sick_ of it. And he should know that–preferably loudly and with a few good hexes to add necessary sternness. But I don’t want to…I don’t think I could…

                I don’t hate him. Maybe I should, but I don’t.

                But I _am_ angry, and we _do_ need to have a long, perhaps loud, conversation. Except that he keeps _hiding_ , which makes the whole thing substantially more difficult. And while I can (grudgingly) admit that perhaps it was intelligent to stay away from me this morning when I was not in the mindset to talk before I hexed, now he’s just making it worse. Now I’m cross at him for _still_ hiding. I mean, honestly, doff your Gryffindor cap and face me already! 

                Grace says she thinks James will give it until tomorrow, seeing as he’s still a bit skittish over the whole “I hate you”� business. That’s such rubbish. Does he honestly want to give me _more_ time to think? Because let me tell you, this is as rational as I get. I know better than to hope that he’ll just show up to dinner, but I wish there was a way I could corner him, a time when I _knew_ he’d have to be somewhere and couldn’t get away or sneak in late or leave early or any…

                Wait a second.

                Bloody hell, of _course_.

_______________________________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 265**

                Eight o’clock.

                Third floor.

                Right.

                Thank you, Gracie.     

_______________________________________

**Later Later, Trophy Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 266**

All right.

                So perhaps as far as great, brilliant plans go, this _might_ not have been one of my better attempts.

                Bloody _hell_ , this floor is uncomfortable. And I’ve never been more aware of my long, gangly legs than now, when I have to fold them up into this tight, little space in between the trophy cases. But I checked, and if I let them loose any more than this, someone will be able to spot me from the doorway. And while I’m sure that neither James nor Filch will be waltzing in here looking for the witch stowaway hiding in the corner between the cases waiting to finally confront her more-or-less-mate-with-potential, I’d rather not take my chances.

                Yes, that’s right. I’m crashing James’s detention. What of it?

                Grace thought it was a good idea–or at least, that’s what she said when I told her and Emma about it as we were walking back to Gryffindor Tower after dinner. You know, after she’d stopped laughing so hard.

                “Good _Merlin_ , Evans!”� she’d cackled, practically slapping her knees in overwhelming mirth. We had to stop in the corridor for a moment in order for her to contain herself. “Attack when he’s vulnerable! No way to escape! _Devious._ ”�

                “It’s not like that,”� I tried to protest, crossing my arms over my chest in discomfort because it basically _was_ that. I didn’t want Grace to know that, however, so I tried to apply some false practicality to the situation. “There’s no other time when I know exactly where he’s going to be. That’s what this is about. He keeps hiding. We need to have a long, stern chat.”�

                “Why don’t you just wait for tomorrow?”� Emma asked, looking none-too-comfortable with my plan. I don’t think she trusted me alone with James–which she might just have a point to be fretting about. Regardless, I was determined. I pouted in pure stubbornness.

                “My life is never static. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I need to do this now.”�                

                “I think it’s a fab idea,”� Grace declared, her endless and obnoxious laughter finally fading enough to allow coherent speech. She was still grinning like a loon as we began to walk again, however. “You and James can have a nice, stern chat, then a nice, stern snog. It will do wonders for your complexions.”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

                “There will be _no_ snogging,”� I said sternly, shooting Grace a glare. Honestly, like my hormones needed any ideas. “What sort of tart do you think I am? James was _wrong_ , Gracie. I’m not going to snog him for it!”�

                Grace rolled her eyes as if I was the one missing something entirely obvious, then muttered an exasperated, “I _said_ you could have your stern chat first.”�

                This is why she shouldn’t be reading those stupid dirty novels of hers. Do you see how they warp her mind? She’s a bigger slag than I am. I tried to convey this through a very pointed, you-are-off-your-bloody-rocker-do-you-know-that stare. Too bad Grace didn’t look the least bit scolded by it.

                “Do what you must,”� was all she said, with far too much amusement.

                Sometimes I really wonder why I haven’t pushed her out a window yet.

                “Just don’t do anything too thoughtless,”� Emma advised, hooking her arm through mine as if she feared I might lunge at Grace at any second (bright girl, that Emma). “You do have a tendency to jump into things, Lil. Some hexes you can’t take back.”�

                “I don’t plan to do any permanent damage,”� I replied. Then, “Or at least not any _visible_ permanent damage, anyway.”�

                “Just so you know,”� Grace chimed in, “a hickey is visible.”�

                Seriously. Where’s a window?

                There were many scathing retorts (and scathing curses) I could have tossed at Grace for that, but I decided that I would save all my pent up frustration for James and instead bestowed on Grace a slap upside the head. She gave off an, “Oy!”� but was still practically giggling, the nutter.

                “Can you just tell me when his detention is already?”� I demanded irritably, hardly believing the sort of shit I have to put up with on a daily basis. “You said the trophy room earlier, didn’t you?”�

                Grace nodded. “Eight o’clock. So you’ll have an hour before curfew. Do you think you can fit a shouting match and a molestation in?”�

                That was when I ended our friendship. Grace merely giggled more when I informed her of its demise.

                So now here I am, 7:55 and stowed away between trophy cases, waiting for James and Filch to make an appearance. I thought about casting a Disillusionment Charm on myself, but the lighting is so strange in here that I don’t trust it. I’d probably just make myself more obvious as an awkward glimmer and a random shadow. 

                The place has changed a bit since the last time I was in here, way back in fourth-year when Michael Davies and I frequented the place to clumsily fondle one another. They added another case over in Michael’s favourite niche. It’s strange to think of that. Merlin, was it really only three years ago? It feels like it’s been decades. I wonder what Michael’s up to these days? Perhaps I should send him an owl. Ha. James would _love_ that. It would serve him right, though. I could have–

                Ah!

                The door! 

_______________________________________

**Late, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 38  
** **Total Observations: 267**

                

                The second I heard the telltale creak of the Trophy Room door, I burst into a flurry of action. As quickly (but silently) as possible, I tucked my legs against my chest, curled into my inconspicuous ball behind the trophy case, and caught my breath. It was slightly earlier than eight and for a moment I panicked that it might not even be James and Filch walking in–Merlin, how awkward would _that_ be? What if some lusting couple came stumbling in? It wasn’t impossible. I didn’t exactly have the best track record with such things–but there were two distinct pairs of footsteps and it took only a few seconds for me to register Filch’s voice, already growling mid-tirade. I’d never been so relieved to hear the blighter muttering about.

                “–may have Dumbledore twisted round your dirty little finger, but I know the truth! Knew it wouldn’t be long before you were back here.”�

                “Only because I miss you so terribly, Mr. Filch.”� James’s voice floated through the room in the driest of tones. Without even seeing him, I could practically hear the stupid smirk in his voice and knew he had probably strolled into the room with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets, entirely unfazed and nonchalant. I scowled, even as my heart began beating a bit faster inside my chest. It was in angry anticipation, of course. Not because I hadn’t heard his voice all day or any such rubbish. Obviously.

                Filch made a loud scoffing sound. “Don’t you pull those wisecracks with me, hooligan! Now let’s have that wand!”�

                “Forward, aren’t you?”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_ , James. Don’t you think there’s a time and place?

                Shockingly, Filch didn’t seem to find James all that amusing, either. He was practically hissing in fury by that point.

                “Wand, Potter. _Now_.”�

                James sighed overdramatically. “Yeah, yeah. All right.”�

                There was a patch of silence wherein I’m assuming James went grudgingly fumbling in his pocket for his wand and Filch stood by waiting impatiently for it. I was counting on the fact that each of them was too consumed with trying to irritate the other to notice me stashed away in the corner, even though my heart was beating so loudly I was certain they could have heard it had they bothered to listen. I didn’t dare peek over to make sure they weren’t. I tried to keep my unfortunate body impulses as silent as possible.

                “Careful with that thing, you hear?”� James said a few seconds later. “Some of us need those.”�

                “Some of you don’t deserve them!”� Filch spat, James’s barb clearly hitting its mark. I bet he was slightly regretting that fact a few seconds later, however, when there was a distinct _thunk_ of something being dropped onto the ground and I’m assuming partially on James’s foot judging by the nasty exclamation he let out. If Mr. Filch felt much regret over this child abuse, I couldn’t tell. He’d already started hemming and hawing again, as if nothing particularly untoward had occurred. “Won’t think you’re so ruddy special when you’re down on your knees scrubbing cases clean until dawn! Have a chuckle about that, eh?”�

                James did have himself a chuckle, but a slight wince permeated the normally glib sound. Whether Filch caught that or not, I couldn’t be sure, though he did give a sort of satisfied grunt before his uneven footsteps began echoing in the room again. My body went rigid. He was leaving.

                “You’ll get this back when you finish,”� he said. Then, all threateningly, “ _If_ you finish.”�

                James’s spite was clear. “Always the optimist, aren’t you?”�

                Filch didn’t deign a reply. Instead, his footsteps continued until the door creaked open again, quickly followed by a resounding slam shut. There was silence once more.

                James and I were alone.

                Well, not that _he_ knew that, of course. But he would. Soon.

                For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I heard James grumble a few choice words, then a sharp rap as if he’d just kicked the bucket of cleaning supplies. While he huffed and puffed, I chanced a glance around my trophy case hiding spot. He was standing with his back towards me, his hands propped on his hips, staring absently around the room. He seemed to be surveying the place, perhaps contemplating where exactly to begin. 

                I knew then that my timeframe was short. Nothing was stopping him from strolling over here and spotting me, and then I’d lose the element of surprise, which I most certainly couldn’t afford. I didn’t want to move too quickly, but neither could I wait too long. My plan hinged on perfect timing.

                Because I _did_ actually have one, you know. A plan, I mean. And it was even a pretty bloody suave one, if I do say so myself. And while I know that may be surprising considering I generally throw myself into things with only the vaguest semblance of an actual course of action–not to mention the fact that my suavity has the tendency to pop up only in the rarest of moments–it’s nonetheless true. I suppose it had something to do with sitting on this plan for most of the afternoon and then having ample time to consider it while being holed up in here, but in any case, I knew exactly how I was going to start this stern talk. I just had to set that plan into motion. That’s where the perfect timing came in. With the tiniest smidgeon of luck (which I figured even _I_ could muster), I reckoned I might just be able to pull this off.

                I saw my opportunity a few moments later. James–instead of taking a more thorough jaunt around the room, thank Merlin–bent over to begin sorting through the cleaning supplies Filch had left him. It was while he was busy grabbing rags and examining bottles that I crept silently out of my hiding spot. I pointed my wand straight at his back.

                “ _Levicorpus_!”�

                And with a surprised exclamation, up the wanker went, dangling over the bucket by his ankle.

                Ha.

                I know. _So_ bloody clever, right? Of course it was. Really, I even surprise myself sometimes.

                James didn’t initially think it was so clever, however. He thrashed about, swiveling his head from side to side and squinting around the room (his glasses had fallen off mid-ankle-lift). He let out an angry, “Fucking _hell–_ who the bloody fuck did that?!”�

                Psh. Mouthy maggot.

                I didn’t immediately answer him. Instead, I took a few moments to stretch out my slightly numb limbs, jostling about until the feeling came back into the proper places, then took my sweet time ambling over towards where James was dangling. He heard my footsteps, but was still hanging with his back towards me and therefore had to try to maneuver a glance over his shoulder to get a look at me–plus, I’m not sure that the whole squinting thing was a suitable vision aid. I spotted his glasses lying on the ground not far from his dangling body and scooped them up as I drew closer. He was still muttering angrily and attempting to discern my identity when I finally came round his front. And even though his eyes were level with my stomach (hardly the most identifiable body part. At least, I hope), he must have realised who it was anyway because he suddenly stopped squirming and groaned. Smirking at the sound, I crouched down until my face rested just before his. We stared at one another.

                “Disconcerting, isn’t it?”� I asked quietly, cocking my head to the side. “Doesn’t feel that great, being ambushed. Not knowing what’s going on. Feeling so damned blind. I’d say it’s rather horrible, no?”�

                James sucked in a breath. “Lily–“

                “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drop you out the nearest window, James Potter. Go on. Just _try_.”�

                “I know you’re cross,”� he said quickly, obviously sensing the precarious position he was in. “I know that you’re cross and you’ve every right to be, but perhaps we should discuss this while _upright_ –“

                I let out a disdainful laugh. “Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?”� Upright. Ha! I straightened out myself, just to toss it in his face. “I don’t think so. You didn’t much care to ‘discuss this upright’ all day, so now we’re going to do it my way. And I happen to like you like this, all blind and bewildered. Puts you in the proper state of mind, I think.”�

                James groaned again, loudly this time. “That’s not…Merlin, Lil, I don’t do my best thinking with the blood rushing towards my head!”�

                “You don’t do your best thinking while it’s _not_ rushing towards your head, either, so I don’t see how that matters in the least!”�

                “Lil. Come _on._ ”�

                But that was the wrong thing to say. I had heard that same phrase one too many times over the past twelve hours, and I bloody well didn’t understand _why_. “Come on, Lily.”� “Come _on_.”� No, _you_ bloody well come _on_. I had every right to be seething and homicidal and dangling people from their ankles and I was sick and ruddy tired of people “Come on, Lily”�-ing me as if I was some silly little peagoose blowing the whole thing out of proportion! I _wasn’t_. Because yes, perhaps I do occasionally take things to foolish, dramatic limits because that’s just the way my overzealous brain works, but this time my outrage was legitimate. I had more than ample reason to be livid. James had _attacked_ Amos, for Merlin’s sake! He’d broken his nose and bruised his ribs and then turned him into a bloody _boar_. That in itself was bad enough, but he’d also done it after I’d told him _several times_ to stay out of it, and then he’d come to tutoring all mad and fresh from the fight and said _nothing_ to me, allowing me to be ambushed by the scandal the next morning! So pardon me if I’m not willing to just brush this one beneath the common room couch!

                I expected a good, swift explanation, perhaps followed by some good, swift retribution. And while I’ve grudgingly decided that murder would probably not be worth it in the long run, that did _not_ mean that James should be “Come on”�-ing me like he thought it, too. He had no _right_ , and I was bloody furious that he thought he did.

                All of this was probably why I decided that then was the perfect time to perform the counter-jinx. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty when with a flick of my wand, James toppled to the hard floor in a mangled heap of limbs and groans. In fact, I hoped he bruised. Badly.

                Letting out a long moan, James was slow to right himself from his less-than-gentle fall. He shifted uncomfortably about on the ground, rubbing gently at various body parts. “Ouch,”� he said finally.

                Oh, the _wanker_.

                “Don’t you ‘ouch’ me!”� I snapped furiously, stepping forward until I towered menacingly over him. “You don’t get to say ouch. Do you know who gets to say ouch? _Amos_ gets to say ouch. _I_ get to say ouch. You don’t! You’ve lost the bloody right!”�

                In his (slight) defense, James didn’t try to contradict me. He merely squinted up at me with a pained wince etched across his face. “Fine. I’ve lost the right. But if you’re about to rip into me some more, do you mind handing back my glasses? I promise this will be more effective if I can see.”�

                “I’m not sure you deserve that, either,”� I muttered bitterly, crossing my arms over my chest. But James threw me an exasperated look and I reckoned he _might_ have the slightest of points. Half my anger’s fright-inspiring ability came from my lethal looks, after all, and how effective could those possibly be in squint-vision? Probably not so much. 

                So even though I had already let him down from his ankle-hold, I reluctantly decided to let him see, as well. I handed over his glasses, which he was quick to slip back on. It took a moment to reorient himself. Then he glanced up and blinked at me from behind the thin frames.

                “Right,”� he said, frowning. “You’re…less than pleased, then.”�

                Someone give the boy an award. What a keen eye.

                “I don’t think there’s a word for how _less than pleased_ I am right now,”� I said, seriously considering jinxing him again. “There’s a whole slew of nouns and adjectives I could start tossing out right about now, however. Care to hear a few?”�

                “Why don’t you save them?”� James suggested, and began to make the movements to rise to his feet. Midway through, however, he paused and glanced up at me questioningly. “Should I get up, or am I better off just staying on the ground, seeing as you’ll be putting me back there soon anyway?”�

                Rolling my eyes, I waved him up. “By all means. But I’m not making any promises.”�

                James nodded. “Fair enough.”� 

                With slightly tender and tentative movements (I hoped this meant that he was both properly sore _and_ wary), James lifted himself off the ground. He straightened out, but not before brushing off his trousers and making a show of cracking his neck. He winced slightly. It was a few seconds before his eyes met mine again. 

                I don’t know why I was shocked that he tried to take the let’s-have-us-a-giggle-at-our-plights route, but it took me by surprise, nonetheless. 

                “Just reminding you,”� he said, holding up his empty hands, “I’m wandless here. Think about how that will hold up in court.”�

                “Do you think this is _funny_?”� I asked, staring. “Are you honestly making jokes right now? Do you have any idea how…how _furious_ … _Merlin_ , James! How much I–“

                “You don’t hate me,”� he interjected quickly, and was stupid enough to take a step closer to me. _This_ he was serious about. Psh. “You didn’t mean that. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”�

                “I wouldn’t be so sure about that!”� I cried, glaring daggers at him. He didn’t like hearing that, but I didn’t care. I was too livid to care. “You have no idea what I’m feeling right now. You don’t know anything. Because if you did, you might have actually _thought_ about what you were doing before you did it. Or even after! Or even at _all_!”�

                “For your information, I’ve been thinking of nothing else for three days!”� James shot back, throwing his hands up in frustration. He had the audacity to be growing cross himself. He continued to close the distance between us until he was standing mere centimeters away. His eyes glittered in anger or indignation, maybe both. “I thought about it Tuesday night when the whole thing happened, but you were the priority and so I held off. Then I thought about it Wednesday morning, but held back _again_ because you were determined to do it on your own. Then I thought about it Wednesday afternoon when all of Hogwarts was having a free-for-all with the bloody madness, but I _still_ stayed out of it because I didn’t want it to hurt you.”� His anger had reached a sort of pinnacle here, his hands fisting at his sides as he openly glowered at me. He was all but yelling when he continued, “But Wednesday bloody _night_ came along and the wanker was getting out and you were hurting anyway and _then_ I find out that the only bloody thing you’re doing on your own is shoving me away, and that was the bloody fucking _end_ of thinking!”�

                “Well, _clearly_!”� I shouted, hardly believing how badly he was misconstruing the situation, though I didn’t know why. What else did I expect from him? He was a master at manipulating things for his own benefit. This was no different. Furious, I stuck an accusatory finger against his chest. “Don’t you dare go blaming _me_ for this! This wasn’t about me, not even the slightest! This was all about _you_ and your giant bloody _ego_ and your stupid need to best Amos when he’d dented it because I chose him first! You can shove bloody _off_ with your ruddy noble excuses, because we both know that’s not how you work! This was about saving _your_ pride, that’s all!”�

                The scoffing sound that James let out was so filled with derision and bitterness, I would have been alarmed even without the words that spewed out of him next.

                “Back to this again, are we?”� he asked, sneering. “Brilliant. How I’ve bloody _missed_ this Lily. Knew she’d be back eventually. Go on, call me an arrogant toerag, why don’t you? All about me, isn’t it? Trigger-happy on the jinxes and looking for the attention, right? That’s your usual hogwash. Well, let me tell you, I’m not the fucking only one–but at least I’m honest about it! At least I don’t hide it behind my own bloody _self-righteousness_!”�

                _…this Lily…own bloody self-righteousness…_

                It was like a slap in the face. I flinched, the barb breaking through the haze of anger and sending a jolt of unpleasant shock through my system. I grappled for what I was about to say before, whatever it had been, but couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find anything. My mouth went immobile. All I could hear were the words, over and over. Angry, bitter, _true_ words.

                Oh, hell. Shit. Merlin, please don’t cry. Get angry–you’re angry, remember? Angry, angry, _angry_.

                But no matter how many times I said it, I wasn’t. I so, so wasn’t. Just like that, all the lividness that I’d been preserving all day was effectively squashed. I felt like I’d just been doused with a cauldron full of frigid water. In my head, I struggled pathetically for some sort of self-control, but the rest of me was too shell-shocked to do anything but just stand there and stare. Because…because…

                Bloody hell, is that honestly how he saw me? Was that…did he really…did he think that was me? The hypocritical, self-righteous, this-Lily ? Every bit of me wanted to scream no, of course not, but those bits had heard what he’d said, as well. There wasn’t much ground to object. He hadn’t been very euphemistic. 

                Apparently, James wasn’t the only one living as a Mold. I reckon he figured that I was one as well, and he’d just been waiting for the real Lily to come out. The self-righteous, callous, shrew Lily he’d known before.

                Right.

                Right.

                I stepped backwards at the same time that James must have realised what exactly had just flown out of his mouth. His face registered a second of shock, then instantly furrowed in regret. A hand went to his hair and he took a step towards me.

                “Shit. Lily, wait. I–“

                “Ouch,”� I whispered, hating how choked my voice sounded. I took another step backwards. “Ouch.”�

                “I didn’t mean that,”� he said quickly, trying to recover the distance I kept putting between us. “I’m sorry. That just…I was angry and it just came out.”�

                “But you were thinking it,”� I said, surprised that my voice hadn’t completely crumbled yet. The rest of me felt like it was. My sweaty palms fisted my skirt. “You were thinking it and I…I just hadn’t thought that this was a two-way Mold problem. Stupid of me, really. I thought the only trouble was me accepting you as you, not you accepting me as me. Different kind of two-way street. Should have realised everything goes both ways. Right.”�

                “What?”� James stared, obviously having no idea what I was talking about. He’d managed to retain enough closeness between us to reach out and touch my arm, but I jerked away. I think that really panicked him. He flinched. The words flew out of his mouth at a desperate rate. “Shit. Lily, don’t. Wait a second. Listen to me, all right? I don’t know what any of that means, but I–“

                “Remus told me why you and Sirius are fighting,”� I somehow found myself saying, though I had no idea why. More than the fact that doing so was betraying a confidence between Remus and me, I wanted to leave. I felt hot and clammy, and I just wanted to get away from there. But I kept talking. I’m not sure even my mouth knew why. “Yesterday. We were outside and he…he told me that Sirius thought you weren’t yourself with me, that you thought I didn’t accept you as you were, so you had to be this… this paragon Mold of yourself. Mold James. I didn’t know if that was true, but…”� I swallowed, my mouth suddenly feeling parched. I pressed my lips together and dropped my eyes to the floor. “I thought about it. Last night. And even if it was true, I knew I’d take you either way–James now or James then–I still…”� My eyes shifted up to his again. I held back a sigh. “I still cared and I just…I never thought that you wouldn’t be able to do the same. Lily now and Lily then. Stupid, like I said, but I suppose it’s good to know.”�

                James looked stunned, but I couldn’t be sure over which pronouncement he was so shocked. That Remus had told me? That I had understood? That I had accepted it? That I had _cared_ enough to accept it? That he obviously _didn’t_? That last one hurt. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the awful feelings brewing deep inside the pit of my stomach. Bloody hell, how had this happened? This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. How had it all turned so quickly? I turned, too, finally making the move to leave that I should have done ages ago, but James caught my arm again and didn’t let me jerk away this time. His grip was like a steel vice.

                “Just wait a damn second.”� His grip on my arm held as he stood there, visibly reeling. He seemed to be trying to sort a million things out in his head at once. “Just…wait. I don’t…of course I can accept you as you. Of course, I can.”�

                “There was a hell of a lot of bitterness in that last tirade for you to just ‘can’, James,”� I snapped, relieved to find the anger coming back. Good. I could do anger. Anger was good. I glared away the burning pressure behind my eyes. That was good, too. “Are you going to try to deny it?”�

                “I…no,”� James finally said, watching me carefully. His grip on my arm tightened, as if he thought I was going to bolt at that. “I won’t deny it, but…Christ, give me a second, all right? My head is spinning. What the bloody fuck was Remus thinking, telling you about that?”�

                “Maybe he was thinking that I had a right to know. Maybe he was working under some mad delusion that this thing between us might benefit from a bit of honesty. Mental, isn’t he?”�

                James threw me a look. “Lily, come–“

                Oh, god, _no_. Not that. Not again.

                With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I wrenched my arm out of James’s hold and gave him a look of such anger I could feel my face burn with it.

                But it was his own fault. Come _on_ , James. You’re a ponce.

                “I am _not_ fifteen-years old anymore, James Potter! I am _not_ that girl!”� My voice was shaking, and James was staring at me as if he’d never seen me before, but I kept ranting anyway, too incensed to stop. “I’m not perfect. Merlin knows, I’m not. And maybe there’ll always be bits and pieces of me that ‘hide behind my own bloody self-righteousness’, but I’m _not_ that girl anymore and if you can’t _see_ that, if you can’t _trust_ that …then go to hell, James. Honestly. Just go to _hell_.”�

                “Well, then you can go to hell, too, Lily!”� James snapped, moving so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to move back before his face was already looming tense and furious over mine. His voice was a harsh hiss. “Because I’m not fifteen anymore, either. And if _you_ can’t see that, if _you_ can’t trust that…then what the bloody hell are we doing?”�

                The sharp question hung heavy in the air. What the bloody hell are we doing? What the hell _were_ we doing? I sure as hell didn’t know. I hadn’t come here to do this. I hadn’t even thought about any of this–never considered the fact that the pair of us had never properly dealt with a personal history that was, to say the least, less than savoury. Accepting that James wasn’t who he used to be had been such a long, gradual ordeal, I hadn’t ever stopped to consider that he had had to do the same for me. That had been foolish, utterly naÃ¯ve. I never realised that those past lives, past people, weren’t things you could just brush beneath the common room couch, either. If you did, this is what happened–they came out and reared their ugly heads at the worst of moments. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want this. God, what a mess.

                But it was a mess we had to clean up. Because if we didn’t…then what the bloody hell _were_ we doing?

                I took a deep breath, feeling the anger simmer down and the hot red flush cool from my face as I suddenly realised how quickly this had all spiraled out of control, and where it would end up if we kept letting it. I think James realised that we’d reached some sort of precarious crossroads, as well, because he slowly leaned away from me and swiped an unsteady hand through his hair again. He watched me carefully, seeming to be considering something, perhaps what to say. Just in case it was something I wouldn’t want to hear, I was quick to speak first.

                “Let’s just…wait a second,”� I said softly, eyeing him hesitantly. “Wait. Step back. Sort this out. I don’t think either of us is particularly good when speaking under tense emotion and I don’t…I don’t want to do something we can’t take back.”�

                James sighed, the relief evident in his easing features. “Good idea,”� he said, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Step back. Let’s do that.”�

                I nodded, more than a bit relieved myself. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to sort out my feelings, get things under control. I didn’t want to lose it again. I didn’t want to get angry and risk messing this up over something that shouldn’t even matter in the first place. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

                I was still trying to figure out where to start when James spoke up first.

                “I meant what I said earlier,”� he told me quietly. My gaze snapped to his, thinking he meant the bit about my being a self-righteous shrew, but by the way he was looking at me, it was rather obvious that that wasn’t what he was talking about. He leaned forward again. “I meant it when I said it just came out. I didn’t mean to attack you like that. It was a knee-jerk reaction. You were throwing out the ego and pride insults and so I threw out what I’d always tossed back before. I know you’re not fifteen anymore.”�

                In most ways, I already knew that, but it was still something I’d needed to hear. The part of me that still had her back up, that still wanted to stomp off and cry herself into a good stupor, got the reassurance it needed. And with that reassurance came a bit of rare rationality and sense that was entirely necessary right then.

                “I started it,”� I was able to admit, lifting my shoulders in the smallest of apologetic shrugs. “The first insults were mine. I was just so _angry_ with you and I don’t understand… it was easiest to focus on things I know than things I don’t. I know being cross with you for being selfish. I don’t know being cross with you for breaking trust.”�

                “I did it because I thought _you_ didn’t trust me,”� James said, looking a bit uncomfortable with the confession. He ran his hand through his hair again and sighed. “When Grace and Emma told me you were trying to keep me out of everything yesterday… I just snapped. I was sick of the constant barriers you kept putting up, so I thought that if I just…I don’t know. I knew it was stupid, but I didn’t care. It seemed the answer at the time. I was just going to talk to Diggory at first, but the stupid ponce kept…it’s not an excuse, and I suppose it didn’t take much for me to skip from civil to violent, but there it is.”�

                It was more or less the explanation I’d been expecting, but that didn’t change the fact that I was grateful to hear it. And even though it shouldn’t have been–wasn’t, really–something new to me, awkward and destructive as dragging our younger selves into the conversation was, it also helped in reaffirming the important differences between the person standing before me now and the person who used to. James of fifth-year wouldn’t have bothered explaining like that. I have very little doubt that he would have given a shrug, said something along the lines of, “Diggory deserved it,”� and ended it there. And even hearing that hinged upon Lily of fifth-year letting him explain. I had a feeling that she wouldn’t have even given him the chance. It was a humbling realisation.

                “I didn’t try to keep you out of it because I didn’t trust you,”� I said. “I did it because I felt guilty for dragging you into the mess.”�

                James threw me a look. “How many times do I have to tell you, Lily? I don’t _care_ about shit like that.”�

                “Well, I do!”� I shot back, giving him an exasperated look of my own. “I know you don’t understand because you’re clearly so enlightened as to not give a damn about what people think, but I don’t work that way. I can ignore people making up rumours about me, but you did nothing except try to help when I…it wasn’t fair. So I thought that if I tried to make it so that you weren’t much involved, you’d escape the brunt of it.”�

                James’s lips gave a wiry quirk upwards. “Well, there we’re alike, at least. I figured that if I made a big enough ruckus and took responsibility for the Diggory mess myself, _you’d_ escape some of the brunt.”�

                “I didn’t want you to do that.”�

                I suppose it spoke to the way we’d somehow managed to diffuse the tension between us when James mustered a real smile and was back to cracking ill-timed jokes. “Well, you _did_ say I should go get into some trouble, didn’t you?”�

                And even though he’s a snarky ponce who really does not understand when to be pulling out the witty repartee, I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t smile back. I think I was too relieved not to. “Glad as I am that you finally decided to listen to me for once,”� I muttered dryly, “that was actually a very stupid comment I made in a lame attempt to prove Sirius wrong about you and your Mold problem, not an invitation to turn Amos Diggory into a pig.”� 

                “Mold problem?”� James repeated with a short laugh. “I’m sorry, do I have some sort of shower scum trouble that I’m not aware of?”�

                I swiped him in the arm as he continued to laugh. “Not _that_ kind of mold, idiot. Like a _form_ mold. The paragon mold you seem to think I expect–which I _don’t_ , just so you know.”�

                James lifted an eyebrow. “No?”�

                I couldn’t tell if he was still teasing me or not, but I decided now was as good a time as any to actually get a proper conversation about this over with. I had never intended to tell James that I knew about his Mold problem, but now that I’d gone and blurted it out anyway, I figured we might as well discuss it right. I could do so without letting him know that I knew the full extent of the story–you know, about last year and why Sirius was so worried about James not changing back fully–and figured it would be one less thing that was perpetually standing between us, which is always a good prospect. Now I just needed to find the proper way to say it.

                “Look,”� I began slowly, my mouth forming the word tentatively. “I know…I know I’ve really got no right to decide who you are or who you should be–and I swear, I’m not trying to. But you said so yourself–you’re not fifteen anymore. You’re not that person.”� I placed a hand on his arm, letting my fingers drift over the soft fabric of his shirt. I lifted my shoulders into a shrug, staring at him earnestly. “I don’t know why or when, but you’re not. And I’m not going to pretend that I’m not glad about that–I mean, I sure you’re quite glad that I’m not the same person I used to be, either. I was a shrew. I’ve a better personality than that to offer, I hope–but that doesn’t…”� I glanced away for a moment, biting my lip and trying to find the proper words. They came eventually. “Well, that person is still part of you. Always will be.”� I forced myself to meet his eyes again, and even managed a small smile. “You’re still too arrogant and impulsive for your own good, just like I’m still far more judgmental than I ought to be and haven’t quite fully mastered the whole rationality business yet. But I think…I think you’re better for it,”� I concluded, giving him a nod. “And I don’t think you’re pretending. I think you’ve just grown up. Everyone’s bound to eventually. But if I’m wrong and Sirius is right and you _are_ forcing yourself into this mold that you think I expect…don’t. Merlin, please don’t. Because I don’t expect or want that. Is that…do you get that?”�

                It was too much to ask. Did he get that? Did _I_ even get that? What the bloody hell was I rambling about? 

                James was quiet. I didn’t know what that meant and I got more than a bit nervous that I had said something seriously wrong or stupid because now he was staring at me with the strangest sort of expression playing across his face and I started to regret blurting out the Mold madness in the first place…but then he moved. 

                Without so much as an “Interesting thoughts, Lil,”� or even a slight contemplative nod, he hooked an arm around my waist, dragged me up against him, and kissed me before I had much of a chance to do anything but blink.

                Hmmm.

                “For someone who hasn’t quite fully mastered the whole rationality business yet,”� he murmured against my mouth, “you’re awfully good at pretending.”�

                Then he kissed me again.

                My hormones cheered.

                Ah, blast it. Can we _focus_ , please?

                “I practice,”� I said, pulling my lips away regardless of my body’s protests. But they could not be indulged. This was not the time for snogging; it was the time for stern talks, remember? (My hormones cried that no, actually, they did not recall that particular plan). My brain was adamant, however. I forced myself to give James a sober look. “I’m serious, James. I don’t want you–“

                “So am I,”� he cut in, lifting a hand to brush a few errant strands of hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm against my cheek. His eyes moved back to mine. “The only thing that bothers me about this whole ruddy madness is the fact that my rationality-stunted mate-with-potential seems to get it better than my best mate does.”�

                I caught his fingers in my own. “He’s just worried. You can’t blame him, really.”�

                James’s lips lifted in amusement. “Sorry, did I hear right? Did you just defend Sirius?”�

                I rolled my eyes, though the boy did have a point. The world was a mad, mad place. I was too relieved to care. “I’m not planning on making a habit of it, but I can understand where he’s coming from. When Remus told me, I questioned it for a moment, as well.”�

                James smiled. “Yeah, but only for a moment.”� He played with our intertwined fingers.

                “I’m sorry that I forgot for a second,”� I said quietly, watching our linked hands, as well. James’s had a few calluses–probably from Quidditch, though I’m relatively certain they were supposed to wear gloves for that–but the rough skin didn’t feel bad against mine. I sighed lightly. “Or many seconds. I was… it was a knee-jerk, too. You know I’m not good with all of this relationship and trust codswallop in the first place. So when I heard about Amos…it was a very quick spiral downwards.”�

                “I was going to tell you last night,”� James confessed. I looked up at him in surprise, not expecting that, wondering if he meant it. He shrugged awkwardly. “I never meant to keep it from you–if only because I knew I had a better chance of not being killed if I told you myself. But I was too pansy to do it straight off, and then…I, er, got you cross with me, anyway.”�

                He didn’t say MJ’s name, but he didn’t have to. The evidence of his discomfort enough.

                I knew I could have left it at that. As far as steps go, James and I had somehow managed to take a few back, then leap a few forward over the course of the past twenty minutes and I was probably triple times the idiot for even considering pushing that further. But the way I saw it, we’d already come this far, and awkward and indirect about it as he’d been, James had also been the one to bring MJ up. I knew I couldn’t tell him that I knew about last year–I wasn’t so revelation-high as to think that _that_ one would go over casually–but there _was_ something I could say about it, indirect as I might need to be. And strangely enough, I found that I wanted to. I may have scoffed at Emma this morning when she’d suggested bringing up the two-way street to James, but the girl had had a point.

                If honesty was a bug, I seemed to have caught it. Fortunately, as far as sicknesses go, this one was mostly benign and probably fleeting.

                James obviously wanted the subject to end on that, but I didn’t take that personally, nor did I choose to oblige his tacit plea. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, instead scratching absently at the back of his neck as he gazed off to his left as casually as he could. I tugged at his hand–still encased in mine–to get his attention. His gaze shifted back to mine reluctantly.

                “I’m not angry with you about that,”� I told him.

                James looked torn between sighing in relief and lifting a dubious eyebrow, but I suppose I couldn’t much blame him for that. In the end, I suppose his suspicious side won out over his relief because he flashed me a dubious smile. “You couldn’t have gotten away from me any faster last night.”�

                Um. Right. 

                But that was not the point. Mostly.

                “Er…well, yes, maybe,”� I replied reluctantly, and tried not to let that sound as awkward as it actually was. I was quick to offer a better explanation. “But I wasn’t _angry_ , exactly. I told you, I just don’t understand. And I suppose I was…disappointed…that you wouldn’t explain.”�

                A pained grimace crossed over James’s face. He looked conflicted for a moment, and I realised then that he probably thought I was expecting him to go on and explain it all to me, which he clearly had no desire to do.

                But he would do it, I realised, watching him resign himself to it.

                He didn’t want to–Merlin, look at him. He couldn’t look more miserable–but he would do it, anyway. For me.

                I just about melted on the spot.

                But it was also why I knew I couldn’t let him do it. I just couldn’t.

                I mean, don’t get me wrong, there was a substantial part of me that greedily wanted him to just say it, to forget all the reservations he had and just tell me everything. Nevertheless (shockingly enough), I couldn’t be that selfish. I couldn’t force him to do it when I knew the only reason he would was because the past half-hour had somehow convinced him that he needed to. And much as I wanted to claim that the end would justify the means, I knew that that would only end in disaster. Forcing someone to do something like that against their will could never end well. 

                So even though a needling voice inside my head was jumping about, whining loudly, I dropped his hand and used mine to cover his mouth just as it opened.

                “Don’t,”� I said seriously, despite the confused and slightly annoyed look he shot me. I didn’t move my hand. “Don’t say anything yet. I want to say something first.”�

                James gave a reluctant nod, clearly not happy with having to delay his revelations or whatever it was he was about to say, but I couldn’t allow myself to care about that. James might be losing his nerve to speak second by second, but so was I. I had to do it then.

                Now if only I could figure out how I was supposed to make this make a single lick of sense. That was an exuberantly more difficult task when you can’t manage to make a single lick of sense in everyday conversation, much less important ones.

                I dropped my hand from James’s mouth and instantly moved it to fidget agitatedly with the ends of my hair, which I suppose was a rather telling action, but I couldn’t stop it. The difficult thing about explaining something is that you usually have to start at the beginning. Where was my beginning? I didn’t even know. So I just blurted out the first thing I could think of.

                “Trust,”� I said, “is a two-way street.”�

                Funny how words that only a few hours earlier had seemed so revolutionary suddenly sounded so unbearably _idiotic_.

                Shit.

                Double bloody fucking _shit_.

                James stared at me.

                “Er…that’s…all right,”� he said as diplomatically as possible, clearly thinking that I had completely lost it, that the stress, the drama, had become too much. I wanted to bash my head against the nearest wall.

                “That sounded far stupider than it actually is,”� I rushed out, feeling my face heat up at an alarmingly embarrassing rate. Oh, god, why am I such a henwit? “I swear, it’s actually a very deep and important and enlightened revelation–er, I think.”�

                James–courteous bloke that his parents obviously raised him to be–merely nodded and even looked as if he might actually be willing to believe that. I could have hugged him for that, but I decided instead to attempt to give the slightest bit of merit to his faith by explaining properly. But now I was back to the original dilemma–making sense.

                “I thought about this all last night,”� is how I finally started, slowly and with much nervous hesitation. I forced my voice to remain steady. “I knew that there were things you weren’t telling me and I thought you weren’t doing it because you didn’t trust me–that’s why I got so upset and ditched you so quickly last night. And I know that’s entirely hypocritical of me because I’m not exactly the picture of a trusting soul myself, but I just…I don’t know.”� I shrugged bashfully, reaching up to twist my finger around an errant strand of hair and sighed. “It just hurt and I didn’t know how else to feel. But after awhile…Merlin, I was being so stupid. I knew I was, and I wasn’t being fair. Because trust goes both ways, right?”� I didn’t wait for James’s answering nod, just kept going. “If I want you to trust me, I have to be able to trust you, too–and part of trusting you is accepting when you’re not ready to tell me something. Because there are small things and there are big things that people keep from each other and you can’t expect the big things straight off. That’s not how the world works. That’s not how _trust_ works. And while I’m no expert on the matter, I think that’s right…right?”�

                James nodded slowly, his expression blank. “I suppose,”� he said, but that wasn’t good enough. I _needed_ him to understand, fully and truly. So once again, I burst out with the first thing that popped into my head, even thought this one probably proved more stupid than the last.

                I squared my shoulders back and blurted out, “My sister hates me.”�

                Alarmed by the seemingly abrupt change of subject, James simply blinked in confusion.

                “She does,”� I was quick to confirm, pushing on despite the fact that I was probably sounding like an absolute loon. I had a point, I swear. “Ever since I started coming to Hogwarts, and it’s only gotten worse since then. She can hardly stand to be in the same room with me anymore. It’s made going home a trial to say the least.”�

                James looked slightly unnerved by all this, but he was also determined to stick up for me, I suppose, because he shook his head. “I’m sure that she doesn’t, Lily.”�

                “No, she does,”� I corrected, surprising even myself with how casually I was managing to get this out. I don’t think I’ve ever said the words aloud to anyone before. “She does, and there’s probably nothing I can do to change that. It’s a fact of my life. But regardless of that, it’s not something I would ever want to tell you–don’t even want to tell you about now, actually, which is why I’m going to stop.”� I glanced down at my clenched hands, staring at my pale fingers because I couldn’t look at James. I could still feel his eyes on me, however. I swallowed hard. “It’s awkward, and it hurts, and I don’t want you to see me as Lily-the-girl-whose-own-sister-can’t-stand-her. I’d rather you see me as Lily…I don’t know. Lily-something-else. Petunia’s a big thing,”� I explained, letting out a short sigh. I forced my eyes back up to his. “She’s one of _my_ big things, and my not telling you about her is because of _me_ , not you. Maybe one day–hopefully one day–I’ll be comfortable enough with myself to actually tell you about it, but for now, I’m not. And that’s okay–or at least, I hope it is. Because that’s trust, too.”�

                By the time I’d finished, I felt winded and more than a little raw, but I suppose that was the point. Even as a logical part of my brain was saying, “Silly girl. James will understand this. You can talk to him!”� another part of me was going, “Shutupshutupshut _up_ ,”� and I had decided this morning that I had to respect James having these battling voices, as well. Watching him now, I saw his face soften even as his eyes scanned mine with a certain considering edge. He didn’t look ready to say anything, but I couldn’t stand there in silence after everything I’d just professed, so I just kept talking.

                “What I’m saying is that you’re allowed to have big things, too,”� I told him, fidgeting from foot to foot. “There are things you don’t have to be ready to tell me. And if your feelings about MJ and his family is one of those things…then that’s fine. I hope that one day you’ll be comfortable enough with yourself to tell me about it. But until then, I won’t…I won’t push it anymore. Or at least, I’ll try not to. You know how I am. Meddling comes rather automatically. But you’re allowed to tell me to shove off and have me listen, and that’s the point.”�

                I tried to give him my best oh-lots-of-laughs-what-a-ninny-I-am-sometimes-eh? grin, but I think it came out a bit lackluster. I don’t know what I was expecting once I finished with all that, but silence was worse than the worst reaction because then it was all anticipation, the best and worst all rolled together in one sea of uncertainty. If there were something else I could say, I would have said it just to fill the silence, but there wasn’t. Now it was up to James.

                James, who at almost the very last second of my patience and nerve’s limits, finally– _finally_ –decided to speak up.

                “Do you want to know something?”� His eyes did not move from mine. Slowly, the ends of his mouth rose slightly. “I reckon you might have mastered the whole rationality business, after all.”�

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                With a laugh that was probably more sigh than it was chuckle, I sagged in relief as James made quick work of the space between us and caught me up in his arms. He lifted me clear off the ground, throwing me off balance for a moment, but I didn’t mind. I wrapped my arms around his neck and tucked my head against his shoulder, breathing in his glorious scent and wondering why the hell it seemed to be that I was always blotching things up so much that I couldn’t indulge in something that felt so snug and lovely. Whose idea was this anger and fighting business, anyway? For Merlin’s sake, no more.

                James’s lips found my temple, then drifted down towards my ear.

                “Thank you,”� he whispered.

                “S’nothing,”� I murmured into his shoulder, which made it a bit muffled, I suppose, but I was quite content where I was and didn’t plan on leaving… or at least, I hadn’t _planned_ on leaving until James started nudging my head up and to be perfectly honest, there was a slightly better option awaiting that way, so I didn’t really put up much of a fight and maybe even perhaps did a bit of my own nudging until we had a proper angle working.

                It’s like we slags always say: nothing quite shows proper appreciation like a good snog.

                Or, you know, if we don’t say that, we should.      

                Everything probably would have been just fantastically fine and dandy after that, except for the fact that navigation isn’t the foremost thought in one’s mind while one is in the midst of a heady snog, so James only noticed the bucket of cleaning supplies lying behind us _after_ he’d gone and tripped over it. 

                The pair of us went down like rocks in water. Swoosh, splat.

                It was the first time I’d ever been laughing while still kissing someone.

                “Oh for fuck’s _sake_ ,”� James groaned as I cracked up, though I suppose I had more to laugh about considering James’s body had pleasantly cushioned my fall. I’m not so sure that he had been so lucky. I still couldn’t stop laughing, though, mad loon that I am.

                “Point bucket,”� I wheezed out between giggles, dropping my forehead against James’s chest when it all just became too much. Come on. It was _funny_. “I think that makes it two-nil, doesn’t it?”�

                James gave a playful tug on my hair. “I got a good kick in earlier.”�

                “Two-one, then. Very impressive, Potter.”�

                “Shut up,”� James grumbled, then seemed to decide that he didn’t much mind the floor as a replacement snogging venue and tugged my head up so that we could continue where we’d left off, casual as could be. I was having none of it, however. I knew a sign when I saw one. So even though it might have been a bit reluctantly–all right, a _lot_ reluctantly–I forced myself to dodge his seeking lips.

                “Uh-uh, I don’t think so,”� I said, shooing his snogs away with my hand. “The bucket has a point.”�

                “Of course the bucket has a point,”� James replied. “This is much easier on the floor.”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

                “Um, no.”� I continued to shoo him off, regardless of the fact that he was probably right. I wasn’t about to sit (lay) there and contemplate the semantics of it, however. I lifted myself off James’s chest slightly. “The bucket’s _point_ is that you’re supposed to be in detention, cleaning trophy cases. And I’m supposed to be yelling, not snogging you.”�

                “Let’s multitask,”� James suggested, and sweet _Merlin_ started doing this mad thing with his mouth along my throat and… _ah_ … “You can start yelling whenever you’d like.”�

                Oh, he thought he was so _clever_ , the stupid ponce with his stupid _mouth_.

                I may be a slag in my prime, but even I have my limits. With a look that I would like to think talked a bit of sense into him, I made quick work of shimming out of James’s grip and pushed off him. As primly as possible, I rose to my feet, making a very big show of dusting off my skirt and straightening my blouse. James pouted on the ground.

                Psh. What a child. 

                “There’s something I forgot to highlight about the whole two-way street gig,”� I announced, ignoring the less-than-attentive-and-more-put-out attention I was receiving from James on the floor. I gave his foot a prodding kick with mine. “This is _important_ , James. You may have wriggled your way out of serious trouble this time, but this relationship is not surviving an Amos-Boar catastrophe round two, got it? I don’t appreciate being lied to or made a fool of. The whole ‘letting go of the big things’ phenomenon becomes null and void if you’re holding back the little things, as well. It can’t work like that. It _won’t_. Understand?”�

                James sat up grudgingly. “I already told you, I _meant_ to tell you about Diggory.”�

                “ _Meant_ to. You don’t get points for the attempt.”�

                “That’s not–“

                “Just don’t make me feel stupid for trusting you, all right? And I’ll try not to make you feel stupid, as well.”�

                The sentiment was simple and sounded far more joke-like than I’d intended, but I didn’t know how else to put it that would make sense and that wouldn’t make me sound like a whining prat. But I didn’t want this whole episode to go unacknowledged, either. I didn’t want James to think that just because I’d decided to let it go this time that he could just do whatever he pleased, give me a snog, and I’d be complacent. This wouldn’t happen again. My frazzled nerves and not-exactly-stable trust in all things romantic wouldn’t allow for it. They just wouldn’t.

                I was worried that he wouldn’t understand that, but judging from the quiet sigh he let out and the serious enough expression that soon crossed over his face, I hoped that he did.

                “Yeah, all right,”� he finally said, propping his elbow up on his bent knee. “That’s fair.”�

                I nodded, satisfied. “Good.”� We stared at each other for a moment, but it felt awkward standing there while he was still sitting on the ground. I reached out a hand to him. “Come on. Up. Who knows when that floor was washed last.”�

                “I have a better idea,”� James said, latching onto my hand and tugging downwards. I stumbled forward, but thankfully managed to keep my ground. I gave James my best what-do-you-bloody-think-you’re-doing-mister? stare.

                “Did you not just hear me?”� I asked. James grinned. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “Floor. Dirty. _Gross_.”�

                “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Infallible.”�

                “Better a hygienic spoilsport than a diseased philanderer.”�

                “Philanderer?”� James laughed, his whole face brightening with mirth. “Only with you. Come on. You’re the one who crashed my detention.”�

                “So that I could tell you off, not for a molestation session!”�

                “I thought we were multitasking?”�

                I rolled my eyes. Honestly, the boy had an entirely one-track mind. And this coming from a certified slag! What is this world coming to?

                I extended my hand down to James again with a look that screamed don’t-try-it-a-second-time-buddy-no-arguments. He let out an extremely petulant sigh, but clasped his hand in mine and let me help him to his feet. The ponce deliberately overstepped, however, practically shoving himself into me. He was grinning the whole time. I put a restraining hand against his chest. My fingers curled into his shirt.

                “You have to clean,”� I said.

                James nodded, leaning closer. “I will.”�

                “Filch will be back.”�

                “Later.”�

                “James–“

                But there was really no stopping it. The pull of hormones is strong and a girl can really only take so much. Plus, certified slag, remember? As if there was ever another option.

                James leaned down or I reached up or maybe it was both. Either way, my mouth met his on an exhale, neither of us particularly dignified or subtle about it, though I don’t suppose I expected us to be. I lifted myself up on my toes, pushing my lips harder against his and squeezing the fabric of his shirt more tightly between my fingers, twisting the soft material in a clenched fist. James’s hands cupped my face first, adjusting the angle of our mouths as one kiss deepened into a second, a third, then drifted downwards, skimming down my neck, my chest, finally stopping as he gripped my waist to pull me closer. I sighed into his mouth as my front pressed against his, relishing in the feel of his warm body. James’s fingers squeezed my waist. I kissed him harder.

                “Bucket,”� I reminded James breathlessly as we stumbled backwards, not particularly relishing history repeating itself, though Merlin knew I wouldn’t have had too many qualms with lying atop James at that point. It was more the dirty floor aspect that was concerning me. James quit nibbling at my lips long enough to glance over his shoulder, spot the bucket, and give it a swift kick. The thing toppled over and out of the way with a loud clatter.

                “Bucket gone,”� he murmured. I was laughing as his mouth caught mine again.

                “That’s _not_ what I–“

                He didn’t bother hearing the rest. Instead, tongues were put to better use as he drew mine into his mouth with a quiet groan. I felt the vibrations of the sound straight to my toes, an automatic shiver running down my spine. This kiss went on longer, a bit more frantic, entirely more intoxicating. 

                I finally managed to unclench my fingers from his shirt and slowly let them drift upwards, both hands resting first at his neck, then trailing up until they sifted through the thick strands of his hair. My fingernails scratched gently against his scalp. That felt almost as good as his mouth on mine. James let out another soft noise, obviously liking it, as well.

                From there, things got rather heated and a bit frenzied. At some point, James’s mouth decided to do a bit of travelling, which I might have objected more to if he hadn’t started doing that madness at my neck again…bite, suck, lavish… _Merlin_ , how was anyone supposed to stand it? I certainly couldn’t, and in fact was finding myself having a bit of trouble with the whole standing thing in general. My knees jellied, threatening to collapse beneath me. I gripped James harder, molding my body more snugly against his as my legs continued to grow unsteady. 

                Even as my mind hazed over and James’s mouth nipped at a _most_ sensitive spot, I somehow managed to hold onto the fact that this was not working very well.

                “James.”� My voice was little more than a breathy wheeze. “ _James_.”�

                James hummed, merely taking this as encouragement to return his mouth to mine. The kiss was hot, wet and utterly mind-numbing. His lips were dangerous, the way they worked. I didn’t even care that we’d skipped over the whole slow-and-steady-to-begin bit and hopped straight to the hard-swift- _ravish_ part. With his lips stroking mine like that, the hard press of his mouth, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, it wasn’t even an option to slow down. 

                It was a few minutes–and another near feet fail–before I remembered what I’d meant to suggest. Except that by the time I remembered to suggest it, I was so out of breath and light-headed that it just rather came out as a slew of curt words instead of a sensible request. I broke my mouth away from James’s, flushed and panting.

                “Wait.”� I gasped. James groaned. I pressed another quick kiss against his lips, then nudged him backwards. “Over there. Ledge. Easier.”�

                “What?”� It was rewarding to note that James seemed as out of it as I was, but thankfully was alert enough to follow the suggestion of my nudge and begin moving backwards. I grabbed his hand and tugged him along as I sped over towards the niche in the corner of the room, one in which a small ledge about four inches in width ran along the perimeter of. I imagine at one point trophies were held on the actual ledge, but in the age of well-lit display cases, the ledge served instead merely as a clever snogging aid. I thought it was a pretty fair substitution.

                I wasted little time in dragging James over, hopping up onto the ledge, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and crashing his mouth back onto mine. With my wobbling legs no longer an issue, I found I could give James’s mouth proper attention. Too bad he was wasting time using it to mutter out worthless words.

                “Clever,”� he said first, then let me snog the life out of him for a few seconds. But before I could really do some delicious damage, he suddenly broke the kiss and pulled back. His eyes narrowed. “Wait a second. How did you know this was here?”�

                Er.

                Um.

                Right. Probably _not_ the best time to mention Michael Davies’s preference for the Trophy Room ledge. Good thing I’m quick on my feet–er, and off them, too.

                “Research,”� was my answer, which I know was probably not the best of responses, but I didn’t give James much time to object or question it. Instead, I grabbed his face and distracted him with my slag expertise. I wanted to try that neck business myself. I suppose I managed it all right, because he forgot all about the explanations behind our sudden relocation.

                And to be perfectly honest, so did I. There’s not much room for thinking when one is exploding with hormones and endorphins. Not that I’m complaining. I mean, my brain hardly functions properly anyway. Who cares if I hinder it a bit more?

                The ledge was a brill decision for a million reasons, but it was also probably a poor one for about as many. Not because it was uncomfortable or made things difficult, but actually because it _didn’t_ –it made things so much _easier_. Without having to worry about stupid things like balance and quivering limbs…well, those limbs were put to other uses. And while I know that’s all fine and normal and the sort of thing that hormone-driven rascal children get up to all the time…it’s still pretty easy to get in over your head. 

                Because one second, my hands are cupping James’s face and clenching his shirt, and the next they’re drifting beneath it, skimming over hot skin and searching for more. And suddenly not as many buttons are keeping my shirt closed and I don’t know how that happened because it certainly wasn’t _me_ (or was it?) and holy hell, is he even _wearing_ his shirt anymore (no), but I don’t even _care_ , even though I probably should. And even though I’ve always been the sort of witch to be quite firm in my, “Um, hey there, hands much?”� maybe it just goes to show how far my De-Pruding scheme succeeded that the thought didn’t even occur to me. James was a bold wanderer, but I was too busy wandering myself to object. 

                In fact…there was the awful inclination instead to perhaps mention that things clasp at the _back_ and see how that information might be taken and be put to use, but thank _Merlin_ that one didn’t actually make it out of my mouth. My lips were too busy, which was also an interesting predicament.

                I don’t know how long this would have gone on for–possibly too long, judging by my lack of a penchant to stop or slow down up until that point–but luckily, some sense and sanity managed to resurface eventually. Because somehow (the ledge’s fault as well, I’m sure) I had at some point decided it would be a brill idea to lock my legs around James’s waist in order to keep his body more firmly caught against mine. And that was all well and fine, except that that allowed for certain other sensations that I hadn’t directly been considering at that point. So the first time that James moved against me and there was that ever-telling _zing_ , I was a bit surprised. I mean, not that it was a _bad_ zing–far from it. I do believe I let out a rather embarrassing moan at it–but a bit off-putting nonetheless. And it’s not like I’m a stranger to such zings–I am a healthy seventeen-year-old witch, thank you very much, and as we’ve covered before, I did spend an inordinate amount of time on this very same ledge with Michael Davies, who certainly wasn’t known for his restraint. I was zing-experienced.

                But something about this particular zing had me pausing. Not in the, “Whoah. Stop. Not good,”� sort of way, but rather in the “Uh-oh. This is _too_ good,”� kind of way. 

                It was sort of like what my dad used to tell me when I was younger and he was convinced that I was going off to Hogwarts and learning to be an alcoholic instead of a properly trained witch. He used to look at me with that stern, serious stare of his and say, “I trust you. You’re a responsible girl. But just know that if you’re…indulging…and things suddenly start to feel _exceptionally_ _fun_ , it is usually time to stop.”�

                I am certain that my father did not have James and our heated fondling session in mind when he said this (and would probably in fact lock me away in a nunnery if he had any wisp of an idea about it), but I thought the sentiment remained the same. 

                Because this was starting to feel _exceptionally_ fun. 

                That probably meant that it was time to stop.

                Now if I could just get my body to agree.

                “James,”� I tried weakly, biting at my lip as James’s mouth played along my collarbone, his hands against my stomach and–ah, _hell_ , there it went again. _Zinnng._ “ _James_.”�

                But I think he just took this as encouragement, because his mouth returned to mine and he moved against me again. _Zing_.

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_. How much is a girl supposed to resist?

                But I somehow managed to talk my body into doing as my brain was asking (perhaps with the aid of the image of my father going, “ _It is usually time to stop,”�_ playing in my head). With reluctance, I forced my legs to unhook and slowly drift down from around James’s waist. Feeling this, James let out a soft noise of protest, but his mouth softened over mine until he slowly pulled away. His face was flushed, his glasses slightly askew, and I could see the mess I had made of his already mussed hair, but perhaps the most compelling thing of all was the look in his eyes. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but there were flecks of light green blended in with the brown. The color seemed darker all of a sudden, more intense and jarring than usual. Inside my chest, my pounding heart gave a small flip. James’s breath came out in short gasps against my cheek.

                “All right?”� he asked.

                I nodded. I wasn’t breathing properly, either. “Yes–er, yes. I just…it’s…getting late.”�

                I couldn’t come up with anything better than that. I would have judged myself for how pathetic that sounded, but who could blame me? My brain wasn’t exactly functioning too steadily yet.

                James groaned, dropping his head onto my shoulder and pressing a quick kiss there. “Not that late,”� he said.

                I grabbed his arm and maneuvered his wrist into view. I squinted down at his watch. James lifted his head off my shoulder as I let out a muffled swear.

                “Oh, bloody hell. Fifteen past curfew.”� I sighed. “If Filch doesn’t burst in here any minute, I’ll have to dodge him in the corridors.”�

                “You’ll be fine,”� James insisted, shifting his wrist out of my grip and using that hand to run a few fingers through my hair. I couldn’t even imagine what sort of bird’s nest that looked like after everything, and couldn’t really contemplate it with James’s fingers moving like that. Oh, god, what was he doing to me? “Stay,”� he said.

                “I can’t,”� I whispered, and now that the frenzy had faded and we were speaking semi-normally and reality had began to settle back in…I realised just what sort of things I had just been doing and what state that left me in. Suddenly, messy hair was the least of my problems. I instantly flushed and my fingers made a mad dash for my shirt ends. I began re-buttoning in a whirlwind of clumsy mortification. Dear Merlin. _Slag_ much, Evans? I couldn’t even look at James. “I really should go. You’re supposed to be cleaning, remember?”�

                “I will,”� James said. “Later.”�

                But that sounded all too familiar and I knew that if I gave in now, it’d probably be another eon before I could muster up enough good judgment to leave again–and who _knew_ what sort of state of slaggishness (and undress) we’d be in then? So as much as ditching good judgment in favour of James Potter sounded like a pretty bloody brilliant evening plan, I wisely fended off his advances. I knew my own limits. If I stayed now, this would not end innocently.

                …I mean, _I_ still would’ve left innocently. You know, _innocent_ innocently. I’m hardly _that_ slaggish. I mean, please, could you even _imagine_? In the _Trophy Room_? Honestly? Psh. Uh-uh, no, thank you. I think my dignity and girlish fantasies deserve a bit more finesse than _that_. Still, however _innocent_ innocently I may have left, I probably would have crossed a few borders that I otherwise might have hesitated about straddling, if you know what I mean.

                …and not that I’m going to think about those particular borders right now, because after an evening of heavy snogging and _zings_ , one is not in the proper state of mind to be considering such things. Everything has rather a deceivingly rosy shade to it right about now, which is probably not the best of lenses through which to be contemplating such acts. Especially with someone who, in all actuality, is still simply a more-or-less-mate-with-potential. That’s important to remember. He’s not even anything proper and official yet. And everyone who’s anyone knows that any witch with a bit of sense and dignity does not go about _straddling borders_ with simply mates.

                Though Merlin knows I’ve never _zing_ -ed with any other mate of mine.

                Hmph.

                “You can clean now,”� I finally told James, rational thinking coming slowly, but in the proper amount to make a sane, non-slag-driven decision. James did not look particularly grateful about that, however. He basically sulked.

                “They’ve waited this long, what’s…another half-hour?”�

                “No.”�

                “Fifteen minutes.”�

                “James.”�

                “Five.”�

                “ _James._ ”�

                “What’s five minutes in the long run of the world, Infallible? Really, who’s going to miss them?”�

                I wanted to laugh because he sounded so outraged that I wouldn’t agree to stay five minutes more and snog him, but I held it back because I knew he’d only take that as encouragement and I really couldn’t handle him much more persistent than he already was. I couldn’t even look at him for too long without wanting to jump his bones. I gave a dramatic, prolonged eye roll in an attempt to show my exasperation, but really, I was just giving my poor eyes a break.

                “A lot of things can happen in five minutes, thank you very much,”� I said primly, regretfully having to look at him again. Things went hazy then. “Five minutes…it’s a long time. Yes, quite long. Er. So...so I can’t just…just…oh, for Merlin’s sake, _where’s_ your bloody shirt?”�

                James grinned smugly. “I don’t know. Where’d you toss it?”�

                “I didn’t–“

                But of course I did, which really was the most embarrassing thing about it.

                The life of a teenage slag is so very difficult. Can’t even recall whose shirts you did or did not take off–very possibly including your own. Hmph.

                I slipped off the ledge as James muttered on about the ratio of abuse to enjoyment in the world and how I was tipping the scales in favor of the former and how did I feel about that, but I ignored his nonsense and instead scanned the floor for his discarded shirt. It was pooled innocently not too far from our feet. I swiped it up and instantly shoved it at him. James caught my hand and held it in place against his chest.

                “Two more minutes,”� he pleaded. I was baffled as to how he managed to look so innocent with such debauchery in mind. I shook my head firmly and tugged my hand out from under his. He caught his shirt as it fell.

                “No,”� I said, giving him my sternest of looks. I pointed towards his chest, then the abandoned, overturned bucket. “First dress, then clean. You’re in detention for a reason. Get working.”�

                James let out an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t I get any points for giving the sod what he deserved?”�

                I knew that one would come eventually.

                “Firstly,”� I said, plopping my hands on my hips, “you should not have been the one determining whether or not the ‘sod got what he deserved’. It’s not your job to be playing judgment day, idiot. And secondly, I think you’ve gotten quite enough ‘points’ for tonight, thank you very much!”�

                James flashed a wicked grin. “There can never be enough points in the world, Infallible.”�

                Oh, brother. I am clearly not the only slag in this relationship. Good thing one of us can be sensible when it counts. I swatted his quickly lowering face away.

                “No, no, _no_.”� I tried (and failed) to hold back a laugh as he needled and whispered slaggy suggestions. One had to give the boy credit for creativity. “You are a milk _addict_ , James Potter. This cow is no longer open for business!”�

                “If you would just let me _buy_ the cow,”� he muttered, “maybe we could work out better business hours.”�

                “Talk to my union in the morning,”� I replied, trying to put some distance between as. “Though I’m relatively certain business hours are never supposed to extend into detention.”�

                James moped as he– _finally_ –threaded his arms back through his shirtsleeves and made slow work of buttoning the shirt back up. I watched with slight disappointment as his skin disappeared behind the white fabric, but knew this was for the best. It was stunning how much more logically one can think when there aren’t half-naked mates-with-potential standing about. As James finished straightening out his clothes, I walked over towards the overturned bucket and started putting the cleaning supplies back inside. James took his time ambling over.

                He sighed. “You don’t have to do that. I should be the one cleaning up my own damn messes.”�

                I glanced up at him from my crouched position and put the last of supplies back in the bucket. “I helped with this one. It’s the least I can do.”�

                James chuckled. “Right.”�

                I stood with the bucket in hand, holding it out to James by the thin metal handle. He grabbed it reluctantly. As he gazed with obvious displeasure down at the cleaning supplies, I took hold of his wrist again and checked the time–9:24.

                “Bugger,”� I muttered, dropping his wrist and wrinkling my nose in distaste. “What do you reckon my chances of not getting detention myself are? Slim to none?”�

                “You’ll be fine,”� James said, but his voice sounded peculiar. I glanced at him curiously. He was staring back at me with an oddly critical gaze, as if the answer to my question was right there on my nose, if only he could figure it out. I raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

                “What?”� I finally asked.

                James placed the bucket onto the floor. “We’re trusting each other now, right?”�

                That made my eyebrows lift even higher. Oh, dear. “Well, yes…”�

                “All right, then.”� James’s hand went digging in his trouser pocket. His eyes didn’t leave mine. He looked strangely serious all of a sudden, but I didn’t know what in the world he could be thinking to reveal then, and how it could possibly come out of his pocket. Filch had took his wand, right? So that couldn’t be it. The mystery of it all was starting to get to me when his hand came out, fisting a large piece of old, folded up parchment. 

                Huh. Right, then.

                He slowly offered it to me. I took it, staring at the blank, stained parchment with as much seriousness as I could manage, considering the boy had just handed me a scrap parchment with all the air of a priceless heirloom. I mustered a small, questioning smile. “Er, thanks?”�

                “This borders on a big thing, Lil,”� is what he told me, taking the parchment from my hand briefly to unfold it. It was still blank inside. “And it’s not even fully mine to tell, so this stays between us, got it?”�

                “Of course,”� I replied instantly, now intrigued beyond all reason. Something that borders on a big thing? And he was trusting me with it? I wanted to hop around and spin like a giddy little girl, but instead I waited patiently for James to reveal the secret of the parchment, whatever it was. He moved closer to me, coming to stand just next to my shoulder. We both stared at the blank parchment. Then James suddenly said, “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”�

                I glanced at him over my shoulder with a laugh. “What?”� 

                “Look.”�

                I followed the nod of James’s head and turned back to the parchment. I abruptly stopped laughing.

                Holy bleeding _hell_.

                It was a moving map of Hogwarts. There, right on the blank piece of old parchment that I had just practically been snorting with dubiousness over, rested a detailed, drawn out map of Hogwarts, with tiny moving little dots that were labeled with the names of whoever it was that happened to be wandering about. It was the craziest, most brilliant thing I had ever seen, and my mind boggled at the type of time and magic that must have gone into creating something like it. 

                Even as I stood there and stared in utter awe, I spotted my dot and James’s–‘J. Potter’ and ‘L. Evans’ were practically on top of one other–and then the map shifted a bit to show the ground floor, where ‘A. Filch’ rested motionless in his office. Selected dots continued to sprout up as the map shifted slowly from floor to floor.

                “Oh my god,”� I whispered, staring at the thing in amazement. “Oh my _god_ , James.”�

                “Pretty brill, right?”� The pride in his voice was clear. I turned to look at him, unable to keep the admiration off my face.

                “You made this? All on your own?”�

                James shook his head. “Not just me. The lads, too. Sirius has the steady drawing hand, so the sketches are his. And Remus spent weeks in the library working out the kinks in most of the Charms–even had to make up a few. Peter’s got a way of exploring the hard-to-get-to places, so the floor plans come from him. I was just the bloke with the wand.”�

                “Don’t say that.”� I quit gawking long enough to glance up and smile at him. I nudged his side playfully. “That’s some wandwork, my friend.”�

                James grinned in return and shrugged. “Maybe.”�

                I turned back to the map to gape and stare some more, marveling at the madness of it. I mean, truly, how bloody _cool_ is that? A map of Hogwarts? That shows you where _everyone_ is? No wonder the lot of them got away with so much! And honestly, at that point, I didn’t begrudge them their successes. Anyone who put this much work into escaping trouble had more than their right to it. And now I was in on the secret! I was inordinately pleased about that, even though I probably should have tried to be a bit more casual about it. I was still too snog-happy to make a good effort at it, though. Instead, I just kept watching the map shift and the dots move and thought I could probably get some pretty solid voyeuristic kicks with this thing because you can run, but you can’t hide, little dots. Ha! I wonder what sort of–

                And then I spotted them.

                “Oh my god!”� I almost dropped the map in my surprise, but managed to keep hold of it, if only to get another look. When I did and the dots were still there– _right there in plain writing–_ I hopped about in excitement. “Oh my _god_. James! Look! _Look_!”�

                James was staring at me as if I’d just completely lost it. “Look at what?”� he asked.

                I jabbed a finger at the top of the map. “There! Right there! _Look who’s in the Astronomy Tower!_ ”�

                He leaned over to look at the dots that my overenthusiastic finger was mostly blocking with my excited pokes. He pushed my finger out of the way, then read the two names listed beneath. As I giggled in triumphant delight, James rolled his eyes.

                _E. Vance_ and _F._ _McDonough._

                Emma and Mac were in the Astronomy Tower.

                EMMA AND MAC WERE IN THE ASTRONOMY TOWER!

                I’d never felt so proud in my entire life. I happily skipped around from foot to foot, ending with a small twirl of victory.

                “You are out of control,”� James muttered, shaking his head at me, but I didn’t care. I was too ecstatic at my success.

                “That was _me_ ,”� I informed him smugly, not even minding exposing my blatant self-satisfaction as I pointed towards Emma and Mac’s dots again. James has to accept me with all my horrid faults, remember? Even the unashamed meddling and smug ones. “ _I_ was the one who conned her into talking to him again! Me. Me and my utter meddling _brilliance_.”�

                “I should never have shown you this thing,”� was James’s flat response. “You can’t handle the power.”�

                “Oh, posh!”� I scoffed, but held the map possessively against my chest, just in case he got any ideas about taking it back. I snuck another quick glance down at Emma and Mac’s dots. Ah, _sweet_ victory. I couldn’t quite contain my madwoman grin. James rolled his eyes again.

                “You’re right daft, do you know that?”� He lifted a hand to rustle my hair. “Absolutely out of your mind.”�

                I decided just to smile at him. There was no better answer, really.

                James threw me a look and muttered something about sincerely hoping lunacy wasn’t contagious, which I had every intention of replying to with a witty retort like, “Of course it is, must watch out, I caught it in a stairwell not too long ago, hardy-har-har,”� but before I could get that out, something made me glance down at the map again and the sudden movement of a previously stagnant dot caught the droll comment in my throat.

                “Oh, bloody hell.”� I lifted the map off my chest. “Filch’s left his office.”�

                “What?”� James moved closer, shifting the map so that he could examine it, as well. We both watched Filch’s dot head for the staircases. James swore bitterly. “You’ve got to go,”� he said, pushing the map towards me. “See that passageway off to the right there? Stay inside until Filch comes in here, then make a dash for it. He’ll probably hang about in here and gloat for awhile, but keep an eye on the map just in case.”�

                “But what about you?”� I asked, dragging my feet as James pushed me towards the door. I shot a look over my shoulder at the still dirty trophy cases. “Filch’ll know something’s up. You haven’t cleaned–“

                “Don’t worry about it.”�

                “Of course I’m going to _worry_ about–“

                “Lil. _Go_.”�

                “Wait a second,”� I said, an idea suddenly popping into my head. I pulled out my wand and shot a few cleaning spells towards the cases closest to the door. They glistened perhaps a bit too brightly for simple hand washing, but I hoped that Filch wouldn’t notice that. James glanced at my handiwork and grinned.

                “Hey, thanks.”� I think he was surprised he hadn’t thought of that one earlier. He paused for a moment. “You know, you _could_ just–“

                “Uh-uh. Nice try.”� I shot him a look and re-pocketed my wand. “You’re here for a reason, remember? I think a bit of manual labor will do you some good.”�

                James sighed. “So _testy_.”�

                “Yes, I am,”� I replied primly, checking the map one last time before opening the Trophy Room door. Filch was still ambling up the staircases, so I didn’t worry about the loud creak. I gave James one last glance over my shoulder. “Have a good night.”�

                James pressed one last quick kiss against my lips. “You, too. And be careful. Filch is faster than he looks. When you’re done with the map, tell it ‘mischief managed’.”�

                “Mischief managed. Got it.”� Except that the map thought I was talking to it _then_ , and quickly reverted back to a simple piece of old parchment. “Oh, ruddy hell. What’s that–“

                “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”�

                “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,”� I repeated dutifully, and hefted a sigh when the map dissolved back into view again–just in time for me to see that Filch had reached the third floor. “Ah!”� I yelped, and gave James a last quick kiss of my own before crossing over the threshold of the door. “Bye!”�

                “Lily!”� James caught my arm. I jerked around quickly, lifting a questioning eyebrow. He was grinning. “I have detention all week,”� he told me. “You’re more than welcome to crash those, too.”�

                Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_.

                “You’re an idiot.”�

                “You fancy me, anyway.”�

                “Only Merlin knows _why_.”�

                James laughed, then shooed me off. “ _Go_ , Infallible!”�

                I grinned as I ducked out of the room and into the corridor. “Bye!”� I whispered.

                James closed the door behind me and I slinked into the passageway he’d pointed out earlier (behind a portrait of Mervin the Magical Manticore. Really? Mervin, you should have told me!). It wasn’t long before I heard Filch’s footsteps echoing on the other side of the portrait and watched as his dot drifted right on past mine and towards James’s. 

                I waited until the Trophy Room door had opened loudly and snapped closed again before leaving my passageway refuge. I couldn’t hear Filch and James, but I hoped things weren’t getting too ugly in there. I figured James was probably in prime shape for an insult match in any case. He should have been in a good enough mood to be on top of his game.

                The trip back to Gryffindor Tower was thankfully uneventful, with the only slight difficulty coming when I had to skulk around a corner on the seventh floor and wait for Professor Sprout to meander on by before I could continue towards the Fat Lady. I felt like a proper troublemaker, all snog-high and map-guided, which I suppose is not exactly something the Head Girl should be getting giddy over, but I’m going to chalk it up to rotten influences and leave it at that. 

                In any case, the Fat Lady didn’t even judge too harshly when I gave her the password a full half-hour past curfew (“Got lost, did you?”�), which is always a reason to celebrate. I gave her a shrug, told the map that my mischief had indeed been managed, then folded it up all innocuously before heading into the common room. There were still plenty of people up and about, but none of them really glanced my way as I shuffled towards the girls’ staircase. If nothing else, at least that meant that I didn’t scream, “Oy! Over here! Just crashed a detention and gleefully mauled my mate-with- potential!”� on sight. It was comforting (and, all right, slightly exciting) to have kept such a secret.

                I made my way back to the dorm as casually as possible, still slightly scatterbrained with successful secret-keeping and stern-chat-turned-snogging, but thought that I was managing to conceal that rather well. I ambled on into the dorm, kicking the door shut behind me. And even though I thought I was being all cool and calm, Grace, Carrie Lloyd _and_ Saunders all looked up and stared at me when I walked in, and the sound of the slamming door seemed unusually loud. I stood in front of the door like an idiot. From her place on her bed, Grace put down her book and grinned at me.

                “How’d your stern chat go?”� she asked.

                I cleared my throat awkwardly, well aware that Carrie and Elisabeth were still both staring at me, even though it wasn’t like they had any idea where I’d been or who I’d been having a stern chat with and therefore shouldn’t care. I tried to ignore them and focused on Grace. “It went well. I was…very stern. And cross. I think he got the message.”�

                “That’s good,”� Grace replied, though now she had a twinkle in her eye that I didn’t like. I wondered if I could possibly be that obvious, but figured that maybe it was just all in my head. Satisfied with that notion, I finally made my way towards my bed, dropping the map onto my bedside table and fiddling with some books I had lying there. Then Grace was all, “Hey, Lil?”�

                I turned to look at her. “Hm?”�

                “Next time you have a stern chat, you _might_ want to re-button your shirt properly.”�

                Oh, bleeding bloody _hell_.

                Grace started laughing hysterically as I started sputtering like an idiot, “I didn’t…golly me, how did that happen?”� but Grace didn’t believe it for a second–and I don’t think Carrie or Saunders did, either, judging by the way they cackled and glared respectively. The latter was looking quite as if she wouldn’t mind if golly me somehow found my way out of a golly window.

                But here I am, anyway, not an unfortunate splattering upon the Hogwarts grounds, but a witch in her bed with a hastily re-buttoned top and a slightly public affirmation of her slagitude (as if I needed the confirmation!). Grace is still occasionally shooting a look over at me and laughing, which is why I haven’t told her yet about Emma’s night, even though she’s not back yet and Grace (in between giggles) is all, “Where’d you reckon Emma’s off to?”� 

                I refuse to tell her that I know exactly where Emma is, seeing as I’ve hidden James’s map beneath here as I write and have been occasionally checking to see whether Emma and Mac have left the Astronomy Tower (they have not) and whether ‘J, Potter’ is still busy at work in the Trophy Room (he is). And I don’t find that the least bit pathetic or telling, rather a natural curiosity that any person confronted with such a wickedly brill magical device would indulge in. 

                And if sometimes I pay more attention to a stupid dot slowly floating about the tiny box located on the far side of the third floor…well, whatever. I’m a seventeen-year-old girl. What does the world want from me?

                And for the first time in _quite_ some time, I feel…I don’t know. Normal? Happy? Probably a mixture of both. It’s been far too long since I’ve just been able to worry about common seventeen-year-old witch things like missing mates and too-good-to-keep-going- _zings_. And considering I expected tonight to end on a sour, angry note–and was getting more than a bit worried towards the middle there, with all that fifth-year madness–the calmness of now is even sweeter. 

                Plus…I mean, this may just be the snogs talking, but …we made it work. James and me, I mean. Did you see how we made it work, like proper people in a proper relationship? Because there were about a million occasions where I could have stormed off or lied my arse off or any number of completely usual-Lily destructive things…but I didn’t. 

                And James listened. 

                He listened and he probably would have told me things if I’d been selfish enough to let him, but I wasn’t and he didn’t and even _I’m_ surprised with how okay with that I am. And while I’m not saying that I’m ready to go off and read the banns yet…well, who wouldn’t be less inclined to get hives after tonight? 

                Because I’m not saying we’re perfect–in fact, far from it. We’re both very silly, touched-in-the-head people with a septic-tank-of-a-history that is bound to come back to cause problems again, and Merlin knows we’ve got too many foolish quirks to count…but who says things can’t work in spite of all that? Me before, I know, but now…

                Well, there’s hope.

                There’s a lot of hope.

                Which is just the thing to make a girl like me a bit dizzy, but in a good way.

                In a really, really good way.


	22. October 24th: Of Lunches and Lines

**Author’s Notes** : And here we are again: another chapter, another two months late. Never gets old, does it? But I think some comfort should be taken in the fact that this chapter is basically the size of two, but there was simply nowhere to split it that would have made either chapter able to stand on its own. So now it’s just one, epically long saga. Oops? Oh, well. There are worse things.

Many, many thanks go out to my betas, Andie and Ben, both of whom are fabulous miracle-workers with skills that surpass all comprehension. They also go to Dina for playacting with me, even if it was entirely accidental.

“I think someone should have had the decency to tell me the luncheon was free. To make someone run out with potato salad in his hand, pretending he's throwing up, is not what I call hospitality.”�

\- Jack Handey 

_______________________________________

**Friday, October 24th, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 268**

            There is a certain etiquette involved when one dormmate is rising from bed before their fellow dormmates.

            Before this year, such rules went rather unacknowledged by me. I mean, they were part of my life certainly, but indirectly so seeing as I’d always believed that ‘rising early’ meant allowing Emma to rouse me from bed some time before breakfast was over. More often than not, I was the one curled up contently beneath my covers, snoozing the morning away, quite happy to lash out like a lunatic if disturbed. It wasn’t always the best of existences, but it sadly was all I knew.

            During my recent adventures as a sudden Early Riser, however, I have come to know and embrace these tacit rules–things like, tiptoe as much as possible, don’t make exclamations louder than a hiss, and never open the curtains on a sunny day–and quite like them, actually. They are part of the world of Early Mornings and, as such, should be wholly obliged and respected by those of us worshipping at the Altar of the Rising Sun.

            “Bloody _effing_ …where are my ruddy gloves?!”�

            Clearly the Emily Post of Early Mornings needs to have a firm chat with Gracie.

            There is a loud creak and a lot of thumping as Grace goes digging rowdily through her trunk, her vigor in the effort evident from the series of noisy clanks and clunks that soon fill the 7th Year Girls’ dormitory. She huffs and swears furiously, obviously not finding what she’s looking for. There is an annoyed groan from another bed, but if Gracie hears it, it only seems to encourage her further. The trunk falls shut with a forceful _thunk_.

            She had just begun opening and slamming dresser drawers when I finally took it upon myself to kindly reprimand her for her actions.

            “Grace. Shut _. Up_.”�

            I’ve always said that ‘kind’ is a matter of subjectivity.

            Grace must have found objection with the liberties I decided to take with my friendly reprimand, however, because she grabbed a pillow off her bed, chucked it at my head and went, “Oy! Help me find my gloves, Slaggy!”�

            Oh, sure. _That’s_ how you get a girl to do things for you. Cause her bodily harm and call her a slag. Good one, Gracie.            

            But I suppose the hag was basically only calling the zebra striped, so it’s not like I could really protest much. I mean, _she_ wasn’t the one who’d ambled into the room last night with her buttons undone. That would’ve been me. And besides, I was mostly awake by that point anyway and knew that there would be no peace inside the dormitory if someone didn’t step in and guide Grace with a firm hand. Considering Saunders and Carrie were unlikely to abandon their much-needed beauty sleep for any generous cause, and Emma had only stumbled into our dorm towards twelve (!!), she was probably (hopefully) too drained from her Mac (snog) session to be useful. 

            It looked like it’d be up to me to tame the wild beast. The dorm was lucky that I was in a good mood.

            Which, surprisingly enough, I was. Even with the rude awakening and the slurs against my good name that I’d already had to endure this morning, I still found myself feeling particularly cheered. I’d like to think that this is because I am a very optimistic person with a sunny disposition and a benevolent nature, but I think it probably had more to do with the fact that dreams are beautiful things where _zings_ don’t have to stop when they get _exceptionally_ fun.

            Hm.

            Well, it’s not as if I didn’t warn you. Striped zebra and all, remember? I’m not trying to hide it.

            Throwing back my blankets, I let out an overly-dramatic sigh that I’d like to think concealed my good mood enough to let Gracie know I didn’t appreciate her impersonation of an alarm clock. I plodded over to her bed, making a big show of yawning and stretching. “All right, you wench,”� I muttered. “Where’d you have them last?”�

            Grace scratched her head, slamming another drawer closed. “Dunno. The floor, maybe? I just sort of chucked them off.”�

            Taking in that useful bit of information, I left Grace’s bed to grab my wand off my bedside table. I gave it a quick flick. “ _Accio_ gloves!”�

            In a matter of moments, one small glove had shot out from beneath Gracie’s bed. The other came flying by from inside the closet. I caught both articles in my hand and held them out to Grace. She blinked.

            “If it weren’t so early,”� she said, “I would have thought of that.”�

             I smirked. “Sure you would have.”� 

            Grace grumbled something rude as she grabbed the gloves from me and shoved them into the pocket of her Quidditch robes. 

            Watching silently as she crouched next to her bed and grabbed her boots from the abyss beneath, what she was doing hit me for the first time. I frowned. 

            “You have practice?”� I asked rather stupidly. When she tossed me a look that said as much, I added, “I meant _why_ do you have practice? I thought the next match was Slytherin and Ravenclaw?”�

            “It is.”� Grace sat down on her bed and hiked up her knee so that she could reach the laces of her boots. As her fingers quickly tied, she glanced up at me with a sardonic scowl. “Your lover is barmy, however, and reckons that any day we’re on the pitch is a day the others aren’t.”� She scoffed bitterly, dropping that foot and then lifting up the other. “As if anyone else would schedule a practice this _early_.”�

            I listened without expression, but the happily dancing figure who’d been twirling around in my stomach suddenly ceasing her giddy movements and stomped her foot in outrage. Quidditch practice. They had Quidditch practice. I shouldn’t have been any more depressed over the fact than I usually am, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I tried not to show how disappointed I was that I wouldn’t see James at breakfast, but I think my casual, “Oh, right,”� was a bit too forlorn to manage it. I knew I’d botched it up royally when Grace dropped both her feet to the floor and openly laughed at me.

            “Bloody hell, Lil, don’t look so dejected! You’ll see him in class!”�

            “I _know_ ,”� I muttered, feeling the blush creep up along my neck, hating how well she knew me. I was utterly mortified at being caught acting so pathetically. In a lame attempt at reclaiming some dignity, I grappled for a proper excuse. “It’s not like that. I just…I…I wanted to tell him something! Yes, that’s right. Tell him something. That’s all!”�

            Grace cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Tell him something, you say? Well, that’s simple enough. What is it? I’ll tell him.”�

            Er.

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, _shit_. Say something!

            I was positively crimson by this point. Blinking owlishly at her, I sputtered out, “Um. Er. Tell him…you can tell him…you know. Hullo.”�

            Oh, for Merlin’s _sake_. Hullo? That’s the best I could do?

            Grace’s grin widened to outstanding proportions. I cursed my own stupidity and felt the heat on my face escalate to an impossible degree. I shouldn’t have cared–it was only Grace, I kept telling myself. She _knows_ –but I still hated how silly I sounded. Like I was…well, you know, some sort of pathetic, puppy-dog, giggling third-year. Which I most certainly am _not_ , thank you very much.

            I don’t think.

            Hm.

            Grace, still grinning like a right maniac, had the gall to tease me. “Well. Now I understand your urgency. Been keeping that one in, have you?”�

            “Shut up,”� I said, ducking my head in mortification. I thought I could hide my shame behind the curtain of my hair. It seemed a proper enough shield. I hoped that Grace would take that as a sign that the conversation was over, letting me wallow in the humiliation I was already drowning in, but this was Grace, so of course she didn’t.

            “You know,”� she started, walking towards me until she was close enough to drop a hand on my shoulder, “if you would prefer to pass on that entirely _private_ message personally, you _could_ just come and watch practice.”�

            My head snapped up with lightning speed. “ _What_?”�

            Come and watch practice.

            Come and _watch practice_?

            _Excuse_ me?

            “Come to practice,”� Grace said again, casual as could be. “Some people do, you know.”�

            Oh, I knew. Of course, I bloody _knew_. Everyone bloody _knew_. It was a constantly debated topic, as a matter of fact, because most teams were utterly suspicious of spies and therefore had strict policies regarding who could and couldn’t hang about in the stands while they did their drills and exercises. I had always thought it was an entirely stupid procedure, but Grace had continuously taken it seriously enough, so who was I to question it? 

            But I also knew exactly the sortof people who had that honoured privilege of being able to come to watch Quidditch practices. 

            Girls.

            Pathetic, puppy-dog, giggling, third-year girls. 

            And… significant others. 

            Players’ girlfriends and boyfriends. 

            _Captains’_ girlfriends.

            I visibly blanched.

            “James would practically wet himself in delight,”� Grace went on, ignoring my panic entirely. “We wouldn’t get a single thing done, he’d spend so much time glancing over his shoulder to see if you were watching. It’d be perfectly adorable–I could give him hell about it for _weeks._ ”�

            I didn’t like the things that image were doing to my insides. They squirmed and tingled, but not exactly in a bad way. The little figure in my stomach did a little spin again. I felt lightheaded…or maybe it was just light.

            Which was exactly the problem.

            In a matter of seconds, the defenses went up. It was automatic. I told the little figure to _bloody well sit down_.

            I shook my head furiously at Grace. “I am _not_ going to practice.”�

            She pulled a face. “Oh, come on, Lil. You _know_ you want–“

            “ _No_.”�

            I don’t know what about my tone or expression got across my desperation and obstinacy on the point, but whatever it was, Grace did not push it for once. She threw me a look that blatantly said, “You are being a silly henwit, Evans,”� but managed to muster out a rather complacent, “All right. Fine. Maybe next one.”�

            I let out a long breath. My stomach stopped flipping. The figure sulked, but stayed put. “Yeah, maybe.”�

            Grace left a few minutes later, which was just fine with me. I wasn’t tempted to go with her, but I was…something. I don’t know. I _thought_ about going, even if it was reluctantly, which is just about the most bloody maddening thing. I mean, hope and zings are one thing, but _Quidditch practice_?

            Oh, dear.

            Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 268**

 

_Dear Mum,_

 

_We are still technically in a bit of a row (just so you know), but this is an important question, so I thought I’d forget your testy impertinence for a moment in order to inquire._

 

_You know how Dad loves to go fishing, and you think it is the stupidest bloody thing in the entire world because who wants to sit there with a stick and some string and kill poor, innocent creatures of the sea for hours on end with nothing to do but watch the sun go up and down and chat with the other tagalong wives who are flighty peagooses with very little sense and dignity? Well, have you ever gone, anyway? You know, just because Dad would probably sing with delight to have you there, glancing over his shoulder the whole time simply to catch looks of you, even though you’d basically be rolling your eyes and doodling in your diary or knitting or something like that the entire time?_

 

_I’d just like to know. As a hypothetical thing, of course. And feel free to include any insight on what sort of ailment a girl would have to be suffering from in order to do something as utterly ludicrous as this._

 

_Hope things are well. Tell Dad and Tunie hullo for me._

___(Reluctant) hugs and kisses.  
_ _Lily_

 

_______________________________________

**Later Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 268**

 

 

            Well.

            Would you look at that? Would you just _look_ at that!

            I’m not positive, but I _think_ I may have just accomplished something rather outstanding and magnificent–or at the very least, I was a significant contributing factor in it, which is practically just as good. I’m not certain what precisely that means for my karma, but I’m going to take it and run with it because this is probably as good as it gets.

            Brilliant, brilliant, _brilliant_.

            After sending Winnie off with my letter to Mum, I was quick to dress and gather about my things for the morning, even though the only thing I was rushing towards was a lonely breakfast and then–Merlin, help me–Ancient Runes, Transfiguration and Divination. What a stunningly fab morning line-up. And the class that kicked off the celebration was one filled to the brim with trouble. With all things James having taken precedence, I had forgotten to stress over what might happen when I finally ran into Amos face-to-face again. 

            I could have been panicking. I know that I could have been completely hyperventilating over the endless possibilities…but the fact of the matter was, I’ve had quite enough of kicking up a fuss over stupid bloody Amos Diggory. I just don’t care anymore. It’s not worth the effort. Despite Grace’s Quidditch practice bomb, I was still in far too good a mood to let that rotten tosser turn it foul. I was not about to sit around moping over what he might do or say. I mean, it wasn’t like I had any _control_ over it. And if I couldn’t change it, what was the point?

            So, whatever. If the dolt annoyed me, I’d just hex him, gain a detention, and maybe spend most of it snogging James again. What a _trial._

            Er. Not that I…well, I mean, I probably _would_ , but…

            Oh, psh. As if dithering on about not being such a slag makes it any truer. I have a disease. It’s only counterproductive to deny it. So I won’t.

            Anyway, the point is that my disposition was still swinging towards happy and positive when I strolled into the Great Hall, even though there was no one around to share in my pleasantness. My plan was to tuck in to some nice strawberries and waffles and perhaps get some Transfiguration revising done like a proper, scholarly Head Girl. I haven’t been studying as much as I should be and what better opportunity than a lonely meal to indulge in some love-hate Transfiguration? The plan was set. Dutiful as I am, I even had my Transfiguration book tucked beneath my arm and was ready to crack it open and dive right in. I knew how to make the most of a morning.

            It was just as I was heading over to my usual spot at the Gryffindor table, however, that the plan suffered a slight hitch. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar mop of dark hair. I stopped walking and squinted down the end of the long table. 

            Well, I’ll be damned. It _was_ him.

            My suspicions confirmed, I debated for only a second before pivoting on my heel and striding over. He didn’t notice my approach until I’d cheerfully called out a greeting.

            “Good morning, MJ! What are you doing up so early?”�

            MJ’s head shot up from whatever he’d been reading, clearly baffled as to why someone might be speaking to him. That tugged at my heartstrings a bit, but I figured the only thing that could be done about it was what I presently _was_ doing–giving him a winning smile and sliding into the seat next to him. I didn’t take it personally when the boy blinked at me as if I’d gone round the bend.

            “We’re about one centimeter taller in the morning than at night,”� is what he said in answer.“Layers of cartilage in the joints get compressed during the day. Did you know that?”�

            “So that’s why you got up early?”� I teased, not even bothering to answer the standard ending inquiry. “You have some deep-seated desire to be taller?”�

            MJ shrugged, staring at me as if to say, “That wasn’t my point at all, and why are you sitting here?”� but I refused to be put off by his quirkiness and lack of self-confidence. I could tell that he felt exceptionally awkward–he couldn’t quite look me in the eye, and there was a certain redness dusting his cheeks–but I suppose that was expected after our last tutoring session. I didn’t want that codswallop to hinder our budding mateship, however, so I tried to have enough friendliness and enthusiasm for both of us. My smile was positively manic.

            “I’ve been ditched by my mates for stupid Quidditch,”� I told him, giving an exaggerated eye roll as I settled in my seat and dropped my rucksack on the ground behind me. “Would you mind terribly if I breakfasted with you?”�

            MJ’s brow furrowed, his eyes following my movements–my rucksack on the floor, the silverware I straightened and sorted out in front of me. “You don’t have to,”� he said. “I can eat alone. I do it all the time.”�

            “Well, I don’t,”� I replied, and if the boy was trying to convince me to leave him alone, he was doing a piss poor job of it. ‘I do it all the time’. Merlin, how horrifically depressing _that_ sounded. “Truth is, if I eat alone, I’ll only end up revising for my Transfiguration exam and that will put me in the foulest of moods. I’d much rather sit and chat with you. You don’t mind, right?”�

            MJ hesitated for a moment, finally lifting his gaze to mine. He eyed me in that intense-serious sort of way he has, but eventually shook his head. “No.”�

            I very nearly clapped in glee. “Excellent! Now, where are the waffles?”�

            MJ pointed silently to his left and I chattered mindlessly as I grabbed the waffle platter and forked a few onto my plate. I’m relatively certain that I was overwhelming the poor thing, but better that than abandoning him to his own reclusiveness. I was determined to cure him of his shyness, his self-inflicted solitary confinement. And while I know that that isn’t exactly something you can snap and fix, I had a few ideas up my sleeve. First, however, I had to make the boy stop staring at me as if at any moment I might lift my nose in the air and stride off in a huff of superiority. 

            That’s what the mindless chatter was for. Nothing quite said, “I am your silly, flighty inferior equal!”� like inane babbling. 

            Good thing I’m so brill at it.

            “–can’t _stand_ Transfiguration, but no one’s asked my opinion, I suppose. And I still have to read through all of it. I have a crap exam coming up and I’d rather not fail. Rubbish, really. What’re you reading there? Something more interesting then Transfiguration, I hope.”�

            MJ–still looking a bit dazed by my sudden whirlwind assault on his isolation–blinked, then dutifully lifted the brightly-coloured pamphlet he’d been reading. I ducked a glance at the unfamiliar cover. It was some sort of comic book. 

            “It’s _Damien: Dragon-Dueler_ ,”� MJ explained, perhaps noting my confusion. “Issue twenty-one.”�

            “Ah,”� I murmured with interest, as if I had any idea who Damien the Dragon Dueler was or what any of his twenty-one issues might be (though one could imagine that a Dragon Dueler would have quite a few of them). The cover showed a rather dashing bloke in some sort of slick red-black gear surrounded by a ring of fire. 

            I figured Damien’s twenty-first issue must be a bit of a hot one, hardy har har. 

            MJ dropped the comic back onto the table. 

            “How’s Damien doing?”� I asked.

            That elicited the smallest of lip quirks from him. His voice had gained a new sort of speed and lift when he answered, “He’s stuck in the Cavern of Chlose. It took him _forever_ to get inside, but he finally managed it. Things are looking bleak, though. The Chinese Fireball is closing in. Damien’s got to steal back the Ministry documents before the Fireball turns them to cinders.”�

            “Do you reckon he’ll do it?”�

            MJ shrugged, but his lips remained turned upwards. He grew more animated by the second. I wanted to cheer. 

            “Dunno,”� he confessed, but didn’t seem discouraged by this. He shook his head knowledgably. “Damien doesn’t much like the Ministry, so he might’ve let the dragon have them, but Roxie Trager asked him to find the papers. Now I reckon he needs to get them.”�

            “Oh, Roxie Trager. Is that his lady love?”�

            That actually got a laugh–a _laugh!_ –out of him. MJ was laughing! And I hadn’t even needed to resort to being yelled at by Madam Pince to get it!

            Huh.

            Comic books.

            Who would have thought it?

            “Sort of,”� MJ said. “Roxie is an Auror. She and Damien fight all the time, but she’s quite fit. She’s got red hair like you.”�

            “Seriously?”� My hand lifted to my own obnoxiously-coloured locks. I leaned over, glancing down at the open comic. Us redheads are a dying breed. And an Auror to boot! I think I like this girl. “Where is she?”�

            MJ started flipping back through the pages, grinning in earnest as he explained, “Roxie got kidnapped last issue. Damien went to save her, but she’d already escaped the Vipertooth herself. It was _really_ wicked. She’s got this great move–“

             “Hey, Lily.”�

            MJ and I both snapped our heads up at the sudden interruption. The second the new voice piped up, I could feel MJ clam up beside me. I would have become cross over that, but when I glanced up to see who the intruder was, I melted into a puddle of pre-teen wistful sighs.

            “Thomas Dunn!”� I sat up straight and gave the attractive third-year a happy wave. “How are you?”�

            Thomas puffed up all proudly as if the mere fact that I’d remembered his name made him some sort of prize. I would have laughed, but I didn’t want to give the poor, gorgeous thing a reason to develop a complex. I suppose thirteen-year-olds were allowed to have a bit of Pompous Boy in them. Especially ones that looked like Thomas Dunn.

            “I’m ace,”� he said, grinning back at me. He pulled a trademark hair flip and the little girl inside of me swooned. “How about you?”�

            I nodded down at the comic. “I’m educating myself.”� Then, with much enthusiasm, I jerked my head towards the still frozen and slightly huddled-in-himself MJ. “Do you know my mate MJ?”�

            I don’t know who was more surprised to hear me call MJ my mate–Thomas Dunn, who visibly de-puffed and whose eyebrows went _whoosh_ straight up to his hairline, or MJ himself, whose gaze snapped over to mine quickly enough to give himself whiplash. I merely grinned at both of them.

            There is nothing– _nothing_ –cooler for a preteen boy than having an older girl as a mate. 

            I had to wield what clout I could. Merlin knew MJ was going to need every ounce of it.

            I knew my trick had worked when Thomas’s Dunn’s gaze moved slowly and thoughtfully over towards MJ. “Er, sure,”� he said, as if not sure how to answer. “Hey, Rosier.”�

            MJ stared at Thomas with wide eyes, gawking as if Thomas had just said something utterly outrageous rather than simply greeted him. He mumbled something incoherent and gave this pathetic sort of flailing wave.

            Oh, come on, MJ, I can’t do this by _myself_.

            “We’re reading _Damien: Dragon-Dueler_ ,”� I told Thomas, motioning towards the comic again. Then, with much modesty, amended, “Well, MJ’s reading it. I’m asking questions.”�

            “You like _Damien_?”� Thomas asked MJ.

            MJ–once again with that cornered, deer-in-the-headlights look–didn’t answer at first. I worried for a moment that he wouldn’t say anything at all, but there was a rather hefty pause before he did actually manage to answer with a short, “Yes.”�

            But that was all. Yes. Wanting to shake him or hug him, I tried to prod the conversation along instead.

            “He was just telling me about Roxie Trager.”� I shot Thomas my friendliest grin, trying to make up for a lack of MJ’s. “I think I like her–though I don’t know why she sent Damien after the Ministry papers. It sounds to me like she could have gone after them herself.”�

            Thomas shot me a strange look at that, cocking his head to the side and frowning slightly. “I guess you’ll have to wait to see what happens with that,”� he said. “That issue doesn’t come out for another month. Are you reading the preview?”�

            Preview? I paused, slightly taken aback by Thomas’s comment. I glanced down at the comic–yes, there in the frame was Roxie ( _quite_ a looker, the lucky redhead) asking Damien to find the papers. My head lifted back up to MJ. He had sunk down further in his seat, his face a bright red.

            “Well, I suppose that depends on who you are,”� I said, my gaze shifting back to Thomas. “MJ has it now.”�

            And just like that, Thomas went a bit mad.

            “ _What_?”� His stunned gaze flickered down to the comic on the table, then up to MJ, his eyes as wide as saucers. His voice was all excited. “You have issue twenty-one? _Seriously_? How’d you pull that off?”�

            It took a moment, but MJ eventually sneaked a look up at Thomas through his massive fringe. He was still red as anything, but I could see him trying to control it. He cleared his throat awkwardly before muttering, “Er. My uncle. He works with Rick Nordan. The artist.”�

            “ _Wicked_ ,”� Thomas said, and instantly clamored over the bench across from us, taking a seat. His hand shot out, then seemed to gain a bit of hesitancy as it hovered extended towards the comic. He threw a hopeful grin MJ’s way. “Do you mind…?”�

            With a jerky shake of his head, MJ closed the comic and instantly pushed it over. And while I know I’m not one to judge seeing as you hand me a nice bowl of rice and I turn into a right worshipping loon, I swear it was as if MJ had just handed the boy a book filled with the answers to life’s greatest questions. Thomas stroked the thing reverently, handling it as if he might a precious piece of art.

            Boys. Psh. 

            “Holy Hungarian _Horntail_ ,”� Thomas breathed, gently flipping the comic open to the first page. His eyes devoured the thing before flickering up to MJ. He was grinning like a lunatic. “This is _brilliant_.”�

            I think MJ didn’t quite know what to do with that sort of reaction. He almost flinched, clearly unnerved by Thomas’s obvious enthusiasm–which Thomas seemed to be expecting MJ to return, though he didn’t appear fazed when MJ didn’t immediately do so. I wondered if MJ had ever interacted with Thomas before. I mean, they’re in the same year if not the same house so I couldn’t imagine that they wouldn’t have had at least some lessons together, but knowing MJ as I did, I doubted he had ever attempted to talk to most of the kids in his classes, much less Thomas Dunn, resident third-year star and underage heartthrob. 

            But here was an opportunity. It may have been tossing MJ straight into the fire, but who better to drag him out of his reclusive shell than the crowning glory of all the third-years?

            Now if MJ would just _do_ something, I might not have to be his only mate.

            But I suppose I was expecting too much, hoping for normal flowing interaction. As subtly as possible, I nudged MJ with my elbow, and then jerked my head towards Thomas, urging him to say something. MJ’s gaze swiveled from me to Thomas, who was splitting his time between salivating over the comic book and looking up at MJ with obvious approval. I thought that Thomas’s clear appreciation would be reassuring enough to prompt MJ into starting up a nice, normal conversation…but this is MJ. 

            So even though he could have fought past his self-consciousness and said something like, “Yeah, isn’t it? My favourite part is blah blah normal conversation,”� he instead went, “Damien’s name was originally supposed to be Orion, but Holt Harvey decided he didn’t like astrology as much as he liked alliteration. Did you know that?”�

            Oh, _MJ_.

            We really have to work on his conversation skills.

            In a desperate attempt to save the conversation before steering it in a less MJ direction, I was about to jump in with an overly enthralled, “Oh, _really_?”� as if that was the most interesting thing I’d ever heard…but then something happened. Something I certainly wasn’t expecting. Something that I suppose just goes to show how much I actually know about teenage boys. Something that–to be perfectly honest–I was quite ecstatic to be wrong about.

            With a grin that was at the same time as enthused as it was patronizing, Thomas shook his head and went, “Duh.”� Then, leaning closer, “Did you know that his gear was originally supposed to be all black, but that Rick Nordon accidentally spilled red ink on the cover drawing and decided he liked it better?”�

            My mouth fell open.

            And that’s when it happened.

            Like the clouds opening up and finally letting the bright sunlight shine through, MJ’s panicked frown shifted into stunned gaping. Then, slowly–ever so wonderfully _slowly_ –his lips crept upwards into a mystified smile.

            “No,”� he said, in little more than a whisper. “No, I _didn’t_.”�

            And just like that, they were off.

            “Ink? _Really_?”�

            “Yeah. Can you imagine? The red _makes_ the gear. What would it have been like in issue fourteen–“

            “–with the Ridgeback! Merlin, that would’ve been–“

            “–a _mess_. Though it was slightly off when they were in Mount Graphio, I s’ppse, with all the–“

            “–but you couldn’t have had that without the brimstone. The brimstone _made_ the frame.”�

            “ _So_ true.”�

            My head swiveled back and forth between the pair, hardly able to contain my glee. Look at him! Look at my darling, little recluse! Look at the inane chatter! I TAUGHT HIM THAT!

            …well, all right, I probably didn’t. But I’d been the one just subjecting him to so much of it, so I can at least claim recent influence, can’t I?

            But even if I couldn’t, I didn’t care. I was so beyond caring if I had anything to do with this. I was simply glad that it _was happening_. MJ was actually talking to someone. He wasn’t staring at Thomas blankly, he wasn’t responding in monotone single-liners–he was even keeping the “Did you know that”�’s to a minimum, which was quite a grand accomplishment and I was so very proud. And yes, he did look a little shell-shocked by the whole thing and might have gone a bit wide-eyed when the chatter came to a halt, clearly not believing what had just happened, but that was the charm of Thomas Dunn and why, if he were a couple years older, I would have already kidnapped him and kept him as my own. 

            Because darling Thomas didn’t let MJ’s startled demeanor stay. He smiled broadly at him. And while I know that MJ is a boy and Thomas Dunn’s dimples and flash of a grin can’t possibly have the same effect on him as they do on us innocent females, it still packs some serious power. I felt MJ relax slightly beside me.

            “You know almost as much about _Damien_ as I do,”� Thomas declared, obviously impressed. “You know, _almost_.”�

            “MJ knows a lot about everything,”� I said when it seemed like MJ might need a few seconds to digest the–well, I guess it was a compliment of sorts. 

            “Yeah?”� Thomas asked, his interest piqued. He cocked an eyebrow at MJ. “Know anything about _The Adventures of Adam and Arnie Abraxan_?”�

            I suppose that in the world of the preteen boy, “everything”� equals “comic books.”�

            Instead of answering, MJ twisted around in his seat. I watched the awkward movement with a bit of surprise, but then discovered that he was only digging through his school bag. When he straightened back out, he was holding a bright yellow comic. He handed it over to Thomas and–oh lord, I think I was going to _cry–_ with a very Thomas-esque grin said, “Rick Nordan works freelance on _Adam_ , as well. Did you know that?”�

            Look at my baby, all grown up and making witty quips!

            Thomas let out a whoop of delighted laughter and MJ’s face flushed with what I sincerely hoped was pride because it absolutely should have been. Merlin knows _I_ was all but bursting with it. 

            I _knew_ he could do it! I _knew_ he just needed to see that these people weren’t so bad, that everyone wouldn’t judge him if he just _tried_ to talk to them! And while I’m not expecting the boy to instantly become a social butterfly, flitting all charming and witty and confident from group to group, how could this not be a step in a wonderful direction? If Thomas approved of him and MJ didn’t recede back into his huddle of isolation, he might just manage to break out of his pariah status–and I would help him! If necessary, I would go around jabbering on about MJ and me being the very _best_ of mates and all about Damien and this whosit-Adam bloke to whomever I could get to listen. I knew some other third-years, didn’t I? It wouldn’t be hard to infiltrate their camps and spread my propaganda.

            I was all ready to conceive a battle plan and charge into the third-year ranks when Thomas, still laughing, was all, “You’ve got History first, don’t you, Rosier?”�

            MJ nodded.

            “Excellent.”� Thomas held up the two comics in his hands. “You haven’t finished these, have you? No? Brilliant! We can read them during History instead of listening to Binns go on and on. You’ve got the right idea, sitting in the back of the class. You don’t care if I sit next to you, do you?”�

            Dear Thomas Dunn,

            Run away with me. We’ll be together in a place of no judgment.

            Love, Lily.

            “Y-you want to sit next to me?”� MJ sputtered, _really_ looking stunned.

            “Sure,”� Thomas replied with a shrug, as if he offered social pariahs access to his company all the time. “I’d kick Hotchkiss out of his seat and tell you come up front with me, but then Binns might catch us and I hate detentions.”�

            MJ nodded and Thomas started to say something else when from over his shoulder, someone started calling, “Dunn! Dunn, come settle this wager for us!”�

            Thomas glanced over his shoulder and gave whoever it was that was calling him an “I’m coming”� gesture. He turned back to MJ and me with an eye roll. “They can’t get on without me for a second.”�

            I watched as MJ gave Thomas a returning smile, but it was tight and discouraged and I felt him tense up beside me. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I could practically see the thought bubble hanging above his head. _Back to reality. No doubt I’ll be sitting alone in History. Fun while it lasted._

            Damn it, he couldn’t give up now! He was doing so well!

            I wanted to say something to stop MJ from retreating back into himself, to stop Thomas from going back to his mates and forgetting this bonding time with MJ had ever occurred, but I didn’t know quite what. How does one say those sorts of things subtly? Is there a way? I wasn’t sure there was, but I didn’t care. I opened my mouth to sputter out _something_ because MJ clearly wasn’t going to… but then I didn’t have to.

            “The lads would _flip_ if they could see these,”� Thomas suddenly said, lifting the comics in his hands again. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Want to come over to our table and lord it over them? You could come, too, Lily, if you’d like.”�

            That’s it. I’m hiring a kidnapper.

            “Oh, I’m fine here, thanks,”� I replied quickly, giving MJ a quick nudge with my elbow beneath the table when he didn’t immediately respond. I think he was too astounded. The boy _had_ suffered a few powerful blows to his preconceived notions today. I can’t say I was upset over that, but I suppose I can accept that it might be a bit disconcerting. “I have to study for my Transfiguration exam unfortunately. But I’m sure MJ would love to show off the comics at the Hufflepuff table. Right, MJ?”�

            He needed a bit firmer of a nudge to finally snap him out of his shock, but even then, the first thing that MJ blurted out was, “I don’t think your mates will want me there.”�

            Idiot, silly, sad, self-conscious _boy_. Honestly, and they say _I_ have an inferiority complex?

            I quite literally could have snogged Thomas Dunn when he laughed and was all, “You mean because you’re a Gryffindor? Don’t worry. Most of us have gotten over our embarrassing defeat–well, except maybe Robbie. But he’s a dolt, anyway. You can just say, ‘Shut up, Robbie, you duff.’ Works for the rest of us.”�

            For once, I was eternally grateful for the absolute mush Quidditch made of one’s brain. Sometimes life was so much easier when everything was about Quidditch.

            “Well, there you are, MJ,”� I said with a pointed stare when it seemed as if he might actually argue the issue further. He glanced over at me with a sort of helpless cringe, but I just gave him my most encouraging grin. “They won’t hold your house loyalties against you. That’s right open-minded of them, isn’t it?”�

            MJ grimaced. “Yeah, but–“

            “And I’m sure you wouldn’t go as far as to judge the lads for their Quidditch loyalties before you’ve given them a chance to explain themselves, right?”� I cocked an eyebrow. “It’s awfully rotten when people judge others for silly things out of their control, isn’t it?”�

            That made MJ’s mouth snap shut. I figured he must have gotten my not-so-veiled message. He looked at me, then turned to look at Thomas, then glanced back at me again. He was nervous. I didn’t blame him. But eventually he did mutter out, “Yeah, I suppose that wouldn’t be very fair.”�

            I beamed and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Excellent! Off you go, then. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my waffles and Transfiguration for company.”�

            “ _Tom_!”� someone called and Thomas rolled his eyes again. “We’d better get over there,”� he said to MJ, all put out. “Sounds like Hotch is about to have a heart attack.”�

            “Yeah, all right,”� MJ said, and stepped over the bench, grabbing his school bag from the floor. We were sitting at the end of the table, so it was easy to round the corner and meet Thomas on the other side. If Thomas noticed how much MJ was fidgeting, he didn’t say anything–which is exactly why my love for that boy is eternal. Instead, he was back to grinning.

            “See you, Lily,”� Thomas said, giving me a wave. As I waved back, he suddenly went, “Oh, wait!”� and grabbed something off the table. He tossed the ketchup up and caught it in his hand again. “Almost forgot this. Was the whole reason I came over here in the first place!”�

            “Of course,”� I said, even though there was no ‘of course’ about it. It was still disgusting. Why do all the gorg blokes have to fancy it so much? I couldn’t hold it against Thomas, though. I was far too enamored with him at the moment. 

            With ketchup and comics firmly in hand, Thomas looked over at MJ and said, “All set?”�

            With only a moment’s hesitation, MJ nodded. “Sure,”� he said, and I was quite proud about how casual he managed to sound, even with all his fidgeting. He sent one more semi-desperate look at me. “See you later.”�

            “Bye, MJ.”� I gave him a very subtle thumbs-up when Thomas’s back was turned. He nodded back, which wasn’t exactly a returning thumbs-up, but was pretty good, considering it was MJ. As he and Thomas started strolling off, I heard him go, “The Founders originally thought of banning Quidditch from Hogwarts because they thought it would take students away from their studies. Did you know that?”�

            Which just goes to show that you can bring the pariah out of his solitude, but you’ll never lose the pariah himself. We might have to brush up a bit on his conversation skills before he’s ready to take Hogwarts by storm.

            So now here I am, sitting alone and not studying. Instead, I’m writing in here and secretly sneaking looks over at MJ and Thomas at the Hufflepuff table. Thomas’s mates seemed a bit shocked and indifferent when MJ first got there, but I suppose Thomas is a force to be reckoned with, not to mention that as soon as the comic books were sprung out, the whole group went mad. There was a lot of yelling and shouting and I think they overwhelmed MJ with their enthusiasm, but he seems to have survived unscathed. I can’t see his face because he took the seat next to Thomas with his back towards me, but nothing seems to have gone too terribly wrong. He’s been talking a lot to the boy on his left, some blonde boy. Another potential new mate? I have hope.

            I know I said before that I don’t care if it was me who instigated all of this…but come on. I deserve a _bit_ of a pat on the back, don’t I? I don’t know why everyone’s always muttering, “Don’t meddle, Lily,”� because, hello, have you _seen_ what my meddling has done recently? First Emma and Mac, now this? I should practically start a meddling business, my rate of success is so colossal. What would one call a professional meddler, anyway? A journalist? A politician? A mother?

            It’s something to think about.

_______________________________________

**Later, Ancient Runes**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 268**

**Lily Evans’s Letters to Amos Diggory That She Will Never In Her Life Send and in Fact Would Actually Prefer Never to Communicate With Said Recipient Ever Again in Her Life, But Just Couldn’t Help Herself, One Last Time**

Dear Damn Dolt,

            Well, I certainly never thought that I’d be doing _this_ again. Remember the days, Amos? Oh, my silly, naÃ¯ve girlhood. I suppose that just goes to show how funny life is. I mean, I genuinely would have been quite content not to see your face for another good sixty to seventy years, but honestly, this was just too precious a moment to pass up.

            You’re afraid of me. You’re actually _afraid_ of me, you moron.

            Oh, it’s just _too_ funny.

            Honestly, arsehole, I thought you were going to _wet_ yourself when we almost ran into each other in the doorway! I didn’t even have time to be self-conscious myself, you looked like such an idiot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone’s eyes bug out so much, and I very nearly laughed in your face when you started sputtering like a loon, then spun directly on your heel and strode back to your desk without a single glance behind you. Merlin, the look on your _face._ It was _priceless_!

            You’ve made my fab morning even better, tosser. Thanks.

Yours with Amused Disdain,  
Lily

________________

To The Terrified Turd,

            Oh, I get it now. I see your master plan here. While you quiver and quake in your chair, you’ve sent your slag-on-the-side to do the dirty work.

            Honestly, Amos, she’s not very intimidating. Glare at me all you’d like, Julie Little-To-No-Sense. Do you think I care? Do you think I’m going to start sobbing like a child like your whoreson boyfriend is practically doing? Don’t make me _laugh_ , trollop. I practically _invented_ angry glares. Want to see some _real_ glaring?

            Ka- _chow_. Take _that_.

            Ha.

Forever Your Superior,  
L.

_________________

To the Poor Prat,

            All right, maybe I shouldn’t have done it. I honestly didn’t mean to, but your excuse-of-a-glarer-girlfriend wasn’t properly cowering beneath my Glowers of Great and Gory Destruction, and before I knew it, I was all, “Do you have something to say to me, Julie?”�

            How was I supposed to know that the girl was going to whip around in her chair so fast that she’d fall off it? Or that everyone would spend the next two minutes laughing at her? Or that my hands would decide it was an appropriate time to start up a little applause and Hyena Boy would become quite taken with that idea and soon everyone would be applauding her and her patheticness? Or that Lundi would be all, “Miss Little, are you ill?”� and that someone in the back would mutter, “Yeah, ill over how badly Evans trounced her and her boyfriend,”� and everyone would chuckle all appreciatively? I had no control over any of these things.

            You know, much.

Sorry (Not) About That,  
The Girl Who Trounced You And Your Girlfriend

__________________

To: Mr. Amos Diggory  
One Row Up, Two Seats Over  
Ancient Runes Classroom  
Hogwarts, Scotland, U.K., World

            Dear Mr. Diggory,

            This is an official document informing you of our present and future complete disaffiliation from one another. You provided what you could (an attractive faÃ§ade) for the time that was needed (my immature adolescence), and for those moments and much-better-than-reality dirty dreams, I thank you graciously. However, I’m afraid that those rare, good moments are a thing of the past. From now on, I expect you to keep your distance and every inclination associated with me to yourself.  

            (And in case that sentiment wasn’t explicit enough in writing, look at evidence as to the consequences ie: when everyone stopped laughing at Julie and you tried to save some face and schooled your terror enough to glance over your shoulder at me and roll your eyes and were all, “They think we’re in some sort of row, Lily. Mad, isn’t it?”� in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear in order for them to think we were all cool and on good terms, despite your prathood. And my response? “Oink, oink.”�)

            Good-bye, Mr. Diggory. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.

Sincerely,  
LILY C. EVANS

_______________________________________

**Later Later, History**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            Well.

            I…

            I’m…er, no. No, that’s not right. I mean, I’m not _really_ –well, I _am_ , but…

            Oh, hell.

            At least the good day lasted until lunch. That was certainly longer than I should have expected.

_______________________________________

**When I Could Think Properly, Still in History**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            Morning lessons were surprisingly chipper and not the least bit good-mood-dampening, if you can imagine luck like that. After the rather cathartic Ancient Runes class (during which, in case you were wondering, neither Amos nor Julie ever glanced back at me again), I was off to Transfiguration, which normally would have been rather depressing, but I was in far too grand a mood to be bothered with academic anxiety. I wasn’t about to let something as foolish as McGonagall and her crap lessons steal that away from me–especially considering today was just a lecture lesson. I mean, really, how much damage could I possibly cause while sitting there, not raising my hand? Not that I was throwing out challenges or anything, but honestly, it just didn’t lend itself to peril. Even for me.

            So I wasn’t worried. Really, I wasn’t. I even strolled into the classroom with an extra jaunt in my step, immediately spotting Gracie already seated at our usual desk. I headed that way, but she wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to me, not even as I plopped my books down upon the tabletop and slid into the seat next to hers. Instead, her eyes were locked rather fiercely on something behind us. She was smirking with an endless supply of smugness.

            “What’re we gawking at?”� I asked, craning my neck around to see. Grace’s eyes did not move. 

            “We are gawking at _that_ ,”� she said, subtly cocking her head towards a spot across the classroom. My gaze shifted accordingly. “About bloody time, don’t you think?”�

            It took a second for me to realise what she was talking about. I had been gazing contemplatively at Clare Carslie and Katie Frost, wondering what in the hell it was that I was supposed to be noticing about the pair, when a familiar head of blonde hair just past Katie’s shoulder finally caught my attention.

            Ah.       

            Emma.

            Emma, sitting at a desk in the back of the classroom, her head ducked close to Mac’s.

             Suddenly, Grace was not the only one smirking in triumph.

            “I feel like we should treat ourselves to dessert or something,”� Grace said, not the least bit modestly. As Emma and Mac continued their private conference, she glanced at me and grinned. “See what our good works accomplish?”�       

            “This day is just getting better and better,”� I sighed happily, suddenly even more content, though I’d already known things in the Emma-and-Mac department were looking up. But seeing it in dot-version and seeing it in real life were two very different things, and I was allowed to revel in my meddling victories. It’s not as if the Fates of the World see it fit to bestow such fortune upon me very often. A girl revels when she can.

            Watching my obvious contentment with piqued interest, Grace quirked a questioning eyebrow at me. “Oh?”�

            I shot her a look when her inquisitive eyebrow started to wiggle, knowing the slaggy ideas that were undoubtedly running through her head right about then. I could have rolled my eyes and told her to shove it, but decided it was really my civic and moral duty to inform her of the actual morning’s occurrences before her dirty fantasies began to taint the air around us.

            Plus, I rather just wanted to brag. And if we can’t brag to our mates, who _can_ we brag to?

            So I skimmed briefly over my MJ accomplishment (Grace was more interested in Thomas Dunn and his swoon-worthy preteen grins than she was about MJ’s steps out of isolation, anyway), but spun quite the thorough tale describing my antics in Runes and the massacre of Arse Amos and Julie the Hag. The pair of us had a hearty chuckle and a mini-celebration in honour of my all-powerful wit and suavity and the mighty fall of Amos and Julie. It was quite a ruckus. In fact, Grace was laughing so hard that her eyes began to water.

            “Merlin and Agrippa, I would have _killed_ to see their faces!”� she cried in between her giggles, sounding rather forlorn at missing the awesome event. She settled her breathing and wiped at her watering eyelids. “Oh, hell. My stomach hurts. You should tell James. I think he just may pass out with pride.”�

            I grinned, placing a hand on my own tight stomach, certain that there was indeed a very good chance that James would burst with satisfaction at word of my final reckoning with Amos and Julie. Unfortunately, I was unable to test the validity of that suspicion. At Grace’s casual mention of him, it was almost automatic for my eyes to start scanning the room, hoping for even the slightest glimpse of him. The desk that he and Remus usually occupied was empty though, and a brief sweep of the rest of the classroom confirmed his absence. For whatever reason, James had yet to arrive. I checked the clock hanging above McGonagall’s desk–only a minute or two before she usually began class–and tried not to let my shoulders droop. 

            There were countless reasons as to why he had yet to grace the room with his presence. I knew that–for Merlin’s sake, he still had a few minutes! He wasn’t even late yet!–but none of those possible reasons stopped my stomach from sinking in…I don’t know. Alarm? Disappointment? Something.

            Where _was_ he? 

            My mind skimmed through possibilities quickly. He’d had Arithmancy before this. Had he been there? Automatically, my eyes shifted back over to Emma, who had luckily taken a break from whispering sweet nothings into Mac’s ear long enough to catch my gaze. She flushed a rather telling red, obviously expecting some sort of haughty thumbs-up and suggestive winks in Mac’s direction, but I could give her hell for that later. Instead, I shot her a questioning look, motioning my head towards James’s empty desk. I suppose it said something rather pathetic and telling and any other number of demeaning adjectives about me that she instantly understood my concern. Giving me a small smile (maybe a bit in relief since I wasn’t bothering to take the mickey out of her from across the classroom), she mouthed, “Talking with Professor Vector.”�

            Right. See? Professor Vector. A perfectly logical and legitimate explanation. 

            It’s too bad that that perfectly logical and legitimate explanation did nothing to stop my nerves from continuing to prickle. 

            Because not being able to talk to him–to even _see_ him–after…well, everything last night…it  smarted. It felt strange. Unsettling. Because thinking about yesterday made me feel a little embarrassed, and a little giddy, and a little nervous and I would have appreciated the slightest bit of reassurance that I hadn’t just hopped off a cliff without a safety harness, you know?

            But all of that was so silly. I knew that. I did. I mean, the boy was talking to a _professor_. It wasn’t as if he was deliberately avoiding me. It wasn’t as if he was about to be all, “Hmm. Yesterday was fine enough. Got what I wanted. Wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. All done now.”�

            I mean, obviously.

            _Obviously_.

            “What’s the matter?”� Grace asked, the sound of her voice effectively cutting through my sudden dazed panic. My eyes snapped over to hers. I tried to school my features into some semblance of nonchalance, but I don’t think I did a very good job of it.

            “Nothing,”� was my initial mechanical response, but when all that earned was an exasperated “Seriously?”� snort from Grace, I shifted about uncomfortably in my seat and grudgingly added, “James isn’t here yet.”�

            “He’s not?”� Grace frowned and turned in her seat to scan the room as I had, though why she thought I would lie about something like that, I have no idea. When she seemed satisfied that I hadn’t missed him stashed in a corner somewhere, she turned back to me with an unconcerned shrug. “I wouldn’t worry about it,”� she said, but then went ahead and made everything _worse_ by blabbering on in a tone that wasn’t nearly joking enough, “Maybe he’s passed out in a corridor or something. You should have seen him this morning at practice–the bloke was _exhausted_. His Hawkshead Attacking Formation was all over the place. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just collapsed somewhere on his way and decided it was easier to stay down. Ha.”�

            Ha.

            _Ha_?

            James was collapsing all about the castle, and she was ruddy _laughing_?

            Bloody hell, how long had he spent cleaning trophies after I’d left?!

            “That’s not funny!”� I cried, my spine snapping up straight. Images of James collapsing on staircases and rolling the rest of the way down played in my head. Oh, _god._ “Was he really that tired? That’s not…he was fine when I…Emma said he was just talking with Professor Vector! You don’t honestly think–”�

            Grace let out another loud laugh, cutting me off. “You’re mad, do you know that?”� She shook her head at me, not the least bit sympathetic. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have snogger’s anxiety or something? If Emma said he’s talking with Vector, he’s talking with Vector. He’ll be along. _Relax_ , woman.”�

            “I _am_ ,”� I grumbled, but squirmed around restlessly as Grace rolled her eyes. My cheeks heated, but I couldn’t stop wriggling. “I just don’t think he should be late to lessons. He’s Head Boy.”�

            “Lily.”�

            “It’s the truth!”�

            “Mm-hm.”�

            I flushed deeper at Grace’s amused dismissal, snapping my stupid trap shut and crossing my arms over my chest. I slunk back in my chair.

            Whatever. Grace is so judgmental, anyway. I was _fine_. Obviously. 

            And what the bloody hell is snogger’s anxiety, anyway? And since when is she a doctor? Go give your false diagnoses to someone who cares, fraud, because I certainly don’t.

            But whether Grace’s disorder codswallop was absolute rubbish or not (of course, it _was_ ), I am honest enough with myself to admit that it wasn’t until James walked into the classroom ten nerve-wrecking minutes after McGonagall had begun her lesson with what I assume was a note from Professor Vector that I finally felt the pressure in my chest ease some.

            He _did_ look tired–his features seemed a bit more lined and weary, and he wasn’t stepping about with his usual swagger–but not enough to warrant collapsing unconscious in any corridors. And he wasn’t bleeding or bruised, so I don’t suppose he took a tumble down any flights of stairs. That took care of one concern. As for the other…

            Well, he wasn’t looking at me. But I wasn’t in his direct line of sight, and McGonagall was being all, “Ah, Mr. Potter. So glad you could join us,”� so if he’d looked away from her then, she would have thought he was being disrespectful. Which, although James has his moments of idiocy, he wouldn’t do to McGonagall. He likes her. And he’s sort of her pet–or as much as anyone can be McGonagall’s pet, anyway. So he obviously couldn’t look at me, or even give a quick wave of acknowledgement. But he would. I knew he would. When he could. And he’d have the opportunity to do on his way back to his desk, because he’d have to stroll right by mine to get there. And no matter how tired he was, he _knew_ how this worked.

            As he passed by my desk on the way to his, I waited with bated breath for a grin or a wink. 

            Instead, he knocked my books off my desk.

            Yeah.

            I know.

            I think I would have preferred the wink, too.

            “Bugger, Evans–stupid swinging arms–sorry about that,”� he said loudly, crouching down to pick up the papers and books he’d just swiped to the floor. Shooting him a questioning look, I bent over in my chair to start picking my things up as well, wondering just what in the hell he was doing. James wasn’t looking at me, however, so I got no hints in that regard. Instead, he was concentrating on the books he was sorting through and watching McGonagall out of the corner of his eye. I glanced over at the professor as well, who in turn was watching us through narrowed eyes. Eventually she must have decided James was simply a clumsy oaf, though, because after shooting us one last stern look, she went back to lecturing.

            The second her sharp gaze flickered away, James grabbed my chin, jerked my face to his, and kissed me.

            Ah.

            _Tricky_ little bastard.

            “Hi,”� he whispered, grinning foolishly. I could feel my face heat up and I’m certain I was blushing to the very tips of my hair. I gave him as exasperated a look as I could muster while simultaneously wanting to grin back at him like an inane, besotted idiot. To avoid that mortifying impulse, I jerked my head about, trying to discern if anyone was watching us, if they’d seen what James had done. _Merlin_ , how embarrassing. 

            “Idiot,”� I muttered, turning back to James. I was hardly surprised when he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by my rebuke or by the prospect of being caught–he simply continued to beam his smug smile. I socked him lightly in the face with the books I’d just gathered off the floor, but couldn’t stop the small smile from slipping out as the pressure in my chest eased considerably. He was still grinning when he straightened out, placed the papers he’d grabbed from the ground onto my desk, and strolled away.

            All right.

            So maybe I _wouldn’t_ have preferred a wink.

            You know. Maybe.

            I turned and watched him go until Grace elbowed me hard in the ribs. My head snapped around.

            “What?”� I hissed, shooting her an annoyed glare. She nodded towards a scrap of parchment on our desk.

            **Thursday ,** she’d written, underlined, but that was all.

            _Thursday, what?_ I scribbled back.

            Grace took her time writing out her response. Then she slid it back over to me.

            **Our next Quidditch practice. It’s Thursday _._**

****

She cackled to herself like a superior git. I glared and tossed her a particularly unpleasant hand gesture beneath the desk. When she merely drew more amusement out of that, I tried to ignore her…and the fact that I was decidedly less furious and mortified about James kissing me in the middle of Transfiguration class than I really ought to have been.

            I don’t know quite how to feel about that yet.

            I can’t be certain whether it was my determination to focus on anything _other_ than the ponce sitting a few desks back and whatever the hell he did to my common sense, or perhaps all the revising I’d gotten in this morning during my lonesome breakfast after MJ and Thomas had left, but after that, I somehow managed to be rather spot on Transfiguration-wise. Even when McGonagall deviated from the oral lesson plan and asked _only_ _me_ to transfigure a lizard into a grasshopper and everyone was watching and my hand was feeling particularly sweaty and my heart was hammering against my chest, by some divine intervention, I pulled it off. When she asked me stay after class and proceeded to tell me how much I was improving and how glad she was, I think my face might have very well gained a few permanent lines from all the grinning I was doing.

            But I’d take the wrinkles. They were the good kind.

            Needless to say, by the time I got to Divination and took my seat next to Rob (“You’re in good cheer, my dear.”�), not even Professor Freeman and her insanity could hinder my sunny disposition. Even as she rambled on about the seriousness of our partner projects and how Saturn’s moons were doing something or another in Mars’s realm, Rob and I ignored her and instead started a list of all the words that rhyme with “bum”� (hum, rum, come, some, glum, thumb, numb, and–Rob’s favourite–chewing gum). We had progressed through various other nefarious body parts and had moved on to dirty swear words when Freeman finally ended class. We were still arguing as we climbed down the ladder and into the corridor.

            “You can’t rhyme ‘knit’ and ‘shit,’”� I declared, climbing down the ladder after Rob. I hopped to the ground and hiked the strap of my rucksack further up my shoulder, then turned to him. “Think of all the old ladies. They’d be scandalized!”�

            “’Could’ and ‘should’ are two very different things, poppet,”� said Rob, shaking his head at me. “Besides, I think the old birds would get a thrill, Lil.”�

            I waved a dismissive hand in his face. “Shut your gob, Rob. What old ladies have you been hanging about?”�

            Rob grinned. “Freeman. She seems a randy candy, no?”�

            “I imagine only when Venus is messing with Jupiter,”� I muttered, and we both cracked up and were causing quite a ruckus, squabbling about Jupiter’s orbits in Venus’s, then deciding that there was fun to be had in discussing words that rhymed with randy. Rob was really getting into it (“Just dandy, Mandy, but it’s rather sandy. Go chat with Andy. _Randy_.”�) as we started ambling down the corridor. I was just about to add in my own little ditty when I spotted a familiar figure leaning against the corridor wall a few paces away.

            I can pretend that I didn’t instantly perk up even more, but I suppose that would be rather worthless. You know, considering the smile was practically _splitting_ _my face_ at that point.

            It didn’t occur to me until a few minutes later that James wasn’t smiling back. 

            “What are you doing here?”� I asked, hurrying over to where he was standing, barely noticing Robbie as he trailed along behind me. My question wasn’t accusatory, rather delightfully befuddled because James had Muggle Studies on the first floor and Merlin knew that was about as far away from the North Tower as one could get. We would have eventually met up in the Great Hall, a much more convenient trek for him.

            James’s lips lifted sardonically. “Damn staircases. Got lost.”� He glanced over my shoulder. “Hey, Harms.”�

            I turned just as Rob was lifting a hand in greeting. After a second, that same hand pointed a stern finger at me. “Game delay until Tuesday,”� Rob said, very seriously. He played at considering the matter for a moment, tapping his chin. “I reckon we should start with ‘shag.’ Brainstorm some, my chum. Cheers, peers.”�

            “Shag,”� I agreed, and gave him a wave. “S’later, slag.”�

            Rob let out a loud laugh, clutching at his heart as he staggered off. “My little prodigy!”� 

            I gave him a salute. He grinned and waved again before waltzing off down the corridor, whistling a jaunty tune as he went, the nutter. I shook my head as he rounded the corner, and then turned back to James, who’d finally straightened off the wall. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his robes and his cloak threaded through the crook of his elbow.

            “What a madman,”� I snorted, hooking a thumb in the direction Robbie had just disappeared. But I didn’t want to talk about Rob, and I don’t think I quite managed to conceal how happy I was to see James, pathetic and telling as that was. If I hadn’t been so good-mood dazed, I might have taken a little more care with that–or, you know, not stated it. Bluntly. “I’m so glad you’re here! I wanted to talk to you. I have so much to tell! This morning–Merlin, you _have_ to hear about what happen this morning in Runes. You’ll be so proud!–and Emma! Did you see Emma and Mac in Transfiguration? You can roll your eyes all you’d like, but I _told_ you last night when I saw them in the Astronomy Tower– _oh_! I almost forgot.”�

            I stopped blabbering long enough to slip my bag to the floor and crouched down so that I could dig through the thing properly. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. My hand quickly closed around the thick, folded parchment and I rose to my feet again, keeping my hand submerged inside the bag. I carefully scanned up and down the corridor, trying to discern whether any passersby were watching us. When the coast seemed clear, I quickly jerked the map out of my bag and shoved it into the pocket of James’s robes.

            I was so proud of my subterfuge, I didn’t realise what a moron I looked like.

            Which perhaps isn’t so shocking, but still rather disheartening when you think you’re being so clever and all.

            James let out a choked laugh. 

            “Because _that_ wasn’t conspicuous or anything,”� he said.

            My cheeks went red. Hoping that I didn’t look as ridiculous as I thought I did (of course, I did), I muttered out an embarrassed, “Er, sorry. I’m still new at all this trouble-making business.”�

            “Yeah, I know,”� James said, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes…and I realised then how brittle his laugh had been. And that he was fidgeting– _James_ , fidgeting–and that he didn’t look the least bit pleased about standing there in the corridor with me, even though I’d been acting like a fluttery peagoose. My heart gave a sharp pull inside my chest. I suddenly felt like a greatest of idiots, standing there beaming at him like an infatuated child while he more or less gazed impassively at me. I stared, waited, but every fiber of my being was screaming that this wasn’t the same boy who had knocked my books off my desk so that he could snog me in the middle of class this morning.

            Something was wrong.

            Something was very, very wrong.

            “James?”� I said, and the smile slowly faded from my lips. James’s hand went to his hair, his fingers agitatedly sifting through the dark strands. He couldn’t even look me in the eye anymore. He shuffled about from foot to foot as his eyes darted around my head. I didn’t move. “What’s the matter?”�

            “We’re trusting each other now, right?”� he blurted out. My eyebrows shot up, recognizing the question from the night before, but knowing that it wasn’t the same now. I nodded tentatively anyway. He let out a small breath and kept going. “Right. Good. That’s…that’s good because you’ve got your street thing and I’m a good street–I _swear_ , I am. You know I’m a good street, right?–and I think it says something that I’m going to _tell_ you about this because I could’ve not told you, or lied, or some other shady business–not that I do that!–er, well, much. But not to you! Because I’ve learned that lesson, see? Right. So I’m telling you. Which is good, yeah?”�

            The circles he was babbling in were making me dizzy. What the bloody hell was he going on about?

            And why did I suddenly feel like I might be a bit sick?

            “James–“

            “I’m going out with Liz.”�

            _I’m going out with Liz._

            I couldn’t breathe.

            He might as well have punched me in the gut. He might as well have punched me, and I was sick, and I couldn’t think, and things went blurry and I _couldn’t breathe_ , Merlin, _I_ _couldn’t breathe_.

            _I’m going out with Liz. I’m going out with Liz. I’mgoingoutwithLiz._

            No.

            _No_.

            “I…I…”�

            James’s eyes went wide.

            “Not like– _Lily_. No! I didn’t mean–that came out all–out to _lunch_! Liz and I are going to _lunch_. That’s it. That’s all. Lunch. Lunch with a _mate_. Christ. I didn’t mean–come _on_ , Lil.”�

            Oh, _god_.

            The relief spread through me so quickly, I was lightheaded with it. Things swerved a little, but I grabbed the wall to keep my balance while my other hand went to my chest, resting over my pounding heart. It took a few seconds for the world to stop spinning.

            Dear fucking Merlin, this boy was going to _kill_ me.

            “Oh, god,”� I murmured, closing my eyes. “ _God._ You nearly gave me a _heart attack_ , you arse!”�

            James placed a steady hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d–that came out wrong. Though, hey, I suppose it’s good to know.”�

            My eyes snapped open and I jerked my arm away from his. “That’s what this was? Some sort of _test_?”�

            James reeled back in alarm. “What? No! No, of course not. I told you, I was being honest!”�

            As if that was supposed to make me _feel_ better. Honesty. Psh. Don’t I always say that honesty is dangerous? Why don’t people _listen_?

            Now that there was actual oxygen flowing throughout my body again and I didn’t feel quite like I wanted to cast up my accounts all over the corridor, my brain began functioning properly once more and I could actually think about what James was saying. 

            He was going out to lunch–going out to lunch with Elisabeth Saunders. Saunders. His past…whatever. The girl who despises me more than anyone really ought to. Going out–but not in the _going out,_ going out sense, of course. In the _platonic_ going out sense. But they were still _going out._ That explained the cloak, at least ( _why hadn’t I noticed the cloak earlier?_ ). That probably meant they were going to Hogsmeade. Together. To have lunch. Platonically. 

            Oh, bloody hell.

            I suppose that’s when I _may_ have gotten a bit prickly and defensive. 

            But really, who can blame me? It’s all the honesty. It gets to me.

            “You didn’t have to tell me anything,”� I said, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to sound as if I didn’t care in the least (even if in all actuality, I probably couldn’t have cared more). “I’m not your keeper. You’re free to do as you please. You’re allowed to…to go out with whomever you’d like.”�

            “Go out to _lunch_ ,”� James corrected, shooting me a look. “Lunch as _mates_ , Lily. And you’ve every right to play keeper. That’s the point.”�

            “So if I told you not to go, you wouldn’t?”�

            I don’t know why I asked. It was stupid to ask. The second it came out, I knew that. I knew it so well that I wanted to kick myself. I wasn’t going to get the answer I wanted and I was stupid and possessive and hypocritical to the max to hope that I would. But I had said it anyway and now I had to deal with the consequences. Whatever those were.

            James paused for a moment. I had surprised him–of course, I had. Who _asks_ that? What self-respecting mate-with-potential goes there? For a second, I thought that he’d give me an outright refusal and that would be the end of it, but instead a rather serious expression crossed over his face. He answered slowly.

            “Not necessarily,”� he said, his words careful. “If you asked me not to go, I’d explain to you that Liz and I are mates, that we do these lunch things in Hogsmeade from time to time, and that I’d hope that you’d trust me enough to understand that.”�

            He didn’t say it pointedly, rather more matter-of-fact, but the sentiment was still the same. We were trusting each other now. Hadn’t he just asked me that again? Hadn’t I agreed? Wasn’t that what last night was all about–I mean, besides indulging in our baser instincts, of course? Trust. The two-way street. Was I seriously going to stand there and kick up a fuss when I was the one who had been so adamant about the whole thing last night?

            But bloody hell, this was _Saunders_. It was entirely different.

            Wasn’t it?

            I looked at James, watched him as he watched me. He was worried about this. It was so obvious that he was from the way he stared, from the frown that etched deep lines across his brow, around his mouth. I suppose that boded well for me, that he cared enough to be worried as to how I’d react, that he’d said, “Not necessarily,”� instead of “Not a chance.”� I probably deserved the latter. I mean, I was utterly petrified of giving in to all this relationship business, but expected all the benefits anyway. And as much as I wanted to shout and scream that that wasn’t my fault–I couldn’t _control_ the fact that words like ‘relationship’ and ‘boyfriend’ and ‘Quidditch practice’ made me want to run yelping in the other direction–somehow, I don’t think most people would see it that way. 

            I mean, hell, I’m not even sure that _I_ believe me anymore. Do I _like_ teetering on this stupid edge of whatever? Do I get off on the drama of it or something? Or am I really just that pathetic, that immature? 

            It seemed like a moment for soul-searching and deep self-reflection, but I could hardly plop myself down there in the corridor and ponder it when James was still waiting for my response. So instead, I quickly examined my two dominant possible responses–the utterly miserable, petulant, stomp-about-and-wave-your-fists, “Stay away from her!”� child, and the mature, dignified, “Have fun. I trust you,”� young adult. I somehow found a middle ground.

            I pressed my lips together, biting back the whining complaints that wanted to come out, and only spoke when I could control those juvenile impulses.

            “It’s fine,”� I finally said, schooling my features until it looked like I meant it, though I couldn’t quite hold back the small sigh that my resigned acceptance came out on. “Of course I wouldn’t ask you not to go. You should. She’s your…yeah. Your mate.”�

            James exhaled, and the sudden small smile that lifted his lips was knowing. He raised his hand to brush my cheek. “You do realise that we’ll probably be talking about _you_ most of the time, right?”�

            Instead of comforting me, that just made me want to groan even more.

            “Fabulous,”� I muttered, indulging in a bit of a pout. “So you’ll be sitting there for however long listening to her spew out a litany of terrible things about me–and some of them will probably even be true!”�

            James laughed, but I couldn’t even feel better about the fact that it didn’t sound strained anymore. _Merlin_ , this was hell. I hated maturity.

            “Maybe,”� he said, but didn’t look the least bit concerned about the possibility. His fingers played with a bit of my hair. “But as your mate-with-potential, I have to defend you anyway, true or false.”�

            Hm. Perk.

            I cocked an eyebrow at him. “So she says, ‘Lily Evans is a mad slag who doesn’t have a bit of common sense in her worthless empty head,’ and you…?”�

            James grinned. “I say, ‘I happen to like mad slags with not a bit of common sense in their worthless empty heads, thanks.’”�

            Eh. That’ll do.

            I gave a satisfied nod and James laughed again, seeming to find that amusing. I suppose he was still under some delusions about me. How adorable.

            “When are you leaving?”� I asked, some part of me still hoping he might be all, “Never. Ha! This was all a _big joke_. Got you!”� except that of course he didn’t. Instead, he checked his watch, squinted down at the moving hands and went, “Er, five minutes ago.”�

            Which wasn’t what I was hoping for, but hey, I’d take what I could get.

            And if I tried to detain him a _bit_ more after that…well, whatever. I’m only human. Saunders knew how to wait.

            “I suppose I’ll see you in History, then,”� I said, rather offhand–or it _was_ rather offhand until James cleared his throat awkwardly and started doing the won’t-look-me-in-the-eye-shuffling-in-place thing again. I froze. “Wait a second. I _will_ see you in History, won’t I?”�

            James shrugged uncomfortably. “It takes a while to get into Hogsmeade.”�

            “So walk fast!”� I cried shrilly, not even caring that I was sounding exactly like the lunatic I had so diligently been avoiding appearing like. It was too late. Now I was over the edge. “You can’t–skipping _class_? No. _No_. That’s too…you already have detention, for Merlin’s sake! You’re Head Boy! You need to…what if–what happens–bloody flipping hell, you sit, you eat! How ruddy long _is_ this lunch, anyway?”�

            James–the idiot–had the audacity to laugh. Though why he found my mental breakdowns so amusing, I’ll never know.

            “Ah, _there_ she is,”� he chuckled, cupping my face and pressing a quick kiss against my lips. “How long have you been holding that back, love?”�

            Um. Probably since around, “ _I’m going out with Liz._ ”�

            Not that he needed to know that, of course.

            Not that he couldn’t _guess_ , of course. Psh.

            “That’s not the point!”� I evaded, shaking his hands away and crossing my arms over my chest. “I can’t believe you’d consider…what about Charms? You’ll be back for _Charms_ , won’t you?”�

            James just stared at me.

            Double bloody fucking _shit_.

            “ _What the bloody hell are you going to be talking about for three bloody hours_?”�

            James shook his head. “Lily–“

            “Oh, don’t you ‘Lily’ me!”� I snapped, waving away whatever crap excuse he was about to give. The dam had broken. Maturity. Pah. Who needed it? “Lunching with Saunders, missing class… _pah_. I’ll tell you what you’ll be talking about for three bloody hours, James Potter! How much Saunders is still in _love_ with you, that’s what! She’s such a…a…stupid, stupid…it’s not…”�

            “Liz is not in love me with me,”� James said, and the prat actually sounded like he meant it.

            I glared daggers at him. “This is not the time to be modest, James.”�

            “I’m not,”� he argued, and at least now he had the decency to look a bit uncomfortable and embarrassed about the whole thing. His hand threaded through his hair and he sighed. “It’s not like that. Liz just…a lot of things have changed this year and she’s just grappling for an anchor.”�

            “Yeah,”� I said. “ _You_.”�

            James threw me a look. “As a _mate_ , maybe, yes, but that’s all. And even if it _wasn’t_ , would it matter? Do you think I’d do something about it?”�

            That stopped the bitter lashings on my tongue, even though I would’ve been more than a little gratified to argue about it more. 

            For the love of all that’s magical, whose idea was all this trust rubbish, anyway? It was ruining all my good arguments.

            “It’s not _you_ I don’t trust,”� I said, indulging in the cliché. “It’s _her_.”�

            “That’s fine,”� James said, and took a step closer to me. “As long as you’ve got that straight in your head.”�

            I wanted to mutter about someone else needing to get her head on straight and how if she didn’t, I’d be glad to _flatten_ it for her, but decided to keep that particular thought to myself because I figured that’s not what trusting, mature witches said. But I was still agitated and still cross and so I wasn’t quite able to curve every impulse that perhaps should have been squashed…which is probably why I found myself muttering bitterly, “ _We_ never have lunch.”�

            Oh, god, mouth, _shut_ _up_.

            You _couldn’t_ have gone with the head-flattening bit, could you?

            My face instantly went red and my heart went _thunk_ straight down into my stomach, hardly believing that I’d just said that, gone there. James’s eyebrows shot up. 

            “We eat lunch together all the time,”� he said, because of course he would have to make this worse, deliberately misunderstand.

            “You know what I mean,”� I snapped, and _Merlin_ , my face was positively _burning_.

            Now it was my turn to evade his eyes. I turned my head defiantly towards the wall to my right, but could still feel his eyes boring holes into the side of my face. Whether he was smiling or frowning, I didn’t know, and I couldn’t bring myself to stand there and ponder it. All I could think about was how much of an idiot I was and how I really had to get some control over my own goddamn _mouth_ because it said things that it shouldn’t and got me into trouble when I did that enough on my own, thanks very _much_. 

            This was the price I had to pay for a good morning. I should have known my karma wouldn’t let that one slip by, no matter what the circumstances. James was going to Hogsmeade with Saunders, and I was left acting like the biggest crybaby in the world, whining about things I should’ve goddamned kept to my bloody _self_.

            I was still wallowing in my own pity party, cursing myself and my complete and utter lack of an impulse control, when I felt the tips of James’s fingers slip under my chin. He turned my head back to his.

            “I’ll make you a deal,”� he said softly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Any time you want to go have lunch in Hogsmeade, we go. But under one condition.”�

            “What?”� I scoffed bitterly. “Liz gets to come, too?”�

            “No.”� James didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at my sulky jibes. In fact, he sounded oddly serious. I should have known to be worried then. “We can go have lunch in Hogsmeade any time you’d like…but when we do, it’s not going to be just lunch.”�

            I stared at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”�

            “I mean it’s not going to be a platonic lunch. It’s going to be a date, Lily.”�

            _It’s going to be a date, Lily_.

            A date.

            Double bloody fucking _shit,_ a date.

            I think I very nearly choked on my own spit.

            “E-excuse me?”� I sputtered. “A…wait a second. I was just–did you just ask me on a _date_?”�

            James only grinned. “Oh, I think I know better by now than to do that. I merely informed you of a possibility that you are free to take advantage of whenever you so desire. Good?”�

            Good?

            _Good_?

            “No, not good!”� I snapped, hating that he was getting such amusement out of this, hating that my heart was doing crazy things inside of my chest. Hating him, hating me, hating just about everything. “You can’t do that!”�

            “I just did.”�

            “But that’s not…that’s _so_ …”�

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, _shit_.

            A date.

            James smiled again, unfazed and seemingly rather content with the way this conversation had turned out. I wish I could say the same. “Just think about it,”� he said, chucking me under the chin. “That’s all I’m saying.”�

            No, that was _not_ all he was ruddy saying and _that_ was the bloody effing _problem_.

            There were things I should have said then–things I _wanted_ to say then–but James’s surprise attack had effectively done what I never could–shut my mouth up. There was some disconnect between my brain and my mouth that was making speech impossible to even consider, much less do. So instead, I just stood there like a prize henwit, blinking up at him as if I didn’t have a single thought inside my barren head. And James, the arse, just found that humorous.

            “I have to go,”� he finally said, and I couldn’t even take any pleasure out of the fact that he now sounded a bit disappointed by it. I just stood there…and stood there… _and stood there_. He laughed. “All right?”�

            I think I nodded. I was supposed to nod. Hopefully I did.

            I must have done something, because James nodded back.

            “I’ll see you later,”� he said, and took full advantage of my shock by leaning over and pecking me on the lips again before I could shake off my numbness enough to swat him away. I knew he knew exactly what he’d gotten away with when he pulled back and smirked. As he gave me one last parting wave, I–ready for this one?– _just stood there_ as he walked past me and disappeared around the next corridor.

            Eventually, I moved–though by the time I got down to the Great Hall, lunch was already mostly over.

            My lunch, I mean. Obviously not James’s lunch. James and Liz’s lunch. That one is long. Too long. Not that I’m bitter about it or anything. Except that I absolutely am. And just about everything else. But especially by the fact that they _get_ to have a lunch–just a simple, friendly lunch–and don’t have to attach any mad, bothersome words like “date”� to it. Date is such a shit word. Shit, shit, shit. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

            Date, date, date.

            I…

            I don’t know.

            I don’t know anything anymore.

_______________________________________

**Later, Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            I wasn’t _really_ expecting them to be back by now. I mean, maybe in a little corner of my mind, I was all, “Well, how long can it really take to insult me, anyway? How many ways can Saunders say, ‘Dump her. I love you,’ and can James say, ‘No. Go away’?”� Three hours worth? That’s persistence. And creative. I suppose she gets some points for that.

            I wonder how long James and I–

            Um.

            Never mind.

_______________________________________

**A Bit Later, Still in Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            It would _totally_ be longer though, right? I mean, it would have to be. It’d be a _date_. And dates are longer than lunches. And are better than lunches. Obviously.

            Not that that matters right now, of course. I am not ready to be dating anyone. Nope. Not the least bit.

_______________________________________

**A Bit Bit Later, Still Still in Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            I mean, remember my _last_ date? Remember what an utter and complete disaster and mess that turned out to be? Remember how miserable I was the entire time?

            Exactly.

            That’s what I’m saying.

            Dates are so stupid.

_______________________________________

**A Bit Bit Bit Later, Still Still Still in Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            Of course, I suppose the reason my last date was such an utter and complete disaster was in very large part _due_ to James. You know, and the fact that I _might_ have enjoyed being there more with him than I would’ve Amos. 

            But I would’ve enjoyed being there with the Giant Squid more than I would’ve enjoyed being there with Amos, so that doesn’t really mean anything.

_______________________________________

**Etc. Later, Etc. Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            Then again, I didn’t have a Giant-Squid-Inside-My-Head keeping me sane the whole time, now did I?

            No. No, I didn’t.

_______________________________________

**Etc. Later, Etc. Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 269**

            But everyone knows that things inside your head are so much better than they are in reality. It’s not the same thing. It’s not the same thing at all.

_______________________________________

**Later, Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 274**

 

 

Observation #270) You might imagine that someone who just almost-sort-of-sneakily asked you out would want to hurry through their mate-lunch and would perhaps even seek you out the second he was finished in order to discuss various things like the weather, your schoolwork and the psychological damage he inflicts upon you on a daily basis. But you’d be wrong.  
Observation #271) The reason you’d be wrong is because either he did _not_ rush through his mate-lunch and has not yet returned ( _even though it’s been hours)_ , or he did not seek you out as soon as he was able (which he is more than capable of doing quickly, considering you stuffed the device that can aid in this endeavor into the pocket of his robes yourself _just this afternoon_ ).  
Observation #272) It is very difficult to decide which of these two options is worse.  
Observation #273) Transfiguration and the difficulties it presents are usually enough to distract you from these sorts of things, but apparently not this time.  
Observation #274) The world is a sick, stupid, terrible place.

_______________________________________

**Later, Library  
** **Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 274**                         

            I can’t sit here anymore. I just can’t do it. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.

            I just need to…to…walk. Yes, that’s it. I just need to walk. Walk and get lost. What better place in the world is there to lose your way in than Hogwarts? Take one wrong staircase and _boom_ , there you are. It happens so often accidentally, I can’t imagine it’d be too difficult to do it on purpose.

            Right.

            Excellent.

            Let’s go get lost.

_______________________________________

**Much Later, Back in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 274**

            _Don’t_ get lost.

            Honestly. Seriously. Just don’t. And most _definitely_ don’t get lost _by yourself_. Isn’t that the very first rule of safety that parents teach their children? “Please don’t wander off by yourself, offspring. It’s dangerous?”� It goes hand-and-hand with that one about strangers, which is pretty damn important, too. And while I am perfectly aware that my mum can be an utter peagoose and that my father spouts out all sorts of spiels of advice, most of which have no relevance to life or reality, occasionally they do know what they’re talking about. I reckon they were spot on with this one.

            Why don’t I _listen_?

            For Merlin’s sake, sometimes I wonder how I’ve made it to seventeen.

            But the thing is, getting lost seemed like _such_ a fab idea. I was miserable in the library and I didn’t know where James was and I hate Transfiguration and I just wanted some _space_. There were probably better ways to get it than wandering aimlessly about the castle, but at that moment, it seemed like the greatest of answers. I could just amble about, moving and thinking and dwelling to my heart’s content. And why bother making a castle so big and magical if you didn’t want people moseying about it? There’s no other point–or that’s what I’d decided, anyway. So I abandoned my things at my table in the library and just took off.

            And it felt _good_. Really, it did.

            I think people forget how lovely it is just to roam around. I mean, I know all those anthro-whatsits blabber on about our hunter-gatherer ancestors moving about all the time because they needed to follow the food, but did you ever think that maybe they just _liked_ it? That they were all, “Look, that wooly mammoth incident is really getting to me, I’m just going to take a long walk to shake it off. Want to come with?”� and off the tribe went. Because life was tough back then, you know. I bet they had a lot of problems to sort out. And I bet they did it best while meandering about. At the very least, I’m sure the fierce gatherer women were all, “Ugh. Damned stupid alpha males. I need to get away from them,”� and off they went.

            It makes sense, really. Just think about it. After all, blokes have _always_ been frustrating, Neanderthals or not. It’s historical.

            Well, whatever the case, it was working for me. I just took a staircase upwards and let my feet carry me where they may. Direction wasn’t even the point. I just wanted to think.

            Because the thing was, I was sick and tired of being such a git about all of this. I was reaching the very end of my rope. I just didn’t know what to _do_ about that.

            And I know the answer seems so obvious. It’s right there. I’ve said it before, haven’t I? That I don’t want to _not_ be with James, that I want to give this thing an honest go? But wanting and doing are two very different cups of tea and that’s where I get all tripped up. It’s so easy to be all, “James wants to go on a date? Fab! I like dates. Let’s go.”� It’s something else entirely to actually say it to him, to actually _go_ when the time comes. Because for every inch of me that wanted to behave like a third-year, skipping, singing and twirling over the whole thing, equal inches of me were huddled in the corner, shaking their heads and reminding myself of all the things that could–very possibly _would_ –go wrong. 

            I mean, just look at yesterday! For all that I know he cares about me, James still does exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants to. Sometimes his brain doesn’t catch up with his impulses, and where does that leave me, hm? Lividly hearing about a hog attack from Remus in the Hospital Wing, that’s where. And I know it’s not fair to nitpick at all of James’s faults–Merlin knows I have just as many, if not more. I mean, I’m worse than James in regards to brain-impulse functioning. I either sit there and think something to death until there’s nothing left, or else I act even more impulsively than he does. At least James is consistent. You can count on him to react on a whim, on emotion. You can’t do that with me. Sometimes even _I_ don’t know what to expect from me. That can’t bode well.

            And we’re messy–James and me, I mean. Not in a literal sense, but in the sense that we’ve got an entire six years worth of bad tensions and misconceptions to muck through. Did you see how fast things turned last night? How quickly something like that can just spring up? One second we’re arguing about Amos, and the next we’re trading biting insults about people we aren’t anymore. What does _that_ mean? Is that something you can just move past?

            I don’t know. I really don’t. Because as much as one part of me is saying that it’s impossible, the other half of me is going, “Isn’t that exactly what you did last night? Didn’t you stop and sort it out? Why can’t you do that again?”�

            But should we _have_ to be doing it again? And again? And _again_? What if there are too many problems to just “stop and sort out?”� Who wants to spend their entire relationship doing that?

            Put like that, I’d say no one, but then that leaves me with the alternative of not being with James at all and that’s just…stupid. I mean, so we don’t even _try_? Even if it’s messy, shouldn’t we at least _attempt_ it?

            But then it could fail. And failing hurts a damn sight more than not trying at all.

            So now I’m a coward. Lovely. Just what every Gryffindor yearns to hear.

            But these are the sorts of things a witch is _allowed_ to be cowardly about, aren’t they? I mean, toss a girl a bone here. It’s a normal part of life!

            I was so busy trying to sort all of this out in my head, so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t even realise how far I’d gone or where I’d ended up as I just walked and walked and walked. Truth be told, I probably wouldn’t have taken note of it at all–I wasn’t done thinking yet–if it weren’t for the fact that my absentminded feet had somehow led me down into the dungeons and then straight into another person.

            “Oomph!”�

            _Crack_.

            Something sizzled by my feet.

            “Oh, god, I’m _so_ sorry–“

            I glanced up from the shattered vial and the still sizzling and steaming liquid splattered in a violet-coloured puddle on corridor floor by my feet, the tail end of more apologies ready on the tip of my tongue. When I saw just who it was I had collided with, however–and just how utterly _furious_ he looked–the words died on my lips.

            Oh, hell.

            “ _Fucking_ –watch where you’re bloody walking, Mudblood!”�

            In the past, my encounters with Evan Rosier had been thankfully limited to hearing his derisive wisecracks during lessons and the occasional brief run-in like this one. I didn’t know him well, but I didn’t think it was too shocking to imagine why not and why I didn’t care to change that fact–considering ‘Mudblood’ was usually part of his standard greeting and all. And while I can typically manage to remain rather removed and unaffected by those who care to toss words like that my way, I don’t think anyone can blame me for not seeking such attention out. Evan was that sort of attention personified. So needless to say, we had never tolerated one another too well.

            And this was all _before_ I knew about his horrid family.

            It was impulse to step back, to cringe under the fury of Evan’s cold stare. It wasn’t until I remembered who I was dealing with that I realised I shouldn’t have shown any sort of trepidation at all. I knew I’d made my first–well, second if you count running into him in the first place–mistake when his blue eyes glinted in satisfaction.

            Before he could say anything though, a voice behind him called, “What the bloody fuck happened, Rosier?”�

            From out of the classroom that Evan had just left, Jack Avery stepped into the corridor, his bulky frame spanning most of the doorframe. He took in the scene with narrowed eyes–Evan, me, the purple-coloured potion staining the floor. His eyes focused on the puddle, then snapped up to Evan.

            “You fucking _dunce_. That–“

            “Shut up, Avery. It wasn’t me.”� Evan waved an impatient hand in my direction. “The ruddy Mudblood rammed straight into me.”�

            “You weren’t paying any more attention than I was!”� I cried.

            Evan’s glares switched back to me. “I wasn’t aware I had to look both ways before exiting a classroom, Evans.”�

            “Is it ruined?”� another voice asked from behind Jack. Evan and Jack turned, revealing the third member of their trio. I don’t know why I was surprised to see that it was Sirius’s brother, Regulus, standing in the doorway, but I was. “Hell,”� he said when he saw the shattered vial all over the floor.

            “I’m sorry,”� I said again, because I didn’t know what else _to_ say. When their gazes turned back to me, I squirmed in discomfort. “If it was for class, I can tell Abbott that it was my fault–”�

            Avery gave a disdainful snort. “ _Class_? Merlin, Evans, shove _off_.”�

            I suppose that answered that one, though I had had my suspicions before. This whole scenario paralleled far too closely to the one Emma had shared about Mac and his mysterious potion making with these nefarious characters. That’s obviously what this was about (and I suppose I should be relieved that Mac was clearly no longer involved). The whole thing gave me an uneasy feeling, and I knew the less involved I was with all of it, the better. I wanted to scoff my nose at the lot of them and just stride off, but my curiosity got the better of me and I somehow found myself glancing down at the purple liquid splattered at my feet. Small streams of steam were still rising from the floor.

            “What the hell _is_ that stuff?”� I asked, taking a step closer to the spatter. “Why is it steaming like that? What are you–“

            Evan moved so quickly, I didn’t even have time to finish my question before he’d already brandished his wand and banished the whole mess into oblivion. I reeled back, startled, my eyes darting away from the suddenly clean stones and up to Evan, who was scowling as he tucked his wand back into the pocket of his robes. Jack was openly glaring at me, while Regulus just stared impassively in the doorway. My gaze shifted back to Evan.

            “Was that supposed to make me less suspicious?”� I asked him flatly.

            “Mind your own bloody business!”� Jack snapped.

            “I don’t give a damn what you think,”� Evan said with a snarl, taking a step closer, “and I don’t imagine anyone else will, either. Who’s to say this run-in ever happened? It’s your word against ours, Mudblood. Who do you think people are going to believe?”�

            “That’s rubbish and you know it,”� I shot back, but I wish I felt as confident as I sounded. As Jack chuckled appreciatively and Evan smirked with open malice, I wanted to keep going, to tell them how full of it they all were, how of course people would listen to me, but I wasn’t so naÃ¯ve as to really believe that. I mean, if it came down to it, I’m sure Dumbledore or McGonagall would hear me out, but what was I going to say? “They called me names and cleaned up the mess that I think looked suspicious. Make them pay?”� Somehow, I don’t think that’d be such a convincing argument.

            Still, I’d be damned before I’d let Evan and his cronies think they’d bested me. I forced myself to square my shoulders and sniff dismissively. “I don’t have time for this,”� I said, deliberately stepping back from the trio. “Since no one will believe me, anyway, I’m sure you won’t mind if I just casually mention this enlightening encounter to Dumbledore at our next meeting. No, I didn’t think so. So if that’s all–”�

            I turned, ready to walk away as purposefully and carefully as I could manage before rounding the next corner and breaking into an all-out sprint towards whichever direction the three of them _weren’t_. I shouldn’t have tried to get a rise out of them–I _knew_ I shouldn’t have done it–but the words were out and there was nothing I could do now to help myself except leave, so I went to do just that.

            A grip like an iron vice clamped onto my arm. 

            I whirled around and my heart caught in my chest. Evan loomed over me menacingly.

            “Is there something you _need_?”� I snapped.

            “Yeah,”� Evan said, and _Merlin_ , if looks could kill. “Stay the bloody hell out of our business. And while you’re at it, stay the fuck away from my brother, as well.”�

            My eyebrows shot up. “You mean MJ?”�

            Evan’s scowl deepened and I tried not to wince as his fingers tightened around my arm, squeezing painfully. For one second, I thought perhaps he’d heard about this morning and how I’d shoved MJ towards socialization, but that seemed decidedly unlikely. It was too soon, MJ’s de-hermiting too new. But I hadn’t exactly hidden the fact that I was fond of him, that I wanted to help him. MJ might have even said something to Evan, though why he would ever want to talk to his older brother, I couldn’t fathom. Instead of being happy that someone was looking out for his obviously floundering younger sibling, Evan merely seemed bitter about it. Whatever he knew about MJ’s and my association, he didn’t like it. And I suppose it didn’t help that I’d forgotten entirely that _I_ was the first one to call him MJ. Evan sneered at the nickname.

            “MJ,”� he spat with obvious derision. “Like he’s your bloody _pet_ or something. Call him whatever you’d like, Mudblood, but just remember that his surname is still Rosier. That means something to people who matter.”�

            People who matter. God, this rubbish made me sick.

            I glared defiantly. “I don’t care what his name is. Your brother’s a good kid.”�

            Evan openly laughed in my face. “A good kid. You think?”�

            “Yes, I do.”� I lifted my chin, thought of MJ, ignored Evan. 

            “And what about your Saint Potter? Does _he_ think Maurice is such a ‘good kid’?”�

            The sudden mention of James tripped me up a bit, and I was probably the biggest of idiots for letting Evan see that. The second he saw me falter, he grinned and pressed closer. I stepped back.

            “What’s this?”� he mocked, the smirk crowding his face. “Hit a nerve there, Evans? You know, maybe Saint Potter isn’t spouting out shite for once. Maybe he knows what he’s talking about. No one knows better than _family_ , after all.”�

            The way he said it, I knew he was expecting me to react. He thought I wouldn’t know that they were related, which Merlin knew could have very well been true, but luckily wasn’t, so he didn’t get the satisfaction of my shock. Instead, I did what perhaps I shouldn’t have ( _absolutely_ shouldn’t have) done and laughed in _his_ face.

            “Oh, undoubtedly. Especially in a family as _close_ as yours.”� My sarcasm was obvious and I got the reaction _I_ wanted when Evan wavered for once, clearly surprised by my nonchalance. But I couldn’t stop there, not when he was the one off-balance. The words just came out, biting and stupid. “But tell me something,”� I said with mock thoughtfulness, eyeing him critically, “what’s it like, anyway? I mean, James is Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, top of our class, and you’re…what? Dropping potion vials in corridors? It must _burn_ , being the obvious second-rate cousin–”�

            And just like that, Evan lunged.

            It all happened in less than a nanosecond. With an ungodly sound, Evan barreled straight into me, forcing me to stumble backwards until my body crashed against the wall behind me. My head hit the stone wall hard and my vision dotted for a moment, but I remained on my feet and heard Regulus call out a strangled, “Rosier!”� at the same time that Evan’s voice came sharp and brutal against my face.

            I was the one who’d apparently hit the nerve this time. I wish I could have enjoyed it.

            “–don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about!”� he hissed furiously, talking so fast that the words blurred. Whatever he’d started with, I’d missed. “Fucking smartarse. Mudblood _bitch_. Think you know things, Evans? Think you’re _untouchable_? _We’ll see_.”�

            “Get _off_ me,”� I wheezed, struggling against him, trying to maneuver my arm out of his still steel-like grip. “Let go and _back off_ or I swear to Merlin, I’ll go _straight_ to Dumbledore _right now_ –“

            But Evan was so far past listening, and it didn’t take long to realise that. Orders and threats weren’t going to work on him now. In my idiocy, I had pushed him too far and though I didn’t know exactly what he was intending on doing, I knew that my heart was pounding against my chest and that Evan wasn’t planning on backing off. I hadn’t been thinking when I’d let him get me against the wall. I was trapped, more so than I even imagined.

            I turned by head to the side and saw that Jack had moved and was now blocking the escape route to the left, while Regulus had come about on the right. Neither of them looked like they were intending on helping Evan in his assault, but neither did they seem to be interested in pulling him away from me. They both had their wands in their hands, however, and that was enough to make me wary–but hopeful, too, when I realized that I could probably get to mine stashed in the pocket of my robes.

            As Evan continued to spit out insults and affirmations as to his own superiority, I sneaked the arm that he wasn’t gripping in an unbreakable hold into the pocket of my robes, my fingers wrapping around the thin wood of my wand. If Regulus saw what I was doing from his place on my right, he said nothing.

            My mind shifted into survival mode quickly, a mantra of, _Breathe._ Don’t _drop your wand._ Don’t _drop your wand_ , playing over and over inside of my head. I couldn’t take all three of them. I knew that. But out of all of them, Evan seemed to be the physical threat, Avery the magical, and _that_ , I knew, I could do something about. If I could just…just…

            The plan couldn’t have formed soon enough. The second I decided on a way to take two out, Evan seemed to have reached his breaking point. He was outright yelling and had just moved to shove me against the wall again when I did just as my father had taught me all of those times when we’d venture off into the city when I was younger and rammed my knee upwards with as much force as I could possibly muster, then shoved with whatever strength I had left so that Evan effectively toppled backwards and onto the ground.

            I relished the ability to breathe for only a second, too busy whipping out my wand and stunning Avery before he could hex me, then dodging off to the opposite wall before Regulus could get a clear shot. Sure enough, a flash of red singed the spot where I had just been standing as Avery went down and Evan moaned on the ground. I whipped around, firing another stunner at Regulus, but missing. I don’t know what spell he kept shooting my way, but it thankfully missed me by a hair’s breath, hitting the wall behind me instead. 

            Regulus and I stood five paces apart, wands out, waiting for the other to give an opening. I was so busy concentrating on Regulus’s wand, I didn’t even think about the fact that I hadn’t permanently dealt with Evan until I suddenly felt a hand grab my ankle. I gasped, my heart jumping into my throat, my gaze shooting to the floor as Evan tugged–

            “ _Stupefy!”�_

            I went down. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. I cursed my idiocy as I fell, squeezing my eyes shut and waiting for unconsciousness to come, waiting to slip into oblivion, wondering what the hell was going to happen now…

            And then the grip on my ankle went slack. 

            Breathing heavily, I hesitantly eased open one eye.

            Evan’s hand dropped to the floor as his entire body went limp. I stared, dumbfounded, slowly realising that the Stunner hadn’t hit me, that I’d only gone down because Evan had pulled me–that _he_ was the one unconscious on the floor… 

            My gaze snapped upwards.

            And standing there, his wand pressed up against the back of Regulus’s throat, was Sirius.

            I nearly sobbed in relief.

            “Hexing innocent girls in the corridors?”� Sirius said, his voice hard and flat. “Mum would be _so_ proud, Reg. Drop your wand.”�

            “Bugger _off_ , Sirius,”� Regulus spat, his wand not moving from its position pointing straight at me. 

            “ _Drop_ it,”� Sirius snapped again, and thrust his wand harder against Regulus’s neck. When it didn’t seem like Regulus was the least bit interested in complying–and the fact that, for all that he had his wand trained directly on me, he didn’t really seem to be paying me the least bit of attention–I took matters into my own hands. Moving quickly, I disarmed him with a short, “ _Expelliarmus!”�_

            Regulus’s wand flew out of his hand and clattered down to the floor at my feet.

            If I was expecting any gratitude from Sirius for intervening, I didn’t get it.

            “Get up,”� he said, and it took me a second to realize that he was speaking to me, seeing as he was still glaring daggers at the back of Regulus’s head. His wand hadn’t moved from the back of his brother’s throat. When I didn’t move, Sirius’s eyes flashed briefly to mine. “Lily,”� he said. “Get _up_.”�

            I don’t know whether it was the fact that he had called me Lily–I could probably count the number of times he had called me something other than ‘Evans’ on one hand–or the simple fact that the adrenaline had stopped flowing so thickly through my veins and my brain had settled down enough to realize that I was the only conscious one on the floor _able_ to get up at the moment, but either way, I scrambled quickly to my feet.

            When I had reached the spot where Sirius was still standing with his wand pointing at Regulus, Sirius grabbed my arm and pushed me behind him. Even forgetting the fact that Regulus was unarmed and the other two were lying unconscious on the ground, the gesture was still a surprise. The he-man, protective instinct was not one I had expected from Sirius, and certainly not when I was the one playing the damsel in distress. But regardless of my preconceived notions, Sirius still made sure I was tucked firmly behind him before finally dropping his wand from Regulus’s neck. His brother remained standing rigidly with his back towards us.

            “Take care of them,”� Sirius said curtly, motioning towards Evan and Avery. “And stay the hell away from her. All of you.”�

            Regulus clearly bristled at the order, shooting a look over his shoulder at us. “What’s this?”� he asked, the scorn seeping through his words. “Potter letting you take a turn with her or something? What’s that you used to say when we were younger? ‘Brothers share?’”�

            “You were better at that one than James is,”� Sirius replied.

            “Well, isn’t that interesting?”�

            “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”�

            Regulus didn’t have a smartarse answer for that one, and even if he did, I don’t think Sirius was willing to stay around to listen to it. Without any warning whatsoever, he pivoted on his heel and jerked his head towards the end of the corridor. 

            “Let’s go,”� he said.

            I didn’t need to be told twice. Taking the lead, I walked at as controlled a pace as I could muster down the corridor and towards the staircases–or where I _thought_ the staircases were, anyway. I had rarely been in this section of the castle, so it didn’t surprise me when I went to make a left turn at the end of the corridor and Sirius had to grab my arm and tug me towards the right. 

            Honestly, I was lucky that my feet were working at all. Small favours, I suppose.

            God.

            Holy bloody fucking _God_.

            Had that actually just _happened_?

            We walked in silence. I don’t know what Sirius was thinking, but I was too busy replaying the whole nasty scene in my head, kicking myself for being such an idiot, for playing with fire when I knew very well those boys weren’t afraid of burning anything or anyone–least of _all_ me. What would have happened if Sirius hadn’t shown up? What would have happened if Evan had thought to pull out his wand and Stun me from the start? What if I hadn’t been quick enough, smart enough to get away? What if–

            My head started to spin. We were climbing up some back flight of stairs and I had to stop and grab hold of the railing, closing my eyes as everything came rushing at me at the same time–the fear, the shock, the anger, the panic. They all hit me at once. I let out a long breath, trying to gain some composure, but my stomach was cramping and my legs didn’t want to hold me up any more and all I could think was, _what if?_

            “All right, Evans?”� Sirius asked, stopping on the stairs above me when I suppose he realised that I was no longer dutifully trailing along behind him. His voice sounded far away, however, and even though I wanted to, I couldn’t find it in me to nod.

            Oh, _Merlin_. I was going to vomit.

            “Go on,”� I said breathlessly, already moving to sit down on the stairs, hoping that might help. “Go ahead. Just need…my head is spinning. One second.”�

            Sitting helped a little, but I still felt all hot and clammy, and as I clutched my arms around my stomach and dropped my head to my knees, I could feel the sharp prickling of tears at the back of my eyes and the constricting clenching of panic tightening around my middle. I took one deep breath, then a bigger one, but nothing was helping. I could feel my throat closing up, my heart slamming painfully against my chest. I tried to hold back the pathetic moan that wanted to escape, but I’m not sure I managed it.

            A hand fell hesitantly down upon my back.

            “Aftermath,”� Sirius said quietly, right next to my ear. His hand made a few awkward movements against my spine. “Adrenaline’s gone. Just breathe. It’ll pass.”�

            Oh, gee, _thanks_ , I wanted to bite out sarcastically, but you’d be surprised by just how low sarcasm and bite rate on the list of priorities when one is in a state of hyperventilation. And though you might imagine that as someone who has her moments of hyperventilation rather often, I’d be used to this by now, those moments and this one were unfortunately quite different. 

For one thing, this was entirely involuntary. I would have gladly handed over a few limbs if it meant that I wouldn’t have to be sitting there breaking down in front of Sirius Black on a semi-public staircase. It wasn’t exactly my idea of fun. But there was no stopping it. The harder I tried, the worse it got. So I just sat there with my grossly perspiring face suctioned to my knees by a sheen of sweat and tried not to faint.

            And all the while, Sirius sat there next to me, clumsily pounding at my back.

            I didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

            Thankfully, it only took a minute or two for me to reclaim control over my overwhelmed body. I still felt dizzy–it was almost like someone had poked a pin hole in me and I was slowly deflating like a balloon–but at least I was finally able to cease all my shaking and shuddering, and I no longer felt the overpowering impulse to simultaneously burst into tears as I got sick all over the staircase. Now if I could only uncurl myself out of my fetal position, I think I could truly make some progress.

            “Here.”�

            My head lifted from my knees with only the slightest of unattractive peeling sounds. I glanced up to find Sirius prodding a glass of water at my face. I figured he must have transfigured the glass from something and then charmed out the water, but I wasn’t much worried about it when my parched mouth had practically started salivating. My suspicious were confirmed when I grabbed the glass, took a sip, and the slightly bitter taste of _Aguamenti_ water filled my mouth. I swallowed it down anyway, grateful for any sort of liquid. At least it was cold.

            I sipped in silence and Sirius just watched, his hand finally dropping from my back, stopping whatever it had been doing back there. I grimaced slightly as I downed the remaining water in the glass, but refused to complain. Sirius must have seen my discontent anyway.

            “Sorry,”� he said, taking the empty glass from me. He transfigured it back into a quill and returned the writing utensil to his pocket. “ _Aguamenti_ tastes like shit, but it’s all I know.”�

            “It’s fine,”� I said, hating how gravelly my voice sounded, even with the water. “I appreciate it.”�

            Things could have gotten rather awkward then–I mean, there we were, Sirius and me, having probably our second longest encounter since term had started with about twelve rather large elephants stuffed onto the staircase alongside us–and I suppose that they actually _did_ get slightly awkward for a second there when we both lapsed into silence again.

            I suppose I am somewhat grateful that Sirius isn’t one to indulge in such things. We had been sitting there silently for only a few moments when he bluntly burst out with, “What the hell _happened_ back there?”�

            Nothing like small talk, eh?

            Psh.

            But the thing is…I didn’t want small talk. I couldn’t have handled small talk then, and maybe Sirius knew that, or perhaps simply felt the same. Either way, it wasn’t the time. That didn’t mean that I had to tell him what had happened, though. If I’d muttered off some excuse like, “Nothing, nothing. Just got out of hand,”� and got up all wobbly to leave, I don’t think Sirius would have pushed me too hard. I was clearly in a state and for all his lack of tact where I was concerned, the bloke was still human. I reckon he occasionally knew when to cut his losses and concede. He probably would have left it alone and let me go.

            But even though I didn’t have to, I ended up telling him all of it, anyway. I don’t know why. It just seemed the thing to do. And I suppose perhaps I owed it to him–you know, considering he’d come along and saved my arse and everything. It was really the least I could do.

            Besides, I figured I knew why he was really asking, and it became rather obvious straight off that my suspicions were correct. He tried to play the whole thing offhand, but I knew his concern was less about what had happened in that corridor and more about what his brother had been doing there in the first place. His eyes narrowed whenever I mentioned Regulus’s name, even though his brother hadn’t done much except bemoan the loss of the potion and then fire a few curses there at the end. I told Sirius that, but he just shrugged it off. I knew what it was like to love and hate your sibling, though, so I told him what he wanted to hear, anyway. If anyone could see through that faÃ§ade of disinterest, it was me.

            “You’re good. Quick,”� Sirius said once I’d gotten to the part where he came along, taking a moment to let it all sink in. I shot him a questioning look, not certain what he meant by that. He shrugged. “I walked around the corner just as you nailed Evan with your knee. You hadn’t even shoved him off you before you’d already cursed Avery. I knew you played the pet inside the classroom, but I never thought you had the instincts to take your fancy wandwork out of there. But you’re quick. Three-on-one are bad odds for anyone. You took out two of them in seconds.”�

            He wasn’t heaping praise, more just speaking frankly, but I felt myself blushing, anyway. I hadn’t thought of the incident quite like that. 

            “I didn’t really take out two,”� I corrected truthfully, letting out a small sigh. I could feel a headache starting to come on. I lifted my hand to rub at my temple. “I was stupid. I thought Evan would stay down longer. If you hadn’t come when you did...why _did_ you come, anyway?”� I asked, then realised how ungrateful that sounded. “I mean, not that I’m not extremely appreciative of it, of course! It was bloody perfect timing. I don’t know…but that doesn’t matter. Were you just wandering around the dungeons, as well?”�

            Sirius shook his head. 

            “It was less luck and more curiosity,”� he answered, which didn’t make a bit of sense until he shifted slightly and shoved a hand into his pocket. When it came back out with a familiar beaten-up piece of parchment caught between his fingers, it suddenly clicked. “I was heading towards the kitchens when I saw your dot hanging about the others. I didn’t reckon you were making new friends. I thought I’d see what was going on.”�

            I nodded as he handed the parchment over to me, but pathetically, I was barely listening to what he was saying. Because despite the fact that I had just been attacked, that I had barely recovered from a consequent panic attack, that Sirius and I were sitting there having about as civil a conversation as we got, as soon as he’d pulled the map out from his pocket, my mind instantly caught on something else.

            Sirius had the map. The one that I’d given to James earlier.

            That meant James was back from Hogsmeade.

            Since when?

            My fingers itched to open the thing up and check. I wanted to rip it open and devour it whole, just to make sure that ‘J. Potter’ and ‘E. Saunders’ were back in their respective places far, far away from each other. I wanted to ask Sirius when he’d gotten it, if there was any possibility that James had run into him before he’d left and gave him the map then, if James and Saunders could still be in Hogsmeade. But I couldn’t do that. I didn’t want Sirius to know how pathetic I was. But I couldn’t _not_ ask anything, either, so I searched for a way to get the information I wanted without sounding like an absolute peagoose.

            “I just gave this back to James this morning,”� is what I decided on, keeping my eyes trained on the folded-up parchment. “Thank Merlin I did, or you wouldn’t have had it.”�

            “He shouldn’t have given it to you in the first place,”� Sirius replied flatly, which was about as far from the response I wanted as could be. 

            Expect some information, get insulted instead. 

            Lovely.

            I bristled defensively. “You’re cross that he showed it to me? I won’t tell, if that’s what you’re worried about. For Merlin’s sake, I used it myself last night.”�

            “It’s not that,”� Sirius said, which was slightly comforting– _was_ , until the prat kept speaking. “I mean, the arse should’ve asked the rest of us before he went spewing all our secrets to Prefects, but James doesn’t do his best thinking around you, so I suppose it’s to be expected. We needed the Map last night,”� he explained, scowling. “Since James had given it to you, we didn’t have it. It was a bitch of a night.”�

            Oh, right. Welcome to Blame Lily For Everything. My very favourite game.

            “Oh.”� I didn’t know whether to feel ruffled, guilty, or curious. My meddling instincts won out, as usual, and I glanced over at Sirius with as innocent a look as possible. “I didn’t realise…James must have forgotten. What did you need it for?”�

            Sirius let out a loud snort, catching on quickly. “Delving for more secrets, Evans?”� he asked. “You won’t get them from me.”�

            “I’m not delving,”� I muttered, though of course I was. Wasn’t I always? But I still sniffed dismissively. “I don’t care what you do with your time.”�

            “It wasn’t just me. James was there, as well.”�

            “James had detention last night.”�

            “Detentions end, Evans.”�

            And James had been tired this morning, I remembered suddenly, wanting to kick myself. Of course. I hadn’t exhausted him, trophy cleaning hadn’t exhausted him, it was his _mates’_ fault. Truth be told, I liked that better. It made me feel less responsible. Still, I was curious now. Did this have something to do with the thing in the place with the lads? Probably. Or maybe it was just another thing in a place with the lads. Merlin knew the group of them always seemed to be up to something. I suppose I should just be grateful that nothing had exploded this morning, as things are wont to do when the Marauders are involved. I’d say that perhaps they’re maturing, but I reckon it’s probably just that they’re getting cleverer about it.

            “Remus must have been upset,”� I said absently, trying to act all cool and casual, as if I discussed nighttime misadventures all the time. Sirius didn’t seem to like that, though. He got all terse and cranky.

            “What?”� he asked curtly, his eyes narrowing. “Why would you say that?”�

            “Because he’s sick,”� I answered, shooting him a glare for getting all brisk with me. When that only made Sirius glower more, I threw a bit of a fit. “What? I’m not even allowed to know the health status of your mates? I saw him in the Hospital Wing yesterday and he wasn’t in class today. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. But I suppose Remus being ill is another super, just-mates secret, right? No Lily allowed. Merlin, you’re spare. Sorry you had to share that one with me, as well. Won’t happen again.”�

            He listened to my sarcasm with a critical stare. He didn’t seem to be glaring anymore, merely taking me in, sizing me up, but that was no less disconcerting. I wasn’t about to show him I was unnerved, though.

            “You know something?”� he said, his voice dry. He actually sounded grudgingly impressed. “You’re too sharp for your own good. James should know better than to date a bird with brains. It’s bad for business.”�

            “James and I aren’t dating,”� I said quickly, that particular subject perhaps a _bit_ too sore at the moment. If Sirius sensed the hit nerve, however, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely shot me a sardonic look. 

            “I know,”� he muttered, and rose to his feet. He sighed lightly, and then glanced down at me. “Ready?”�

            “Er, yeah.”� It took me a moment, but I used the railing to hoist myself up and miraculously my feet held beneath my weight. My vision went a little bleary, but other than that, I seemed to have recovered well enough from my fit of hyperventilation. Sirius waited for me to regain my bearings, then jerked his head up the stairs and started to climb. I followed along behind him.

            I was pretty sure that we were climbing up the dungeon’s back staircases, the ones that curved near the Slytherin Common Room and led up towards one of the rooms off the Great Hall, but we ended up in some massively long corridor instead, so I suppose that goes to show how much I know. Sirius didn’t appear to be lost, however, so I was glad that he took the lead. I trailed his steps dutifully, walking along beside him as we made our way down the long corridor.

            If I’d waited long enough, I’m certain Sirius would have struck up some sort of conversation, even if it was only to toss a few more jibes my way, but there was something I had to say to him– _wanted_ to say to him–so this time, I was the one cutting through the silence.

            "Thank you," I blurted out, the words bursting from my mouth in a sudden rush. "If you hadn't come along when you did, if you hadn't been there...I don't know–"

            "Don't worry about it," Sirius said quickly, jerking his shoulder up into a jumpy shrug. He kept his eyes trained forward, but even his long hair couldn't hide the redness that started creeping up his neck. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Forget it."

            Which was about as stupid a request as one could imagine.

            For Merlin's sake, didn't he think I would if I _could_?

            "Forget it? Seriously?" I stared at him incredulously. When all Sirius did was continue to walk, I grabbed hold of his arm, forcing his feet to skid to a halt. He glanced back at me with utter reluctance, a strained grimace crossing over his flushed face. I didn't care. I couldn't have him brushing this aside. "I don't know how often you go about saving random girls from antagonistic berks," I stated dryly, "but this is all rather new to me, so you'll have to forgive me if the novelty hasn't quite been rubbed raw yet."

            Sirius let out a hefty sigh.

            "Evans–"

            I pinched his arm. Hard.

            " _Hey_ –"

            " _Don't_ shrug this off!" I ordered, hardly believing how ready he was to disregard the entire thing–as if he'd merely interrupted a casual debate! The feeling of Evan's body pressed up against mine and the shocks of pain as my head cracked against the wall played back in my head. I tried to shake the memories off. "You didn't have to come," I said, looking Sirius straight in the eye. "You didn't have to, but you did, anyway. And I don't know whether that was because your brother was there, or maybe just because it was me, but either way, I'm grateful– _really_ grateful. You hate me. You could have left me there, but you didn't. So _thank_ you."

            Sirius fidgeted. He looked quite as if he wouldn't mind if a boulder suddenly decided to drop down from the ceiling and crush him beneath its rocky mass. He jerked his arm out of my grip and used his free hand to pull at his tie as if it were suffocating him. He cleared his throat once more, lifting his shoulders into another shrug before probably remembering my reprimand and cutting the action off short. It took him a few moments to get more than a few incoherent noises of distress out.

            "I don't _hate_ you," was what he did manage to say, in a tone that was somehow choked and exasperated at the same time. His fingers had unknotted the tie, but he was still fiddling with the ends. "For Merlin's sake, Evans, we've been through this before."

            "Maybe it's not hate," I replied quietly, "but it's certainly nothing positive."

            Sirius rolled his eyes to the ceiling, tugging so forcefully on his tie that it slipped off his neck and went fluttering down to his side. One end swept the floor, the other remained gripped in his tight fist. 

            "Yeah, well, you _lied_ to me," he said, and suddenly he wasn’t fidgeting but moving, and he did it all while glaring at me. My eyebrows instantly furrowed, having no idea what he was talking about. Sirius was more than happy to explain. "You told me that night in detention that you'd back off until you got your head on straight. Even _you_ agreed that was best. But by the next goddamn _night_ , you were right back to dragging James into the whole thing–"

            "That's not fair!" I cried, feeling my face start to burn with embarrassment. That night was not something I cared to begin rehashing during a showdown with Sirius. I forced myself to focus on something else. I was arguing, wasn't I? Right. Yes, I was. "When you asked me to stay away from James that night, I _tried_. I meant what I said. I was going to back off until I had Amos sorted out. But there were two people involved and your stupid mate wasn't having any of it! So I'm sorry if you took that as some sort of personal betrayal, but I didn't mean it that way. The whole thing wasn't even your business in the first place! I never should have agreed!"

            "But you _did_ ," Sirius shot back, whirling around and pointing an accusatory finger in my face. "You did agree because you knew James was better off!"

            "No, _you_ thought James was better off–you _still_ think James is better off!" I knocked his finger away. "That's what this is all about! You don't think James should have anything to do with me!"

            It was the truth–we both knew it was the truth–but Sirius's eyes still narrowed. "I didn't say that," he said.

            "You didn't have to," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest, fuming. "Remus told me why you and James are fighting. The other day in the courtyard, after you left. He told me."

            Sirius's face darkened. I tried not to feel too guilty about that, reminding myself that I’d _wanted_ to make him cross. I mean, yes, maybe I shouldn't have said it then–there were gentler ways to release that information, after all, and was there anyone I _wasn't_ telling about the _private_ discussion Remus and I had had?–but I was cross and he was lying and the angry words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

            I told myself he deserved it, that he was being mean and petty and irrational and so there, but that wasn't really fair, either. The conversation had somehow escalated from a heartfelt thank you into a verbal brawl and Sirius had a bit of a right to be saying what he was–but so did I. 

            In any case, his look of fury amounted into a loud, bitter scoff of disbelief.

            "For fuck's sake," he said, "is _anything_ secret with you anymore?"

            "I had a right to know!" I insisted, even though that point might have been more debatable than I cared to admit. I ignored that slight dent in my argument, figuring that if I was stern enough about it, Sirius might not call me out. You know, maybe. "It concerns me, doesn't it? And it's not like I won't understand because you made your points _quite_ clearly when you told me about last year that night in detention! But I suppose I still shouldn't be involved, right?"

            Sirius's features twisted in annoyance. "This is between James and me," he said.

            James and him? Was he _kidding_?

            "Maybe some of it," I conceded, trying to be even the tiniest bit rational, even though most of me wanted to be stomping around the corridor, spitting and swearing in indignation. "But now you've dragged me into it, as well, and that's not fair. Do you think I _want_ James to change for me? That I wouldn't want him to be himself?"

            "This isn't _about_ you!" Sirius cried. "This is about James and his goddamn need to prove himself!"

            "Prove himself to who?" I challenged. "Me?"

            Sirius waved a dismissive hand, scoffing again. "You, his parents, Dumbledore, the Carringtons–who the fuck knows anymore?" His eyes narrowed on me. "All _I_ know is that you're certainly not making it any easier. And Merlin knows you've managed to tip James's world axis before. You don't get it," he said, shaking his head at me. "You don't know how James works, all right? You don't know what you are to him, what you represent."

            I didn't like the way he said that–what I _represent_ –like I was some sort of universal symbol instead of a flesh-and-blood, functioning, feeling person. It made my insides churn. "What do you mean, 'what I represent'? What are you talking about?"

            Sirius let out a long sigh, tossing his tie back around his neck and then lifting his fingers to grip his hair in frustration. He turned away from me for a second, seeming to be trying to collect himself, then turned around with a steely look in his eyes. His hands dropped back to his sides.

            "He's got...he's got this _thing_ with you, all right?" he finally said, but I didn't like that, either. _Thing_. It was a degrading placeholder at best. "For goddamn _years,_ you were this elusive paragon, this one person who James always put above the lot of us and saw as something...I don't know. Better, I guess. You were rotten to him, but somehow, you were still always better."

            I squirmed uncomfortably. "That's not–"

            "Last year was a mess," Sirius pushed on, ignoring my interruption. "You know that. I _told_ you that. And now to make up for it, James thinks he has to be better, too. And somewhere along the way, you've made it worse. You're better," Sirius mocked dryly, "and if you like him, then that must mean he's better, as well. And if he's not, then he's damn well going to try to be. It doesn't matter whether that's actually who he is–or how _miserable_ it'll make him–it's who he thinks he needs to become. And who better to become it with," he finished sardonically, his gaze directed pointedly at me, "than the paragon herself?"

            I hated that word. Bloody _hated_ it.

            Paragon.

            I was no one's bloody effing _paragon_.

            "So that's all you think I am?" I asked him quietly, surprising even myself with how cold my voice sounded. "Just someone's bloody good _example_? And that's all that's between James and me? Some sick mixture of guilt and obligation?"

            Sirius finally had the decency to look slightly chastised. "No, not that exactly," he said slowly, but the bastard actually had to _think_ about it! "It's more–"

            "Because _let me tell you_ ," I interrupted, stepping closer until Sirius and I were standing toe-to-toe, and I was glaring up into his surprised face, "you're wrong. You're _so_ wrong. You don't get it, not even the tiniest bit. And maybe if you actually _talked_ to James about this, actually _listened_ to what he was trying to tell you instead of being blinded by your own selfish need to have your old comrade back the way he used to be..." I paused, sneering in disgust. "Well. Maybe then you wouldn't be causing all these idiotic problems, now would you?"

            Sirius stared at me blankly, his features moving from shock into stony impassiveness in a matter of moments. But no matter how blank his expression, his eyes were bright and calculating as they stared at me, like shards of grey steel looking for a place to pierce. If that's indeed what he was searching for, I wasn't going to give him the opening. I was too outraged, too furious. I wasn't about to back down.

            Because, honestly, how goddamned bloody _insulting_. How utterly and completely callous and _narrow-minded_ to have had the audacity to look at James and me and declare everything between us some kind of fraudulent search for gratification. Sirius had no damn _right_ to say any of that because he had no _idea_ what was between James and me. He wasn't us. He wasn't part of this relationship. And as an outsider looking in, he had about as much credibility as a common housefly buzzing about the room–no matter _what_ his status in James’s life. Clearly that meant nothing, if he could be so tainted by his own stupidity.

            And that's what this was. Stupidity. I had known that before to a certain extent, but standing there then, listening to him drivel on, my sympathy was down to zero. 

            Who did he think he was, anyway? Honestly. Who?

            Part of me didn't want to hang about to figure it out. That part of me wanted to give him a good, hard kick–having recently saved my arse or not–and storm away in a fury of anger and exasperation. If I had followed that impulse, Sirius would really have deserved no less.

            But–shockingly enough–that was not the part of me whose dictates I chose to follow. Because as much as causing an angry scene would have given me an exorbitant amount of satisfaction, it would have only been short-term. If I meant to get anything out of this whole conversation–to _really_ do something about Sirius and his damned cracked theories–I had to stick around to see it play out until the end. I couldn't be childish and stomp off. It just wasn't worth it.

            Which, yes, I agree was terribly enlightened and mature of me.

            I'm not sure what they've been putting in the pumpkin juice lately, but it's really doing wonders for my disposition.

            "What?" I challenged when Sirius didn't seem inclined to respond. I lifted my chin, staring defiantly at him. I may have been having a streak of maturity and everything, but that didn't mean I was about to give up the opportunity to get in his face. It was highly satisfying. "Don't have some sort of knowledgeable, psychological analysis for that one? Finally had some bloody _sense_ knocked into you?"

            "Who do you think knows him better?" Sirius replied flatly. "You or me?"

            "Normally I'd go with you," I admitted grudgingly, "but considering the fact that you're being pretty damn shit stupid right now, I might have to change my mind."

            It was hardly the time, but somehow that pulled a reluctant snort out of Sirius, and the smirk that crossed his lips was decidedly less bitter than I’d expected such a reaction to be. Maybe it was that lack of bitterness and sudden quick flash of amusement that led me to say what I did next. Or maybe I was just caught up in the spirit, enjoying the experience of being the brutally honest–and brutally _correct_ –one for once.

            "Look," I said, grappling for a bit of sense and serenity so that I might be able to pull this off. I let out a small sigh. "I'm not usually one to be calling people out on their bullshit, all right? I really haven't got the right, seeing as I'm usually the one spouting it. But this time, I'm calling you out, and if you're any sort of mate to James and any sort of logical human being, you'll listen to me.”�

            It didn’t take long for Sirius's smirk to slip into a frown. “You know, Evans–”�

            "Quiet," I ordered, sticking up a silencing finger. "You've talked enough. It's my turn now. We're going to practice your listening skills. Maybe you'll be able to use them in some future conversations you may or may not be having, yeah?"

            I didn't know where all this gumption was coming from, but it seemed to be doing the trick in earning–well, if perhaps not Sirius's respect, at least his reluctant silence and compliance to my requests (er, _forceful_ requests) for his attention. I suppose that someone as normally crass and blunt as Sirius could recognise a similar tactic and warily accept it.

            As for me, I was rather enjoying being the authoritative one. Perhaps I have a little bit of dominatrix in me or something.

            "I'm going to tell you something about my conversation with Remus, and what havoc your little theory has been wracking on my mind recently," I started, sticking Sirius with a good, stern look. "You're not an idiot for thinking what you do about James," I admitted reluctantly. "When Remus told me...well, it made me question, as well. I know that James isn't the same person he used to be, and I know that I like him better that way. I'm not so obstinate as to claim otherwise. But what you _are_ an idiot for," I added, placing my hands on my hips, "is continuing to think it after seriously considering James for more than half a second. And for someone who claims to be the authority on him, I find it pretty pathetic that I'm catching on more quickly than you are."

            Sirius bristled at my barbs. "That's not–"

            "Ah! We're _listening_ , remember?" It took a second–and quite the put out look–but Sirius did actually shut up again. I nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'm glad we sorted that out. Because, believe it or not, I don't _want_ James pretending to be someone else for me–which is exactly what I told _him_ when we spoke about this last night."

            Sirius's eyes went wide.

            "You...you _talked_ to him about this?" he sputtered, his mouth gaping.

            Ha. Threw him off balance, did I?

            Really, I feel like I should have a whip or something.

            I nodded with much satisfaction. "Yes, I did. See, there are these little things called honesty and communication. James and I are trying them out, seeing how they go." I paused, considered for a moment, and then asked, "Would you mind terribly if we tried some of that? Preferably without trying to insult each other every other comment?"

            Sirius laughed humourlessly. "Me? _You're_ the one–"

            I held up my hand. "I don't know what you were about to say, but it sounded like an insult."

            Sirius's mouth snapped shut with a tight jerk, letting out an annoyed huff in place of whatever jibe he had originally meant to follow. He stared at me, looking none too pleased about my request, but he hadn't tossed it back in my face, which I took as a good sign. After a few terse seconds of silence, Sirius moved. He let out a long, frustrated sigh and muttered, "I think I need to sit down for this."

            As he crossed past me and plopped himself down against the corridor wall, my stomach jumped. He was going to let me talk. I don't know why, but I hadn't expected that. I thought _he_ might be the one striding away, sick of hearing my voice. He'd let me say a bit of my piece just now, but then again, I hadn't given him much of a choice. But I didn't want to badger this conversation into happening. That was likely to get me nowhere. We had to do this calmly and rationally, which, yes, were not really my strong suits, but I could pretend them rather well when the time called for it. I think this time called for it.

            When Sirius was settled, I followed his lead and took a seat on the floor next to him.

            "Can I go first?" I asked.

            After a second, Sirius nodded.

            All right.

            Here we go.

            "I know you're worried about James," I started slowly, staring down at my fidgeting hands instead of at Sirius because that was just easier. "I know you're worried and I know it must seem like I'm coming in, spouting off things that I know nothing about because I wasn't there for the past six years. And maybe you're right there in some ways...but in others, you're not."

            I turned my head, deciding it was only right to at least _look_ at him while I was saying all this, regardless of how much I hated it...and almost smiled when I saw that Sirius was staring blankly at the wall in front of us. I wasn't the only uneasy one, then. That was comforting in its own way. He must have felt my gaze on him, however, because he turned his head to look at me. His stare was decidedly less critical than I'd expected it to be. That might have been what made it easier to keep going.

            "You and I seem to think that we expect two very different people from James," I continued quietly, shrugging my shoulders, "and maybe we do, in some ways.  I can't say what you think of James or of me, but I think you want your friend back and I don't think you've realised that you already _have_ him. He's just...different than he was before. With or without me, that isn't going to change. How could he _not_ be different? You should know that more than me."

            "It's not that simple," Sirius replied, and the phrase was so familiar–one of my very favourites, in fact–that I had the impulse to smile again. I didn't, but I wanted to. Sirius certainly wasn’t. "There's a certain point where the change is so significant that it can't just be chance. James can't be happy like that."

            "Do you honestly believe that? That he's not happy?”�

            Sirius's gaze shifted back over to the wall. "I've seen James happy. This wasn't it."

            That stung, but I didn't let it knock me off track. It wasn't meant to be a direct hit at me, even if it felt personal. I could lick my own wounds later. If I thought he was wrong, I had to prove it.

            "There's a difference between happy and carefree, you know," I said instead, nervously twirling an errant strand of hair around my finger. Sirius's eyes turned back to me, his eyebrow furrowed. I shrugged. "James used to be carefree–to the point of care _less_ , probably, and I suppose there's a sort of obvious happiness in that. But they're not synonymous. You don't have to be one to be the other. And after all he's been through, I don't think James is ever going to be that carefree again. He won't be the same. Even you have to see that."

            "I'm not expecting him to be the _same_ –"

            "You're not?"

            "Insult," Sirius accused, but I shook my head. 

            "It wasn't an insult. It was a valid question." With perhaps a _bit_ of implied insult, so I'd have to watch it.

            Sirius grumbled, but didn't argue my point. He started picking absently at lint on his pant leg. "I don't expect him to be the same," he said again, though this time with a bit less vehemence. "It's not...there are things you don't understand–things James just wouldn't _do_ that he's doing now. And I'm sorry, Evans, but I think that's you."

            "Could be," I said, though of course that was a load of malarkey. I had to indulge him, though, or suffer another insult claim. "Or, you know, it could just be him."

            "It's not."

            "Why? Because it's not what he would have done before? Do you know how backwards that is, Sirius? You're comparing him to someone he was two years ago. Things change. People change."

            "I _hate_ that word," Sirius groaned, lolling his head back against the wall. "It's everyone's excuse for everything."

            I laughed, the sound odd in the otherwise quiet corridor, echoing around. Sirius rolled his head towards me with lifted eyebrows, but I didn't know how to explain that the two of us apparently had more in common than we cared to admit.

            "Believe it or not," I explained with a small smile, "those are usually my sentiments exactly. But this time, I'm afraid I've made an exception."

            "Only because it works in your favour," Sirius scoffed.

            "Insult," I said.

            "Not directly," he replied. "It's the truth."

            "How so?"

            Sirius shifted, leaning off the wall slightly and resting his elbows on his bent knees. "It's all well and good to be sitting here spouting out your wisdom now, Evans, but it'd be an entirely different situation if our roles were reversed. If James started acting like himself again–"

            "What _you_ think of as himself," I corrected.

            Sirius rolled his eyes. "Right. Fine. If James started acting like who _I_ think he is again, I bet you anything you'd be flipping a shit. You'd be cross at him for not being who he should be and wondering why the bloody hell he was doing it. It'd drive you mad, seeing him toss himself away like that–which is exactly how _I_ feel," he stated, shooting me a pointed look. "It's easy to sit there complacently when you're on the winning side. You've got James the way you want him. If you didn't, you'd be acting just like I am."

            It was a prime example of turning the tables, and in most cases, hearing that would have probably caused me to shrink back guiltily and rethink all of the judgments I was passing on Sirius. He had a point. I was arguing for the winning side and Merlin knew that was always easier. But there was a dent in his logic, one that I wouldn't have been able to unveil if it hadn't been for everything that had happened yesterday. Despite the absolute chaos that had ensued, I suppose I would always be grateful for yesterday for that.

            "You're right and you're wrong," I told him, surprising even myself with how reasonable I was being. "And I know you think that you were being all pointedly hypothetical, but I actually understand. That's what happened yesterday, after all, wasn’t it?"

            Sirius slapped a hand on his knee, a sudden victorious grin spreading across his lips. "That's right!" he cried smugly. "James gave Diggory the duffing he deserved and you went bloody ballistic! See? That's what I'm saying. You were ready to fucking murder him because he hadn't danced properly to your tune. It's all the same!"

            "Except it's _not_ ," I countered, tossing Sirius a glare that told him I wasn't very happy with his choice of wording, which reeked of insults. "Did I murder him? Did I do _anything_ to him? For Merlin's sake, I told the idiot off and hung him by his ankle for about forty-five seconds. That was it! He acted like your favourite ponce and in the end, I let him do it– _despite_ the fact that I thought it was the most ridiculous and asinine move there was! I let it _go_. You haven't!"

            Sirius snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "You probably only let it go because James groveled and promised to return himself to your perfect little pet."

            Okay. I thought we _weren't_ insulting each other here?

            "First of all," I said, sticking him with a good glower, "stop being so rude. I'm not insulting you, you're not supposed to be insulting me, remember? And secondly...you're shitting me with this 'perfect pet' rubbish, right? James is about as obedient as an untrained puppy. He does what he wants, when he wants to, and though he may occasionally give my opinion a bit of a ponder, I hardly hold an influence–I mean, _obviously_. James apologised last night for upsetting me, not because he was the least bit sorry about what he'd done!"

            "And you're fine with that?" Sirius shot back. "You're not angry about it?"

            "I was at first," I admitted, unashamed of that. "I thought it was stupid and cruel and, yes, something he would have done in fifth-year and I would have hated. But that was only at first. That wasn't really why I was so angry with him." I hated drudging all of this up again, but I knew it had to be done. With a slight grimace, I forced myself to keep talking. "I deliberately told him several times to stay out of it and he confronted Amos anyway, then lied to me about what he'd been up to afterwards. He broke my trust and _that_ I wasn't okay with. The fact that he'd merely done something I didn't approve of wasn't the real issue. Do you see the difference?"

            If Sirius did, he wasn't ready to concede on the point. Instead, he kept interrogating. "So if James stopped acting like such a straitlaced ponce and started raising terror about the castle again, you would be fine with that?" he asked.

            "Are you asking whether I'd approve of it?" I questioned, cocking an eyebrow. "Because if you are, the answer's no. I still think that most of what you all find so amusing is silly and ridiculous and utterly immature." Which it _was_ , but if I thought I would get an agreement to that, I was out of my mind. "But just because I think it's stupid," I went on, " _doesn't_ mean I'd toss James over if the lot of you decided you wanted to paint the Great Hall technicolour, or kidnap Mrs. Norris, or throw a party in the Charms corridor. As long as you're not hurting anyone and James isn't lying to me about it, I don't care. I've accepted that along with James come his idiot impulses. It's a package deal. I can't split them up. I'm not trying to."

            Sirius stared at me suspiciously, surveying my face with narrowed eyes and looking as if he were trying to decide how much of my speech was utter codswallop and which part he could actually believe. He was a damned dubious prat, but I suppose that he had no reason to trust me. I am a pathological liar, after all, and I have been known to display a proclivity for exaggeration. But this time I was being honest. When it didn't appear as if Sirius was quite ready to accept that, I decided it was perhaps time for a visual aid.

            "Look," I said, pulling my wand from my pocket. Sirius instantly recoiled. I rolled my eyes–as if I'd just whip it out and _hex_ him right there in the middle of the conversation. _Honestly_ –and stroked the air in front of us, creating a long, neon purple line on the stone floor before our feet. 

            "This," I said, making one dash on the far left side of the line, "is your preferred James. And this"–I made a second dash on the far right–"is mine. Opposite sides of the line. Quite the divide. However, _this_ "–I marked a final dash right in the middle of the other two–"is where actual James is at now. Right in the middle."

            Sirius pulled a face, taking out his own wand and creating a new dash slightly more to the right of the middle one. "This," he corrected dryly, "is more like actual James."

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_. Details, details.

            "Fine," I said, rolling my eyes. "That's actual James. The point _is_ , he's still in the middle. Not mine, not yours, but his own sort of highly maddening middle ground. And I don't know about you, but I think we've still got a pretty good deal there."

            Staring down at the line, Sirius's lips lifted up into a smirk. "Yeah, well, you would. He's more on your side."

            Seriously. It was like arguing with a four-year-old.

            "Fine, fine!" Sirius laughed, smirking some more as I shot him my dirtiest of stares, turning my wand so it was pointing directly at his nose. He swatted my wand away as his smirks and chuckles faded, his gaze shifting from me back down to the line. He took a few seconds to silently contemplate it. "I suppose it's not too bad a deal," he finally decided, glancing up at me from out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe."

            "And maybe," I offered, figuring I could give a little since he seemed to be, "James needs to move a little more left. You know, more middle. A better deal."

            "A better deal for me?" Sirius asked.

            "A better deal for himself," I replied.

            Sirius paused for a moment, then nodded.

            "So you'll talk to him?" I dared to prod.

            Sighing, Sirius's shoulders jerked into a shrug. "I'll think about it," he said. Then he shot me a strangely appreciative side-glance. "You fight a good fight, Evans, do you know that? Ever think of becoming a Ministry lobbyer?"

            "I'll keep that in mind," I muttered, but couldn't quite keep the flush of pride from staining my cheeks. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe everything wouldn't be fixed, but I think I'd made a bit of a difference. You know, even if it was the smallest of them.

            Perhaps today wouldn't end so horridly after all.

            We sat there quietly for a minute or so, the bright purple of our James Line glowing on the floor in front of us. I waited for Sirius to say something like he usually would, but he seemed too lost in his own thoughts to make the move. I suppose I couldn't blame him. I'm sure he hadn't left for the kitchens this afternoon with the anticipation that he would soon come across a brawl featuring his brother, rescue his best mate's dreaded mate-with-potential, get into a bit of a verbal brawl with the same aforementioned dreaded mate-with-potential, then have that brawl turn into a bit of a heart-to-heart, with the results of that conversation still very up in the air. 

            All things considered, I bet a sandwich was looking pretty damn attractive right about now.

            But he hadn't ditched me–not for a sandwich or for anything else–which, I have to say, I think is pretty damn impressive.

            It was also strange, though. Because the thing is, I had spent so much of this year being annoyed with Sirius, scoffing my nose at him for being such a stubborn fool with more pent-up anger than sense inside his overly-groomed head, that I'd never actually considered him outside of being part of James's accompanying baggage. But for all of our extensive differences, I did appreciate the fact that Sirius wasn't afraid to be honest. And Merlin knew the idiot was loyal–almost to a fault, in fact. And even though I know that I myself am burdened with a whole litany of physical/emotional/psychological/spiritual/etc. problems, I do believe that I have the occasional pleasant personality trait.

            Was it possible to...I mean, I know we've had our issues and all, but–

            "I'm hungry," Sirius declared suddenly, efficiently snapping me out of my thoughts. I turned my head, watching as he gingerly rubbed his stomach, staring down at it forlornly. "I need a giant bowl of something," he decided, sounding pleased at the prospect. "I'm not sure of what yet, just that it needs to be giant. And delicious." He lifted himself to his feet, taking a second to brush his pants. "Let's go. I think–”�

            "Wait!"

            The exclamation was out of my mouth before I'd even had time to think about it. Sirius stopped, turning about and glancing down at me in confusion. 

            "Wait, what?" he asked.

            Yes, wait, _what_? I very much wanted to snap to my stupid, uncontrollable mouth, cursing my body's ridiculous, impetuous impulses. Sirius watched silently with a questioning eyebrow cocked as I scrambled up to my feet and then proceeded to just stand there dumbly, sputtered like a damn idiot, not even knowing myself what exactly was going to happen next. My mouth didn't seem to feel quite up to letting me in on the plan just yet. 

            I found out what it was soon enough, however.

            "I was just thinking," I heard myself say, which didn't sound too bad, really. Thinking was good, wasn't it?

            "Oh, yeah?" Sirius replied drolly, when my mouth didn't seem ready to spout out anything further. "How's that going?"

            "Fine. Brill." That didn't sound too bad, either, all things considered. But I wasn't–or rather, my _mouth_ wasn't–finished yet. "I was thinking about you, actually. And me. You and me."

            "Oh, Evans," Sirius said, the ever-present smirk creeping back across his face. "I know I'm devilishly attractive and everything, but I really don't think–"

            "I think we should be friends."

            Um.

            Er.

            I...do?

            Sirius's single inquisitive eyebrow went flying straight up to his hairline with its mate.

            Right.

            Guess I do.

            "You think we should be _what_?" Sirius asked incredulously, his shock littered with perhaps a few hints too many of disgust for my tastes. Because, you know, disgust isn't exactly the _best_ of reactions one hopes for with these sorts of things.

            "Well, don't sound too excited about it," I muttered dryly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Really, it'll go straight to my head."

            "You want us to be _friends_?" Sirius repeated, as if I hadn't said anything at all. "You're serious?"

            You know, I'm sure this was doing _wonders_ for my inferiority complex.

            "Why not?" I shot back, lifting my chin up a bit. "Believe it or not, I'm actually a rather halfway decent mate! And when we're not trying to insult each other to tears, I don't think we clash too brutally. Even you said that you never had any problems with me before this year, right? And now that I've hopefully convinced you that I'm not toxic for James, that takes care of that, doesn't it?"

            Sirius eyed me carefully, matching my pose as he crossed his own arms over his chest and stood his ground. "I haven't decided whether or not I think you're toxic for James yet," he said. "I'm still considering it."

            Oh, bloody hell, the obstinate _fool_.

            "Fine," I said, throwing my hands up in defeat. "You're still considering it. Consider all you'd like. But what better way to do that than to _get to know me_ , hm? And that's what new mates do! They get to know each other!"

            "So I get to see your mad inner-workings and judge accordingly," Sirius mused, tapping at his chin. His eyes narrowed. "And what's in this for _you_ exactly?"

            In this for me?

            Oh, this was sure to be a blossoming friendship.

            But I suppose I respected the valid request for motive, if not exactly the callous way that he chose to word it. It was a legitimate concern. What _was_ in this for me? Why was I even attempting to forge this clearly reluctant relationship into something more productive? It may have seemed like an utter nodcock stunt to pull, but I did actually have my reasons. And I suppose if anyone had a right to hear them, it was Sirius, the other half of this proposed madness.

            I nibbled at my lower lip. "You want the truth?" I asked.

            "The truth would be nice," Sirius replied.            

            "Fine." I nodded, letting out a short breath and trying to sort through the reasons in my head before I went and blurted them all out. "The truth is...well, the truth is, I've never hated you either," I said, giving a small shrug. "You've tested that sorely these past few weeks, but for every peabrained move you've made, at least your heart has been in the right place. You're loyal. You care. And for all that it stings, I respect the fact that you don't swallow everyone's nonsense. You call people out on their rubbish–perhaps with a bit less tact than is absolutely necessary, but you still get it done. I like that. And..."

            "And?" Sirius prodded.

            "And I'm not an idiot," I finished, feeling my face start to flush. "I'm a lot of things on a lot of days, but even I'm not stupid enough to think that anything between James and me would work if you weren't even the slightest bit accepting of it–of me."

            That caught Sirius attention. His features eased slightly. "Evans, that's–"

            "This is just a bump," I pressed on, ignoring the interruption and taking a small step closer to him. "In the long run of you and James, this is just an insignificant bump that probably won't even register fifty years down the line. You'll sort it out–hopefully sooner rather than later–and I know you may not believe this, but I'm actually happy about that."

            "Nothing's ever insignificant with you," Sirius said, letting out his own sigh. "Not for him."

            It was hardly the time, but I felt the blush start to stain my cheeks even deeper. I shoved my embarrassment aside, however, determined to go on.

            "Maybe," I said, trying not to sound too skittish about that. "That's...well, that's possible, but it's not...not..." I trailed off, trying to find the right words to explain my point, but suddenly too frazzled to do a proper job of it. When words finally _did_ come, I can't guarantee that they were the right ones, but they were certainly...well, very _me_. "It's like this," I blurted out, startling Sirius with my sudden outburst. He eyed me warily. I kept going anyway. "Say...say the two of us are dangling off separate cliffs, right? Slipping finger grips, feet swinging, yelling and carrying on, the whole dramatic debacle. Well, if we're both hanging there, and James is the only person around to help...he's going to save you first. So if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have to make him choose. All right?"

            It was stupid. It was _so_ stupid. 

            Cliffs? Slipping finger grips? Swinging feet? _Honestly_?

            But I suppose if we were really going to be mates, Sirius had a right to know straight off the bat just how mad I am. And I figure that this was probably a rather proper introduction.

            And do you know what?

            I reckon this friendship has more of a chance than even _I_ expected, because there's something that I forgot when I was so busy lamenting my own loss of sanity and revealing such a flaw to Sirius.

            The fact that, Sirius Black? Yeah. Pretty damn mental himself.

            Or he _must_ be, anyway, to have listened to me spout out my hypothetical cliff-diving misadventure, stared at me contemplatively for a few seconds, then, with complete and utter seriousness ask, "Well, how _far_ are these two separate cliffs from one another exactly?"

            Yeah.

            I know.

            It was like an instant burst of madness kinship, right there in the corridor.

            "Er," I said, scratching absently at the back of my head. "I think you might be missing the point."

            "And what about his wand?" Sirius asked next, beginning to grin. "Does he have a wand? Where are _our_ wands for that matter? Why are we just hanging there like lame ducks? This is a ruddy cliff we're talking about. There must be footholds or something."

            He had worked himself into a nice, long hearty bout of chuckles, clearly taking an endless amount of amusement in my rather serious analogy. But if Sirius understood my meaning, he didn't acknowledge it. He merely continued to chuckle contently to himself, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe how entertaining I'd proven to be.

            "You're funny," is what he said, shaking his finger at me. "Even when you don't mean to be, you've got a certain wit about you. I like that. I wish I could use it for evil instead of good, but I don't think you'd let me."

            "Er, no," I said, not knowing what else to say to that. "No, I wouldn't."

            Sirius let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in disappointment. "Pity," he said, then turned around and started walking off. "You could have had a bright future."

            Wait a second, where was he _going_?

            "Hey, wait!" I scurried after him, falling into pace beside him rather quickly despite the fact that his strides were about twice as long as mine. I glanced up, scowling at his amused grin. "That's it? 'You could have had a bright future'? What the bloody hell does that mean? And if you appreciate my wit so much, why can't we be mates?"

            "I didn't say that we couldn't be mates."

            "So we can?"

            "I didn't say that, either."

            Really, who has bloody _time_ for this rubbish?

            I jumped straight into his path, forcing him to stop walking or risk colliding right into me, which he did a bit of both of. As he glanced down at me questioningly, I stuck him with a good, stern stare.

            "I'd like a straight answer, please," I said, plopping my hands on my hips. "Are we mates, or aren't we?"

            "I'll give you your straight answer," Sirius replied, his questioning look turning into a more critical one. "But I've got one last thing to sort out with you first."

            Sincerely hoping that I wasn't agreeing to anything too permanently damaging, I nodded.

            "What," he said flatly, "the fucking hell _are_ you doing with James, anyway?"

            Uh.

            Er.

            ...What?

            "What am I doing?" I repeated slowly, eyebrows furrowing.

            "Yeah," Sirius said, then waved a hand at me. "You. James. What is that?"

            I could feel myself starting to blush again, red hot burning in my cheeks. "What do you mean, what is it? We're...you know."

            "No," Sirius replied blandly, "actually, I don't. Some codswallop about boyfriends with potential. What the bloody fuck is that, anyway? It sounds like some sort of medical condition."

            "First off, it's _mates_ with potential," I corrected, bristling at his tarnishing of my very significant relationship jargon. "And secondly, it's not a _medical_ term. It's a perfectly healthy in-between stage! It's–"

            "–bullshit," Sirius finished, not letting me explain. "It's complete and utter bullshit, Evans, and you know it, too."

            It's...as if...

            Hmph!

            The _nerve_!

            "You don't know a thing about it!" I shouted, but even my bellowing didn't sound half as convincing as it really ought've. Sirius had the audacity to snort at this, as if I had just cracked an astoundingly hilarious joke, even though the only hilarious thing about this was going to be the look on his face when I gave him a swift jab to the stomach.

            "Look, you said that you respect the fact that I call out people's bullshit, right? Well, here I am," Sirius said, spanning his arms out wide, giving me the perfect sucker-punch opening if I chose to take it. "I'm not stupid enough to accuse you of playing games twice because Merlin knows _that_ went over so well the last time, but if that's not what you're doing...then what the hell _are_ you doing, Evans? Do you even know?"

            I seriously started considering that punch.

            Did I know? Did I _know_?

            Was he serious? Was he honestly asking me that? The shit. The fool. Of ruddy _course_ , I...I...

            Oh, bloody flistering hell. 

            Who was I kidding? Of course, I didn't _know_. I've never known. I've never wanted _to_ know, lest it all turn out rather serious, which might force me to make a few rather significant changes, and Merlin help us all if it came down to that. Sirius was right. He was _so_ right. 

            But I hated to admit it, especially to him.

            The fight faded out of me rather quickly once I realised that I didn't have much of a leg to stand on. I could have stood there arguing with my obtuse, roundabout explanations, but there didn't seem to be much of a point. My defiance wavered, my shoulders slumped, and I decided that my time was probably better spent staring at my fingers as they twirled anxiously at the ends of my shirt than staring at Sirius.

            "It's not a game," I muttered, at least able to defend that. "It never was. I just...I told you. Change makes me squirm, as well. So I'm just trying to...ease in. You know, wade into the shallow water. Slowly."

            "Except James doesn't want to wade in," Sirius replied flatly. "He wants to jump. Head first. Quickly."

            Well, didn't _that_ just sum it up in a nice, neat bow?

            "I know that," I returned sharply, the words coming pricklier than I’d hoped. My head was starting to pound. I lifted a hand to my temple, rubbing gently. "Don't you think I _know_ that?"

            "So then why don't you just jump along with him?" Sirius asked, as if it were actually that simple. When I stuck him with a glare that said as much, he frowned. "What? Do you have commitment issues or something? Isn't that usually a bloke thing?"

            "They're not _commitment_ issues!" I cried, scrunching my nose in distaste. Pah. I was a lot of things, but I was bloody well _not_ a commitment-phobe. I mean…well, I think. "I don't want to be with anyone else," I said, as if that made my point.

            "And you don't want James with anyone else?" Sirius asked.

            The thought made me nauseous. "Of course not."

            "Yet you let him go to lunch with Liz this morning, anyway?"

            Great.

            Just _great_.

            Did he really have to go and _remind_ me? Why not just kick a girl when she’s down? It might have hurt less.

            I fought back the urge to gag.

            " _Let_ him?" I grumbled, pouting perhaps just a little (or perhaps a lot). "As if I had a bloody _choice_ in the matter. They're _mates_ , remember? I'm supposed to be understanding of that. If I'd kicked up a fuss, I would have seemed like an unreasonable shrew."

            Sirius made a scoffing sound, waving my assumptions off with a careless flick of his hand. "Of course you had a choice, Evans. You've got a brain! There were more creative ways to fix the problem without playing the brat if you'd actually cared to."

            "Ways like what?"

            Sirius rolled his eyes, turning and taking off down the corridor once more, forcing me to scurry along after him like a prize ponce again. As he plowed down the corridor without the least bit of consideration for my inadequate legs, he stared straight ahead and went, "You're supposed to be the wit here, Evans. You didn't have to tell him _not_ to go. You could have concocted something imaginative–told him _you_ were going to head into Hogsmeade, as well. Told him he should meet up with you after. I guarantee his lunch with Liz would have lasted ten minutes, he'd be so revved to get to you."

            Fabulous. _Now_ he gives me ideas.

            Something I would have appreciated being brought to my attention, oh, how about this morning?

            Psh.

            "He just sprung it on me!" I protested, a bit put off now that I _hadn't_ kicked up more of a fight, though I had legitimate reasons for that. "For Merlin's sake, I thought he was chucking me at first! A girl can only take so many surprises before her cleverness starts getting hindered. And then he threw all that _date_ crap at me–"

            Sirius stopped walking. "What date crap?"

            Oh, hell. Why'd I have to go and bring that up?

            "Er." I fidgeted around, squirming uncomfortably under Sirius's sharp gaze. "Well...er. It's like...I sort of sassed him back by saying something about _us_ never having lunch in Hogsmeade, and James might have said something like we _could_ go to lunch whenever I wanted, but that it would have to be...that he wouldn't want to call it a lunch. He want to call it a...er. A date,”� I finished quickly. “You know. Or something."

            Or, you know, _not_ something. Exactly that. A date.

            The hives were starting to come back again.

            "And?" Sirius said, completely oblivious to the fact that I had started frantically scratching at my arms for no reason. He just kept prodding me for answers. "What'd you say?"

            "Erm..." _Merlin_ , I itched. "Well, it was like..."

            "You turned him down?"

            "Er. No."

            "You said _yes_?"

            "Ah, no. Not exactly that, either."

            Sirius threw his hands up in frustration. "So what in the name of all that's magical _did_ you say?"

            Jeez. So _testy_.

            "I didn't say anything!" I cried, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. "He didn't give me the chance! He just threw it out there, told me to think about it, then sauntered off!"

            "And you didn't go _after_ him?" Sirius asked.

            I blinked. "Why the bloody hell would I have gone _after_ him?"

            "To answer!"

            "But I didn't _have_ an answer! I had to think!"

            " _And_?"

            "I'm still thinking!"

            Holy hell, like it was bloody _rocket_ science or something.

            Shockingly enough ( _not_ ), Sirius didn't much like that answer. He let out a loud groan, fisting his hands in his hair as if he were about ready to just rip it straight out of his skull. And while I have been known to cause such frustration in others from time to time, really, don't you think someone was overreacting _just_ a tad?

            I mean, cool it, Deb Drama. Breathe or something.

            "I have every right to take the time to think about this, Sirius–"

            "It's a _date_ , Evans. Not a bloody marriage proposal."

            Well, if you put it like _that_. Psh.

            I sniffed dismissively. "You're acting like I've said no. I haven't. I'm just–"

            "Bullshitting!" Sirius cried loudly, which I think may have been becoming his new favourite word or something, he'd been tossing it about so much lately. But he didn't seem to care about his word count. Instead, he took a step closer to me, shaking his head. "I don't understand you, Evans. Really, I don't. You like James–you wouldn't put up with half his shite if you didn't. I mean, for Merlin's sake, you're even trying to make nice with _me_ just to please him!"

            Which was sounding like less and less like a brill idea, by the way. Not that Sirius let me get a word in edgewise to tell him so. He just kept going.  

            "You'll get yourself pummeled against a wall defending him to his bastard cousin, but you won't even let the bloke buy you a bloody _butterbeer_? What does that say? How long are you planning on wading in for, Evans?" 

            "You say that like it's so casual!" I argued, feeling my insides writhe. "You don't get it. If it was just a butterbeer, I'd be in, but it's _not_. First it's the butterbeer, then it's...it's...it's too fast, Sirius! It's just all too damn fast!"

            "What are you so _afraid_ of, Lily?"

            And just like that, there it was.

            The word that described positively everything and absolutely nothing at exactly the same time.

            Afraid.

            What _was_ I so afraid of?

            There were a million answers, a trillion possibilities, and I'd be damned if I knew one from the other. It wasn't a pinpoint-able thing, a question with a single solution. I didn't know what made me want to crawl into James one moment and sprint away in the next. There was no clear-cut reason why I shouldn't want to do exactly as Sirius had suggested and grab James's hand and jump in right along with him, just a series of panicked shocks and unpleasant anxieties that kept me plodding around in the shallow ends. And I had a right, I knew, to feel those things. Because I was right. This _wasn't_ a casual thing and I couldn't make it into one and maybe it was exactly that complete and utter loss of control that had me grappling so frantically for whatever speed bump I could cling to. Because if I didn't cling, if we didn't slow down...

            I don't know.

            I don't know what would happen.

            Maybe that's what I was afraid of.

            Sirius was waiting for an answer. I didn't realise it until I'd snapped myself out of whatever trance his question had thrown me into and glanced up at him, taking in his jagged gaze and pulled frown with a certain amount of surprise. He tilted his head to the side, prodding me on with an expectant look.

            "I don't know," I finally answered, the words inadequate at best. "I don't...know."

            I expected a certain amount of exasperation at this. 'I don't know' was about as useful as a wooden sword against an angry dragon and I knew it. But maybe it was the pathetic look that had suddenly taken over my face, or the defeated slump of my shoulders, or maybe there was just a certain amount of sympathy and understanding in Sirius Black that I had never expected. In any case, Sirius accepted my sad excuse for an answer with a curt nod.

            "Fine," he said, his tone soft. "You don't know. But you better figure it out and do something about it soon, Lily, because there's only so long that he'll be content with wading. Even for you."

            I swallowed hard, and then nodded. I already knew that.

            "And in the meantime," he said, "for as long as you and James continue to be..."

            "Mates-with-potential," I supplied.

            "Ah. Right." Sirius didn't have to roll his eyes in order for me to understand his thoughts on the topic. "For as long as you and James continue to be ‘mates-with-potential’, you and _I_ will be...potential mates."

            "Potential mates?" I repeated, my voice flat. "Sounds like a medical term."

            Sirius flashed a grin. "Doesn't it?"

            I refused to share in the joke with him, deciding that brooding over his blackmail was a far better choice. The only trouble was, Sirius didn't care a whit about my sulking.

            "You've got to give in or give up eventually, Evans," he said, giving a careless sort of shrug. "Why not quit making everyone so miserable and make a decision sooner rather than later?"

            Because I bloody well didn't _want_ to.

            And no one was _miserable_ , for Merlin's sake.

            "You rush things, you ruin them," I said with a lofty lift of my chin.

            "You can't ruin something that doesn't exist," Sirius returned, and we started walking again. "Isn't that what potential means? Doesn't exist yet?"

            "James and I _exist,_ " I muttered, kicking absently at the ground.

            Sirius merely laughed, the little bugger.

            I got so distracted then by my complete determination to come up with an amazingly stellar set down that would shut my potential mate up mid-smug snicker, I didn’t realise that we’d finally reached the end of the long corridor until I suddenly found myself surrounded by a new set of stone walls–but ones I _knew_. We’d somehow ended up in one of the smaller rooms off the Entrance Hall, the one closest to the main staircase. I was so startled to be back in familiar territory that all my clever repartee disintegrated on the spot. Instead, I sighed with relief.

            “Finally,”� I breathed, thinking it might not be so bad to stroll over to the familiar walls and give them an affectionate pat. “Somewhere I _know_.”�

            “I thought the whole point of your outing was to get lost?”� Sirius asked, shooting me a side-glance that more than hinted that he was well aware of my desire to kiss the recognizable ground we now walked on. “Not so fond of it anymore?”�

            “I suppose being attacked will do that to a girl,”� I said, but couldn’t even get too distraught over that. I was all but skipping across the floor.

            Sirius shook his head, pulling the door to the side room open. The pair of us stepped into the Entrance Hall (a room with a _name_ I know!), which was decidedly less busy than usual, seeing as it was still late afternoon and not nearly close enough to dinner for people to be milling about on their way to the Great Hall. I didn’t mind. It gave me the opportunity to make more of a ponce of myself with fewer witnesses.

             “Hello, Entrance Hall,”� I said as Sirius and I moved into the room. “Hello, staircases. Hello, banister. Hello–”�

            “Are you going to greet _every_ familiar inanimate object from here until Gryffindor Tower?”� Sirius groaned, but seemed reluctantly amused as I hopped cheerfully up the steps, flashing grins at known sights.

            “No.”� I waved to the portrait of Kinsley the Dragon Keeper as we rounded the first landing. Kinsley winked back. The dragon didn’t look too happy about that. I glanced over my shoulder at Sirius. “I left my things in the library. I’ll greet every familiar inanimate object from here to _there_.”�

            Sirius choked. “The library? On a _Friday_?”�

            I shrugged, grinning at the candelabras, all which were happily lit even though there was still a hefty amount of light streaming in through the windows. What a waste of perfectly good wax. “I should probably still be there now,”� I said, rounding the next flight. “McGonagall’s exam is fast approaching, you know.”�

            Sirius snorted. “McGonagall’s exam? Are you daft? That thing isn’t for ages! And besides, aren’t you supposed to have James about for study sessions? Wait, don’t tell me–he’s a tutor-with-potential, as well, right?”�

            He was really having far too much fun with my very important relationship terms.

            “I don’t know where James _is_ ,”� I snapped before I could think better of it, too agitated to realise how telling that was. An extra bit of stomp entered my step without much approval from my brain. “He’s probably still too busy with his oh-so-important platonic meal with _Liz_ in Hogsmeade to care about my precarious academic status.”�

            Sirius didn’t reply to that, and even though I knew that I’d earned every “you did this to yourself”� eye roll he chose to send my way, I somehow found myself glancing over at him anyway, ready and waiting to defend my pathetic bitterness. But instead of staring at me with every bit of censure that I deserved, Sirius only continued to climb the stairs, smiling to himself. And since I figured I’d already made a large enough fool of myself and might as well get something out of it, I scowled at his silence and gave him a firm nudge in the side.

            “I know we’re not officially mates yet,”� I started, “but this is still the part where you pull out your map and tell me where James actually is. Any time now.”�

            Sirius didn’t even blink. “I don’t need to pull out my map,”� he said. “I know where he is.”�

            My stomach flipped.

            He knew where he was.

            He knew where he was!

            I chose not to think about the fact that Sirius knowing where James was could simply mean that he knew James was still in Hogsmeade or–oh, hell, _worse_ –still with Saunders somewhere else. Instead, I chose to take his comment as reassurance to myself that the mystery of James’s whereabouts that had been so plaguing me all afternoon would soon be resolved.

            Or it _would_ have been, had Sirius chosen to say anything after that.

            Honestly. Can’t a girl be even the _tiniest_ bit subtle these days?

            “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?”� I asked miserably, not even smiling at Professor Crandy as he passed us by, even though he’s a perfectly jovial and familiar fellow. “You want me to dwell on all the horrible possibilities for hours more.”�

            “I think a bit of dwelling might be rather healthy for you, yes,”� Sirius replied simply. “And just so you know, you’ve already got the nagging girlfriend bit spot _on_.”�

            “He’s still there, isn’t he?”� I fretted, taking Sirius’s evading as a sign of guilt. The urge to sit and sob was suddenly not so far off. “He’s still with her. Of course, he is. What kind of lunch is this, anyway? Twelve courses? Ridiculous, stupid, damned…he’s going to spoil his bloody dinner! And–”�

            Sirius’s abrupt hoot of laughter cut me off.

            “Fucking hell, maybe James _isn’t_ in this alone.”� When I only glared, he laughed again. “He’s _sleeping_ , Evans,”� he finally said, and the whoosh of relieved breath that slipped out of my mouth would have been rather embarrassing if I was in a state to care. As it was, I hung without shame on Sirius’s every word. “He’s in his bed– _alone_ –and has been at least since the end of lessons. That’s when I found him crashed in his four-poster, anyway. So tame your jealous rages. The poor sod merely passed out.”�

            I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to hear about an abrupt case of unconsciousness.

            Sleeping.

            He was _sleeping_.

            The whole time, he’d been _sleeping_.

            “Oh.”� My cheeks burned, but not nearly enough to make up for how utterly pitiable I had just been acting. “Right. Of course. Sleeping. He _was_ awfully tired this morning.”�

            “So glad you approve,”� Sirius replied flatly. It sounded like he was smirking again, but I couldn’t bring myself to look. He suddenly stopped walking. “I thought you were going to the library?”�

            “What?”� It took me a second to realise that we’d already reached the fourth floor landing and that I had intelligently begun climbing up the next flight of stairs. Sirius remained–yes, smirking–on the landing. “Oh.”�

            Muttering to myself about stupid damn staircases and feet that moved on their own accord, I made my way back down the few steps and stopped next to Sirius. I was squirming about all self-consciously until I remembered that I wasn’t the only one making a muck of directions.

            I shot Sirius a smug look. “Wait a second. I thought _you_ were going to the kitchens. A giant bowl of something, remember?”�

            “Changed my mind,”� Sirius answered simply, because he can be all quick and casual like that. He nodded towards the next flight of stairs. “I’m making a pit stop. Perhaps I’ll see if Sleeping Beauty’s roused from his slumber yet.”�

            “You’re going to talk to him?”� I asked.

            Sirius bopped my head lightly with his fist. “Sort your own business out, Evans. Let me deal with mine.”�

            I bopped his head right back. “Since we’re going to be mates,”� I told him, “you should probably know now that I tend not to stay in my own business. Ever.”�

            There’s nothing like a bit of honesty to start a mateship off just right.

            Especially if it gets me some information.

            It didn’t, of course, but it was worth a try.

            Instead, Sirius lifted an eyebrow and went, “So we _are_ going to be mates, then?”�

            Psh. You can’t meddle with a _meddler_.

            I shrugged and simply said, “Perhaps. I suppose. Eventually. Maybe.”�

            Ha. Just _try_ for a more evasive answer. Really. Go on. Try.

            Sirius was properly appreciative of such skill, though he did have to make a show of rolling his eyes and shaking his head in order to save face. I let him do it, just to show what an indulgent mate I could be. “Do you think you can manage the corridors without me?”� he asked next, nodding his head towards the hall that led towards the library. “You don’t need a guard, do you?”�

            “If I’m assailed, I’ll shout for Pince,”� I replied. “She’s quite fierce, you know.”�

            Sirius nodded, chuckling, then moved around me and went for the staircases. He lifted his hand in a wave. “See you, then,”� he said.

            “See you,”� I said, hardly believing that this whole…Merlin, what to call it. Saga? Disaster? Revelation? Well, whatever it was, it was ending. And rather quickly, too. “Sirius!”� I called before his feet could carry him any further. As it was, he stopped and turned when he was already halfway up the next flight.

            “What?”� he asked.

            “Thanks,”� I said earnestly. “Again. Truly. For coming. And for the talk. And for being my mate.”�

            “I didn’t say I’d be–”�

            “Bye!”� I shouted before he could finish, shooting him a triumphant grin and speeding off down the corridor before he could stop me. I heard him grumble something or another on the stairs, but I didn’t linger about to take note of it. Mates don’t listen to other mates when they’re spouting out rubbish, after all. It’s practically in the code.

            Mates.

            Sirius Black and me, _mates_.

            Who would have thought it?

            Well, _I_ would have thought it obviously, seeing as it was my idea, but if you’d brought it up any time before…oh, a half-hour ago, I would have thought you mad. But it makes sense. Sirius is James’s best mate, after all, and the pair of them are not about to part from one another, whatever their present disagreements. And hopefully those will all be cleared up soon, anyway, so there’s one less obstacle. Really, I think it could be quite the budding relationship.

            And by budding, I mean that it has to, because it’s very unlikely that we can wilt much more than we already have. It’s just like my mum always says, when you’ve got a view from the ground, there’s no place to go but up!

            Thank you, Mum. I knew you were good for something.

            I’m not so delusional to think that this is all going to pan out easily–I think Sirius is a fair bit more attached to his side of the James Line than I am mine–but in the end, I have the feeling it will be all right. I mean, I’m a pretty fab mate when I put my mind to it. So I’ll put my mind to it. Simple as that.

            And just because Sirius technically said we couldn’t be mates until I officially get things straight with James…well, I _will_ do that. When I’m not being hounded with ultimatums left and right. And when I have my hives under–

            Hey, wait.

            Where are my hives?

            Oh, there’s one. Tiny little blighter, though, aren’t you? Where are your mates, little hive?

            Interesting.

            Hm.

            I…

            Hm.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 275**

            The others will _come_ , they’re just not ready to right now. Probably because they know I’m not seriously considering anything so ludicrous as making good on Sirius’s demands and talking to James about lunches and potential and other things of that variety. The hives know this. They’re all, “We’re calling your bluff, lady. You lose,”� with much smugness and superiority. 

            You can’t hide things from the hives. They always know. You just can’t.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 275**

            And I’m aware that I’m technically thinking about all of this lunch and relationship business now because…well, because it’s on my mind and why shouldn’t it be, with everything that’s happened today? But I’m not _thinking_ thinking about it. Obviously. If I was, the little hive would have a friend. He’d have _multiple_ friends. It’d be a hive party on my body and everyone would be having a damned fab time except for me.

            But that hasn’t happened, so obviously my thinking is only cursory thinking and not _thinking_ thinking, which is actually quite a bit of a difference, just so you know.

            Right.

            So there.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 275**

            Because I don’t _want_ to think about it. I don’t want to think about it because thinking about it gives me a panicky feeling inside and I sweat and feel like vomiting and throwing things and running really far distances and to be perfectly honest, I’ve already been tossed up against a wall and emotionally abused today, so I think I’ve had enough. My limit for self-damage has been used down to the very last reserve so I really have to stop moving from cursory thinking towards _almost_ thinking because almost thinking is far too close to _thinking_ thinking for my liking.

            _Merlin_.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 275**

 

 

_That’s_ what I should be thinking about, anyway. And by _that_ , I mean Evan and Regulus and Jack Avery and their absolute desecration of civility in the face of my exposure to whatever the hell it was that they were doing, not…you know, _that_. The D-word. Or the B-word. Or any word that goes along with those words.

            I don’t know why I’m not more consumed and overwhelmed by what happened. I mean, I was _then_ , as was made obvious by the major meltdown on the staircase, but now I’m just somewhat…distantly unnerved about it all. Looking back and pulling apart the pieces of those–Merlin, was it even five minutes?–is strange. It’s almost as if it hadn’t happened to me, but I was some sort of bystander instead. “Oh, look at what they’re doing to that poor girl! How awful!”� “Oh, hell. That girl is _me_.”� It’s a very odd sensation.

            It was my own fault for tossing Evan’s own superiority back in his stupid face, though. Even an idiot would have known that comparing James to Evan and clearly finding Evan wanting would not end peacefully. Evan has nothing if he doesn’t have his overwhelming sense of self-worth and authority. I just never realised that he was as sensitive about James as James is about him. It’s for different reasons, of course, but both equally volatile. If nothing else, I suppose it’s good to know.

            And what were the lot of them being so secretive about, anyway? What were they so determined to hide? If they’re stupid enough to mess with dark magic in school, they probably wouldn’t have been clever enough to banish it all so quickly. Not that they were subtle in the least, but still. I don’t know. Part of me is dying to figure out what they’re up to, but the other part is equally as anxious to forget the whole damn thing. If it is the worst, if they are involved in…Merlin, I don’t even want to think it. But if they are involved, I don’t think getting myself mixed in the middle of it is going to do anyone any good. But if I could just know for sure…

            Good lord, what a mess.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

 

All right. So that worked for ten minutes. Now what do I think about?

            AND WHERE DID THE LITTLE HIVE GO?

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

 

            Date.

            Date, date, date, date, DATE.

            Boyfriend.

            BOY-FRIEND.

            SIGNIFICANT OTHER.

            Shit.

            _Shit_.

            What can I…oh.

            Um.

            Love.

            LOVE.

            All right, hives. TIME TO COME OUT NOW.

_______________________________________

**Later, Still in the Library**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

 

_S–_

 

_I’m thinking about the things you said to think about and there are no hives and I don’t feel faint or nauseous or even remotely like running far, far away and IT’S ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT. Or maybe I have a concussion. Why didn’t you check? As far as saviours go, I’m very much regretting you._

 

_You broke me. Fix me._

 

_Hoping That You’re Eating a Giant Bowl of TRAGEDY,  
_ _L._

**\-----**

 

**EVANS,**

 

**YOU’RE MENTAL. ALSO, I OPTED FOR A SUGAR QUILL, BUT A GIANT BOWL OF TRAGEDY SOUNDS INTERESTING. GIVE THE RECIPE TO THE HOUSE ELVES. WE CAN HAVE IT FOR DINNER.**

 

**JAMES IS STILL SLEEPING. YOU CAN’T SHAG HIM NOW. SORRY.**

 

**SB**

 

**P.S. — I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOUR CLIFF GAME. AND IF WE BOTH DON’T HAVE WANDS AND WEATHER CONDITIONS ARE SIMILAR, I RECKON YOU MIGHT JUST GIVE ME A RUN FOR MY MONEY. MAYBE.**

 

_______________________________________

**Later Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

 

The library proved equally as an unsatisfying place post-Getting-Lost-Adventure as it had been pre-GLA, so after tearing Sirius’s note up into tiny, miniscule bits, I decided that it was time to leave. Yes, I would not have Pince about to protect me if I was dangerously accosted again, but that was I risk I would just have to take. I couldn’t hang about these books anymore. The shelves were taunting me. There was something in the air here that was just not safe.

             And whatever it was, it was clearly debilitating to hives.

            Refusing to think about _that_ any longer, I packed away my unfortunately mostly untouched Transfiguration notes and made my way back towards Gryffindor Tower. I needed something to take my mind off the entire regrettable situation. Perhaps Grace would be available for a game of Exploding Snap, or maybe the pair of us could go find Emma and force her to relay all the nauseating details surrounding her and Mac’s joyful reunion. The prospect cheered me up considerably. There was nothing quite like someone else’s embarrassment to get your mind off your troubles.

            There were fortunately no assailants waiting around the castle’s various corners in order to ambush me on my way to the seventh floor, though I’m not entirely certain if my head couldn’t have used another slight bash to straighten things out. In any case, I made it to the Common Room without mishap and everyone inside was going about their business with much frivolity and casualness, as if it were just another lazy afternoon–which I suppose it _was,_ for them. I could have lingered down there hoping that some of their _joie de vivre_ would seep into me like osmosis, but that just seemed like too much effort. I was exhausted. I wanted my bed, a comfortable pillow, and maybe a concerned mate hanging about to keep checking in on me in case this _was_ a concussion and I was at risk for slipping off into oblivion during my nap. 

            It seemed a simple enough plan. Hell, I’d even forgo the whole mate bit considering I wasn’t entirely certain whether I might not be better off slipping into oblivion.

            But even the simplest of my plans always have to have their glitch. Of course.

            I climbed the stairs, thinking of my nice, warm bed and rubbing absently at the back of my head when it began to smart, dormant wounds sparking up again. It was only a few more steps. I could make it. I could already see our door up the stairwell. If I could just…it was _right there_ –

            The door opened.

            And–because this is me–naturally it couldn’t be Grace or Emma on the other side.

            Naturally.

            Dear bloody fucking Merlin, if looks could _kill._

            She didn’t say a word–I suppose she didn’t really _have_ to, standing there in the open doorway, tall, fierce, _furious_ harpy that she is, glaring at me with eyes so slit they were almost closed. I stood my ground, but just barely. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, but rather a hiked-up skirt and a blue jumper that clung to all the proper places. Her hair wasn’t pulled back like usual either; she had it loose instead, all blonde and waved and pleasantly tousled.

            Platonic, my arse.

            “Hello,”� I said, keeping my face blank as my feet remained glued to the stairs. “How was your lunch?”�

            It was the wrong question to ask–or perhaps the right one, depending on the reaction I was trying to draw out. But considering I had reached my drama quota for the day and I wasn’t in the least bit interested in getting a rise out of her, the fact that Saunders’s eyes flashed and her mouth gaped open ( _did she think he hadn’t told me?)_ had me thinking that I should go ahead and toss that one in the “wrong”� bin. I didn’t seem to be doing anything right this afternoon.

            Saunders’s gaping mouth jerked closed only long enough for her to frown down at me. “Perfect,”� she bit out. “It was a perfect afternoon. Just got back.”�

            That jolted me for a moment, but thankfully not enough to show and thankfully not enough for me not to realise that Elisabeth Saunders had a far better reason to lie to me than Sirius did. So as she was looking all smug and superior up on her higher perch, I prayed that I was calling the right bluff, cocked my head to the side and went, “Well, you must have come back alone then, because James has been passed out asleep in his bed since lessons ended.”�

            And just like that, the bluffer blew up in my face.

            “So what, you just hang about in his _bed_ all day long now?”� Her sneer was nasty, her tone a sharp bark. “What a desperate slag you are, Evans. No wonder he’s so blind.”�

            “Yes, no wonder,”� I muttered flatly, simply not caring about the slander and slurs she sent my way. My feet unglued. I started climbing again. “Look, can we just skip the pointed insults and you can let me pass? I don’t care–”�

            As I moved to brush past her, Elisabeth grabbed my arm.

            “Do you think you’re something special?”� she asked, her voice deadly quiet. “Do you honestly think that anything you have–anything you’ve _done_ –is anything more than just a second time around for him? You’re not the first,”� she said, shaking her head. “You’re not the first, you won’t be the last, and as soon as the pathetic novelty of you wears off, he’ll toss you aside and go back to the people who actually matter. You’ll see.”�

            I did see. I saw, I heard, I _felt_ her satisfaction, and as much as I told myself that she was a bitter, scornful hag who was only trying to get under my skin, she was a bitter, scornful hag that had succeeded.

            _Do you honestly think that anything you have–anything you’ve_ done– _is anything more than just a second time around for him?_

            No, I hadn’t thought that. I hadn’t even let myself consider any of that more than the simple fact that Elisabeth Saunders and countless other girls before her existed. But now the images in my head were burned with taints of someone else– _her–_ and I’d be damned if that didn’t make me feel sick.

            Damn it.

            _Damn it._

            Dread sizzled and churned in my stomach.

            “I’m different,”� I said, but my lips were parched and the words were soft and I don’t know how much I believed them. But this was James and this was me and something inside of me grew indignant at her accusations, so when I spoke again, at least it sounded like I meant it. “I’m different and you’re bitter. And you know it, too.”�

            Saunders’s eyes flashed, but any reaction further than that I didn’t stick around to see. Jerking my arm out of her grip, I shoved into the room, grateful to see that the curtains around my bed were already closed and so all it took for me to shut out the world was a quick yank of fabric on one side and a swift sliding maneuver into my bed. I didn’t watch as she disappeared from view when my curtain fell closed again. I simply dropped my rucksack onto the floor, kicked off my shoes, curled up against my pillows, closed my eyes, and waited for the sounds of her footsteps and the click of the lock that would herald the closing door and her departure. Her voice came before the sounds.

            “You’ll never understand him,”� she said, her words not the least muffled by my fabric shields. “You weren’t there. You don’t know him. Not like I do. And you never will.”�

            It took a few seconds, but soon enough– _tap, tap, tap, click_.

            I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, double bloody fucking _shit_.

            She’s a shrew. She’s a damn stupid, utterly moronic, appallingly rotten, very bad _shrew_. And if she thinks she’s going to get to me with her…her…oh, her bloody rubbish _mind_ games, then she has another thing coming! I will not be shaken. I will not be manipulated. _She’s_ the one who doesn’t understand. _She’s_ the one who doesn’t know him. And if I have anything to say about it, she never will.

            And I _do_ have something to say about it, because I may not be the first, and I may not be the last, but I sure as hell am the _now_ and that’s a damn sight better than she can say! And maybe nothing’s official yet, but I’m _thinking_ about–I mean, not that I’m certain or anything because hives are fickle and everything but…

            Hell.

            I need some sleep. Now.

_______________________________________

**Even Later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

 

 

I woke up to an incessant pounding against my head. Literally.

            “Oy! Rise and shine, Slaggy! Up, up, up! You’ve got a note!”�

            I rolled over in my bed, letting out a prolonged groan. _Ugh_. A _headache_ is what I’ve got, much thanks to Gracie and her ever-tenacious battering of my head with what I now realised must be a folded up piece of parchment. What, has the thing got a “Hit Me”� sign tacked to it or something? Hadn’t anyone ever heard of severe head trauma? Not caring the least bit about some crap post when aneurisms were undoubtedly exploding inside of my brain every second, I moaned in protest and swatted Grace’s hand away.

            “Leavme _lone_.”�

            “Up!”� She quit hitting my head, but only so she could start bopping away at my nose. “It’s dinner time, Lil! Can’t you hear the stomachs rumbling?”�

            I couldn’t, and frankly didn’t really care to. I mumbled out a few choice profanities to that effect, but Grace wasn’t having any of it. My dirty mouth might have managed to curb her abusive tendencies, but not her demands.

            “Lazy birds who nap their days away don’t collect their post,”� she said, and there was a bit of parchment rustling. Her tone went all threatening. “If this is a dirty love note, I’m warning you now, I’m going to read every last bit of–”�

            _Ah!_

 

I sprung up, swiping the parchment out of Grace’s hand before she could even finish her sentence, ignoring her satisfied chuckles as I clutched the note possessively against my chest.

            She grinned pleasantly. “Good morning.”�

            I gave her an irritated grunt of acknowledgement in reply, but really wasn’t paying her much attention. Moving the parchment away from my chest, I fingered the half-opened note carefully. My heart hammered wildly.

            James had woken up. He’d written me a note. James had woken up and written me a note and here it was. What would–

            I turned the note over and caught sight of the emerald-coloured ‘Lily Evans’ etched elegantly across the front.

            My heart sank.

            Damn it.

            “This isn’t from James,”� I told Grace in confusion.

            The rotten shrew had the audacity to shrug. “I only said _if_ it was a love note, not that it was.”�

            Oh, for the _love_ of…I shot her a dirty look for the deception, telling her with my annoyed glares exactly what I thought of such trickiness, even as she just continued to grin. Muttering bitterly to myself about utter crap mates and what exactly the proper term was for when one killed one’s dormmate, I ripped open the remaining seal wax with my finger and unfolded the parchment. The note was short.

            _Dear Miss Evans,_ it said.

            _If you could spare the time, I would appreciate a meeting with Mr. Potter and yourself this evening at 7:30._

 

_Regards,_

 

Dumbledore’s signature was scrawled at the bottom.

            A meeting with Dumbledore. Lovely.

            “Who is it from?”� Grace asked.

            Even though I was still a bit cross, I grudgingly handed the note over to her. “Dumbledore. Where did you get it?”�

            Grace’s eyes scanned over the note briefly. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Some third-year dropped it round earlier. Are you in trouble?”�

            The thought had crossed my mind, to be honest. I mean, Merlin knew I’d been involved with enough shady business lately to warrant being chastised for days. Had Dumbledore found out the truth about Amos? Or that I had sneaked into James’s detention? And what _about_ James? He’d had his meeting with Dumbledore yesterday, but who knew what kind of things he’d been up to since then. Sirius _did_ say that they’d been out at all hours last night doing Merlin only knows what. Or did Dumbledore know about James skiving off lessons today? Professors didn’t usually tattle about such things to the Headmaster, but James and Saunders had history with that sort of thing and Dumbledore did have a way of knowing just about everything that goes on inside this castle.

            But who knew? Maybe it was just a generic Heads meeting. There was no way to tell.

            I rubbed at my slightly aching temples with one hand and took the note back from Grace with the other. “I don’t know,”� I sighed, shrugging wearily. “It could be. Or it could not be. I suppose I’ll find out.”�

            That kind of uncertainty was less than comforting, though. Hadn’t I had an eventful enough day already? Wasn’t the universe satisfied yet? For Merlin’s sake, I just wanted to go back to sleep.

            “What time is it?”� I asked Grace, already snuggling back beneath my blankets. Hmm. Warm.

            “Nearly 6:30,”� she answered, and while I was distracted with the comforting feel of the pillow beneath my head, she unceremoniously whipped the blanket back off my slovenly body. I jerked around in outrage.

            “Hey!”�

            “Get up.”� She held the blanket hostage behind her back, completely and utterly indifferent to my need for peace and serenity. My glares did nothing but amuse her. “Emma’s with Mac and I’m starving. We’re going to dinner.”�

            “I’m not hungry,”� I muttered, which was actually not a lie, even though I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d moodily picked at my lunch this afternoon. I swiped my arm out, grappling for the blanket without success. “ _Gra-_ ce. Give me my blanket back!”�

            “No.”� She tossed it onto Emma’s bed behind her, and I let out a shrill sound of protest. What a manipulative hag. If I meant to fetch the thing, I’d have to get out of bed. Pah! “Friendship is about sacrifice, Lily,”� Grace told me next. “You’re sacrificing your comfort for mine. Now let’s go.”�

            “No.”�

            “ _Slaggy_ –”�

            There was a bit of a scuffle that ensued then, but I suppose that it was really Grace’s match from the beginning. After all, I was all bleary-eyed and had spent most of my afternoon being physically shoved into a wall and then emotionally tossed off a cliff, so you’ll have to forgive me if my reflexes were a bit off kilter. I suppose that’s why I gave up rather quickly, though I didn’t do it gracefully. There was a lot of cross muttering and grumbling as I grudgingly got out of bed. Things went a bit wobbly when I stood. I grabbed the nearest bed poster for balance.

            “Whoah.”� My legs were all jiggly. “Things are moving…”�

            “That’s what happens when you sleep all afternoon,”� Grace said, entirely unsympathetic. She was already moving towards the door. 

            “Or have a _concussion_ ,”� I told her bitterly, but did start to follow her once my legs could finally carry my weight. Grace snorted, obviously thinking this was a joke.

            “You’re not getting out of going to dinner, Lily,”� she said.

            “I’m serious! I have got one!”� Then, “Well, I mean, I _could_.”�

            Grace remained dubious. “Why could you have a concussion?”�

            “It’s a long story.”�

            “It’s a long walk to the Great Hall.”�

            And really, who could argue with logic like that?

            So as Grace and I made our way out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the Great Hall for a dinner I didn’t want to attend and didn’t plan on eating, I told her about my run-in with Evan, Regulus and Jack, omitting only what had caused my desire to wander in the first place (if Grace knew that James had almost sort of asked me on a date before he’d left with Saunders, she’d go mental) and the extensiveness of my conversation with Sirius afterwards. I hadn’t come to any resolution or conclusion about either issue, so I wasn’t particularly comfortable dithering on about it with Grace before I’d gotten a chance to examine it all myself. She didn’t notice either exclusion. I had already given her quite a bit to chew on.

            “That _wanker_ ,”� she brooded, scowling as we made our way down the main staircase. “I can’t believe he’d just attack you like that! What the bloody hell is wrong with him? I know the Rosiers have had bad blood with the Potters since James’s mum ditched them for his dad and everything, but why Evan’s dragging _you_ into it is beyond me. I hope you crushed his nethers into tiny bits and pieces.”�

            “I doubt it, considering he didn’t stay down for very long,”� I replied, trying to mask my surprise that Grace knew anything at all about the Potters and Rosiers. It seemed strange, but I suppose that was underestimating the universal knowledge shared between fellow pureblood clans. It didn’t seem like Grace knew anything about what had happened to James’s mum last year–Sirius’d said that the Potters had kept the whole thing very discrete–but I was too nervous about letting too much information out to pick her brain. Instead, I just let her rant.

            “I can’t believe Reg, either!”� she cried, throwing her hands into the air. “Actually turning his wand on you! I swear, he wasn’t like that when we were younger–I mean, he was always a bit of a follower, but not to the point of stupidity. I suppose that when Sirius wasn’t around to worship any longer, he found replacements in Evan and Avery. The stupid ponce.”�

            “Were they close?”� I asked curiously. “Sirius and Regulus, I mean?”�

            Grace nodded. “Two peas in a pod, really. I didn’t see them often–you know how my mum feels about that side of the family–but when we did, Reg was like Sirius’s shadow. I suppose you’ve got that in common. You were like that with Petunia, yeah?”�

            I shrugged, not the least bit interested in delving into the intricacies of my relationship with Petunia and how it did or did not relate to Sirius’s with his own brother. We may have a sibling kinship, but that was nothing to brag about as far as I’m concerned. I changed the subject quickly.

            “I’m just glad Sirius showed up,”� I said as we finally reached the Entrance Hall. “I don’t even want to think about…well, he did and it’s over. That’s all that matters. I wonder what’s for dinner?”�

            Grace knew a “subject closed”� when she heard one, and though that usually wouldn’t have been even remotely enough for her to back off, I suppose she must have made allowances for me and my very tender physical and mental state because she didn’t prod further. Instead, we moved on to small talk as we sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table where a few of the sixth-years were already enjoying their meals. I grabbed a few things to put on my plate, but it was mostly just to blend in. I’ve just been pushing it around with my fork.

            I wonder if James is awake yet. I wonder if he got his note from Dumbledore, as well. I’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose. It’s too bad that I’m entirely sick of that.

            How long does one have to hang about dinner for, anyway?

_______________________________________

**Late Late, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

            I don’t regret it.

            I don’t regret it and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing or even something at all–except that it _has_ to be, doesn’t it, because…well, because? And that feeling in my stomach could be excitement just as easily as it could be terror and everything in there is just _jumping_ and _turning_ and…and…

            Oh, god.

            Oh my _god_.

            I want–

            Oh, bloody hell, I can’t do this yet.          

_______________________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 276**

            As it turns out, you have to hang about dinner for _quite_ some time, especially when Chris Lynch shows up and your best mate happens to be molesting him on a semi-regular basis and insists on staying around to flirt and schedule a new mauling session while simultaneously munching on some roast beef. Apparently, the sacrifices of friendship also include remaining at the Gryffindor table while said mate debates the pros and cons of the traditional Astronomy Tower versus the always unpredictable Greenhouse 4 as the best shagging location, and your input is often requested because “you are bound to have some opinion on such things by now, aren’t you?”�

            Really, the things I put up with. It’s a wonder I haven’t ended up in Azkaban yet.

            But there’s only so much one witch can take.

            “ _Grace_.”� I nudged her hard in the side, finally reaching my limit when it appeared as if she and Chris were about to move away from the discussion portion of this particular conversation and embark upon a more hands-on approach, which I most _certainly_ had an opinion about. Luckily, Grace stopped fondling Chris beneath the table long enough to spare me a glance. “It’s 7:15,”� I told her quickly, knowing she heard my desperation. “I have to go. Dumbledore meeting, remember?”�

            “You’ve got fifteen minutes still!”� she protested anyway. “Stay a bit longer.”�

            Over my dead _body_ , was the response I would have liked to give and conveyed that sentiment tacitly to Grace through a very pointed look, but aloud all I said was, “It’s Dumbledore, Gracie. Can’t be late. Stay if you’d like, though. I’ll see you later.”�

            I rose from my seat before Grace could put up any sort of fight (though honestly, I don’t know why she would want to. I was making her fondling so much easier by leaving), then made quick work of saying my good-byes around the table. My head was aching, half from sitting in the hall with all the jibber-jabbering and dirty flirting, half from the concussion that I was gradually becoming convinced was a true possibility as the night wore on and my disorientation didn’t fade. I knew that there were all sorts of rules surrounding concussions and sleeping and no-no-don’t-do-that-you-won’t-wake- _up_ , but going to Pomfrey after the meeting with Dumbledore was already sounding exhausting and I had a sneaking suspicion that that was only going to grow worse. I was already dreaming about my bed and the nice, comfortable pillows that were eagerly awaiting my return therein.

            I mean, Emma has a few healing books, doesn’t she? One of them is bound to have a spell for curing concussions. It’s like the most common injury ever. It’s practically a stubbed toe. So Em will just perform it for me. There! Problem solved!

            Comforted by my new plan, I left the hall and ambled on up to the seventh floor while mentally compiling a list of all the things I’d have to bribe Emma with in order to convince her to actually perform a healing spell on my head. I was still figuring out the semantics of it–perhaps I should rope Grace into the scheme for good measure?–when I suddenly found myself standing face-to-face with the Fat Lady. Frowning in confusion as she stared at me expectantly, I realised that my feet had automatically carried me towards Gryffindor Tower. Dumbledore’s office was on the complete opposite side of the floor. 

            Damn. Now how had that happened? 

            Stupid bloody feet. Can’t you do anything right? 

            Shaking my head–really, I’m sure this was all somehow the concussion’s fault–I pivoted on my heel and sighed. It was unfair temptation. My entire being ached to just give the password and go inside. But much as I wanted to stay and curl up on a Common Room couch for the rest of the night, I knew–

            _WHACK._

            The Portrait Hole swung open with a fury and speed I’d never seen before.

            And down I went, straight on my arse, the idiot who got in the way.

            Dear Concussion,

            Want a mate? His name is Broken Tailbone.

            Love, Lily.

            I groaned.

            “Shit! _Shit_. I’m so–Lily? Oh, fucking hell, we’re _both_ late?”�

            _Late_? my mind took in hazily, the dizzy circle of stars spinning round my head slowing down enough for me to comprehend that profanities and blather about lateness were not even _remotely_ close to the groveling apology that should have been being lavished upon me just then. Wanting to be offended but not having the energy, I decided to wallow upon the ground in my heap of misery and malady instead, not registering the fact that I knew that voice–knew that voice _well_ –until I’d had a few seconds to sulk. I only bothered to look up at my attacker when the revolving stars had slowed into a nice, steady parade and my eyes could focus once more.

            And who would be standing there leaning over me, looking frantic and disheveled and blinking down at my fallen form in surprise, but James.

            Fabulous.

            _Now_ he finds me–with a bloody _door_.

            “Go on,”� I told him weakly, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the wall behind me, giving my wrist a sloppy flick. “Go on without me. Tell Dumbledore I say hullo. A girl can only be knocked down so many times before she gets the point and just stays there.”�

            “Come on,”� James said, ignoring my dramatic requests and grabbing hold of the wrist that had been waving him off. He tugged hard. _Ow_. “Dumbledore’s probably wondering why the bloody hell we’ve stood him up. Some Head students we are, showing up late–”�

            “We’re not _late_ ,”� I snapped, twisting my wrist out of his painful grip and giving him a bitter scowl. “For Merlin’s sake, it’s barely even 7:20. Now let me _alone_.”�

            “What are you talking about, 7:20?”� He shot me an incredulous look, then lifted his arm–the one that had just been yanking mine out of its socket–to check his wristwatch. “My alarm went off and it said 7:55. It’s…”� He trailed away, reeling back from his watch in confusion, then squinting down at the gadget again. When he spoke next, his voice was all befuddled. “What the…it’s 7:22.”�

            I can’t believe I fancy this blighter. He can’t even tell _time_.

            Letting out a long sigh, I once again closed my eyes and slumped on the ground. “Yes, James. Yes, it is.”�

            “But…that _can’t_ …”�

            Listening as he began muttering to himself, I vaguely recalled having been waiting all afternoon to see this idiot, though now I couldn’t remember why. There _had_ been a reason or two, hadn’t there? My brain could not get past the fact that the madman who had just plowed me down with the Fat Lady (who, by the by, had not said a damn thing about the abuse except expressing mild concern about her frame. Really, what a fab guard. I feel so safe) was the same one who had been plaguing me all day long. I had been a bit desperate for his presence at some point, hadn’t I? And now, scant hours later, all I wanted to do was conk him over the head with a metal pot and watch him fall. 

            On its own accord, one of my eyelids popped open, the single eye focusing in on the prat in front of me. He was still standing there with a puzzled frown pulling at his lips, his brow furrowing as if the world had suddenly taken on a whole new perplexing light and he just couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t appear any more revived than he had this morning–and how ludicrous was that considering the nap-fest he’d participated in all afternoon? His hair was sticking straight up on the left side of his head while his glasses were settled crookedly atop his nose, only partially covering his mostly bleary eyes. His clothes were rumpled, one shirttail hanging out of his wrinkled trousers, his tie draped haphazardly loose around his shoulders, one end dangling down by his thigh, the other barely staying put around his neck. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed–which he _had_ , I realised, his grousing about the alarm finally settling in. As he continued prattling on to himself, I shut both eyelids again.

            “Did he–changed the clock. Hm. Funny. Hasn’t done that since…so why would he…”�

            I stopped listening, focusing instead on the nice, pleasant blackness that was settling over me, thinking that it might not be such a bad idea to just lay my head down on the ground and snooze for a few centuries. I was so pleasantly consumed with those soothing dreams that I didn’t even realise that James had quit talking to himself and returned his attention back to me until I suddenly felt the back of his fingers drift down my cheekbone.

            “–right, love?”� he was asking, though I’d missed the first part.

            “Shhh.”� I leaned into his hand, but didn’t open my eyes. “I have a concussion.”�

            James’s fingers stopped moving. “I hit you that hard?”�

            I shook my head, slightly uplifted by his worried tone. It was quite nice to have someone so concerned over my wellbeing–you know, even if he’s the one who’d knocked me to the ground in the first place. 

“Believe it or not,”� I informed him wearily, “you’re not the only one who’s tried to do me in today. Take a ticket and get in line, my friend. There could be quite a wait.”�

            James–clearly thinking I was kidding–chuckled warmly. “That sounds like a story.”�

            “It is.”� I was glad that he was chuckling over it now. When– _if_ –he actually found out about what had occurred this afternoon, something told me he wouldn’t be so amused. Hasty to get off the subject, I finally opened my eyes and shifted about. I distracted him with orders. “Help me up, would you? And without dislocating my shoulder, if you please.”� 

            “Right.”� James unbent from his crouch and held out his hand.

            With much effort–and honestly, not one hundred percent of my own approval–I put my hand in his and let him gently lift me back up to my feet. My head and bum smarted, but it was something I was getting used to, the constant feeling of pain coming from some place or another. I knew I could have dragged this one on for ages–if I wanted to moan and complain about the agony of abuse from here to Dumbledore’s office and then back again, James deserved to hear every last banshee-esque whine of it–but I suppose I was slightly placated when instead of indulging me and my complaining, James instead used the momentum of his gentle tugging to pull me up against him, then leaned down to drop a quick kiss against my lips. 

            “Sorry about ramming you down,”� he murmured against my mouth. “I’m a tosser.”�

            “Hmm,”� was all I could get out in response, and maybe sort of _technically_ lifted myself onto my toes so that our mouths fit back together again. But it was probably James. You know how he is. “Come on,”� I said, stepping away before I– _he–_ got any ideas. Space was best in situations like these. And I know what you’re going to say, but I’ll have you know that you can still retain a rather large chunk of your own personal space whilst simultaneously threading your fingers through someone else’s. “Dumbledore’s probably set on chucking us as it is. We might as well be prompt about it.”�

            “Why would he chuck you?”� James asked, flashing me a grin. “I mean, the only detentions you end up in are the ones you decide to crash. You’re backlogged.”�

            He was going to bring that up every chance he got, wasn’t he?

            His wicked grin said, “Why, yes. Yes, I am.”�

            Lovely.

            I gave him a good scowl. “You’re an idiot.”�

            James clicked his tongue in disapproval. “So hostile.”�

            “Must be the concussion. I’m normally of an entirely pleasant disposition.”�

            “Is that what you call it?”� he laughed. I refused to smile, even though his was wide and rather infectious. “Speaking of which,”� he said, nudging me in the side as we rounded the corner of the next corridor, “where exactly did this concussion come from? Grace duff you up? Or wait, let me guess–a Transfiguration-induced concussion?”�

            “Fair guesses, but no,”� I replied, nibbling at my lower lip. I had meant to get off the topic, but had stupidly brought us back around. My conscience prickled at being entirely less than forthcoming about the whole thing, but I decided then and there that even if I _did_ choose to tell James about what had happened today in the dungeons–and to be perfectly honest, I really wasn’t certain if that was the best of ideas, ever–now was most certainly _not_ the time to do so. I grappled for some sort of evasion. “I, er, got into a bit of a scuffle this afternoon,”� I told him, which wasn’t even a lie, so I felt slightly better. “And what about _you_?”� I asked, suddenly recalling that there was actually something of significance to turn his head with. “How was _your_ afternoon? Your…platonic lunch?”�

            The semi-painful wince that crossed over James’s face then was enough to placate whatever stinging remains of Saunders’s earlier barbs were still left inside of me. Whatever he and Liz had been doing all that time, it hadn’t been fun.

            “I’ve had better,”� he confessed, all of a sudden sounding quite exhausted. He shot me a rueful side-glance. “She _really_ doesn’t like you.”�

            Oh, truly? And here I was thinking we were making some progress. 

            I rolled my eyes. “Really. How so very shocking. What did she say?”�

            “Er.”� James lifted a hand to scratch absently at the back of his neck. The wince had returned. “Well. I don’t want to…it’s…you know what? It really doesn’t bear repeating.”�

            Oh, dear. 

            “That bad?”� I asked.

            “I defended you,”� James assured me quickly. “Every time.”�

            Funny how comforting that all of a sudden _wasn’t_. James squeezed my fingers and I knew he was trying to brush past this like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but much as I was glad that he hadn’t let Liz stomp all over my good (well, halfway decent, anyway) name, I knew what that girl was capable of. Seven years of hatred had given me a rather experienced look at the bint’s inner workings and worst machinations. And more than that, I knew that for every twisted, contrived, dirty plot and insult she came up with, there was always some sort of half-arsed truth interwoven in there that somehow got you thinking.

            And if _I_ knew that, if _I_ was still affected…

            Was _James_ thinking?

            Was he…I mean…was he?

            I glanced up at him, taking in his face as if waiting for a big, neon sign reading, “I’M QUESTIONING OUR RELATIONSHIP, EVANS!”� to suddenly appear upon his nose, twinkling and shining, a suitable warning. But it didn’t–shockingly enough, nothing did–and instead I just watched him yawn and ruffle his hair as we continued to walk. The tufts of hair that had been plastered straight up were now joined with others as his fingers teased the unruly mop. He grinned at me, a sort of come-on-let’s-just-be-cheery-yeah? plea that I acknowledged but wasn’t certain I could follow through with. The uneasiness brewing in my stomach was too strong.

            “I saw her earlier,”� I found myself saying, trying to gauge his reaction. “Ran into her in the dormitory.”�

            “Earlier when?”� he asked, blank faced.

            “Five?”� I guessed. “I’m not really certain. Somewhere around then. She tried to tell me that the pair of you had just gotten back.”�

            James let out a frustrated sigh, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. “We did not. We got back just before lessons let out. I was tired, so I went to sleep. I don’t know where Liz went–probably to your dorm. I take it you realised she was playing you false?”�

            “I’d got a tip that informed me otherwise, yes.”� I thought it best to leave out the fact that the tip had come from Sirius. “Still, the girl had a lot to say.”�

            James faltered slightly at my insinuation. “What do you mean, a lot to say?”�

            I shrugged. “Same drivel as always, I suppose, except with a little extra bite. You _do_ realise that she’s just counting down the days until you come back to her, right?”�

            James let out a long sigh. “Lily–”�

            “What? It’s true. She’s practically got your names printed on wedding invitations already.”�

            James frowned. “She does not. You’re being dramatic.”�

            Dramatic?

            Oh, I’d give him _dramatic_.

            “Give me a ponder when you’re standing in the church reciting your vows, yeah?”� I was scowling in earnest now. “Hell, maybe I’ll even be there. Think you can remember to invite me? I bet Saunders would allow it, just out of _spite_ –”�

            James stopped walking and I jerked to a stop as well, our connected hands protesting the distance. I went to drop it (had I really been holding it that whole time?), but James held on tighter, squeezing my fingers. I shot him a look that told him exactly what I thought about this hostage situation, but he still wouldn’t let go. He dragged me back towards him.

            “You’re working yourself up for no reason,”� he said calmly, with a look of his own that clearly screamed, “Settle down, madwoman.”� I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “No, you are. What did I tell you earlier, Lil? Does it _matter_ if Liz is making up invites in her head?”�

            “Yes!”� I cried stubbornly, even though I knew that was not the answer he was looking for. “Yes, it bloody well does because she’s so ruddy _positive_ that this is all going to work out for her in the end, thinks she’s so damn _important_ –”�

            “Lizzie and I went through a lot together,”� James interrupted again, his voice clipped. “I’ve told you that before–I’ve told you _all_ this before. You have no idea…Christ, Lil, how many times do I have to tell you that you’re different?”� He was growing frustrated now, his voice rising and moving more quickly. “Merlin knows I’ll do it, but sooner or later something’s got to give. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather have this conversation at a time when Dumbledore’s _not_ waiting on us down the hall, all right?”�

            He was right–he was _so_ right–and I knew it. Like some other conversations I could mention, this was not one that we should be having while traversing to the Headmaster’s office. I felt like a shrew for being so belligerent, but I couldn’t help it. Saunders had gotten into my head earlier and I was so desperate for reassurance that I was taking it all out on James. That was beyond idiotic. I instantly felt guilty, chastised. It wasn’t his fault that Elisabeth was obsessed. And yet, here I was, acting like he was playing right into her hand.

            The fight dropped out of me when I realised what a hag I was being. James saw it and the tension in him eased, too. One hand still in mine, the other settling on my shoulder, he leaned in a bit. “Better?”� he asked.

            “Yeah,”� I muttered, feeling a blush start to creep up my neck. “Yeah, fine. Sorry. I shouldn’t have…there’s just something _about_ her that gets my guard up. You should have heard her earlier. She’s like a dementor–she just sucks the soul straight out of you!”�

            James laughed. I was glad to hear the sound if it meant we were on steady ground again, but it was still slightly frustrating that he thought I was kidding, that he couldn’t see her for the miserable cretin that she was.

            “She can be a little close-minded at times,”� he said, as if she were a small child whose whims should be indulged. “She’s fierce, but she’s not always right. Obviously.”�

            “Yes, obviously,”� I repeated, but with a lot less certainty. James smiled.

            “We’ll work on that later.”� He dropped his hand from my shoulder and used it to give me a little prod. “For now, we’d better go. Otherwise, we _will_ be late.”�

            I muttered out some sort of acceptance to that, but my heart still sank a bit as we started walking again. So we were letting the Saunders thing go. I knew that was best–hell, did I really _want_ to be getting into all this right now?–but it still left me with a dissatisfied feeling nestling in the pit of my stomach. I would have given anything to have been a fly on the wall during their lunch, to see what she’d said and what he’d said back. Defending me was all well and good, but not if they were empty defenses. Was I worth defending– _truly_ defending? For some reason, what Sirius had said earlier caught in my mind– _Isn’t that what potential means? Doesn’t exist_? 

            How was James supposed to defend something that didn’t exist? I bet Saunders saw right through that.

            I didn’t have long to stew about it. We were already standing outside of Dumbledore’s office. James didn’t waste a second.

            “Treacle fudge,”� he said, and the gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the staircase behind. He finally dropped my hand and placed one foot on the lowest stair of the spiral case, throwing me a questioning look over his shoulder. “Ready?”� he asked.

            I nodded, waving him up. He turned back around and made the move to climb, but the motion seemed to be too much for the tie that had already been precariously hanging on by a thread about his neck. It fell to the floor before James could clear the first step, collapsing into a little pile between our feet.

            “Oh, hell.”� He swiped the strand of fabric from the ground, then shoved it into his pocket. “Let’s go–”� 

            “Are you serious?”� The blatant display of untidiness was enough to pull me out of my funk as it occurred to me just what sort of state I was about to escort James into the Headmaster’s office in. Oh, dear lord, the things this boy made me forget! “Honestly, could you at least _try_ not to look like you’ve been drooling on your pillow all day long? I can’t believe I was about to let you waltz right in there like this!”� I lifted my hand to his hair, trying to comb it flat with my fingers (it sprung right back up, at different angles this time), then righted his glasses properly on his nose. Sighing, I held open my palm. “Give me that tie. And for Merlin’s sake, tuck your shirt in!”�

            “Dumbledore doesn’t care what I look like,”� James grumbled, but pulled the tie out of his pocket and handed it over. I popped his collar and hooked the tie around his neck, quickly going through the motions that I’d done for my dad a million times before.

            Except that James is not my dad. 

            James is most certainly _not_ my dad and all I’d been thinking about when I’d barked out my orders was that I was grateful for a distraction and that he shouldn’t be looking like such a slob in front of Dumbledore. I was _not_ think about the fact that dressing someone can often times be just as unnerving as _un_ dressing someone and requires the same sort of proximity and certain level of…well of _something_ that no pair of people who don’t “exist”� can pull off, but by the time I _did_ realise all that, the task was already done and I was pulling his collar down over the tie and smoothing down the linen on his shoulders and…and…

            Oh, bloody hell.

            If there were ever a time for hives, this would be it.

            “I can’t look _that_ awful,”� James snorted, and my semi-panicked gaze snapped from his shoulder up to his face, glad that he was misinterpreting my alarm for a simple case of OCD. He was still laughing as he rolled his eyes, grabbed the shirttail that was lying against his thigh and tucked it into his trousers. He held his arms open wide. “There. I must pass as at least presentable now, right? No need to panic.”�

            “I’m not panicked,”� I said, but I was. I _so_ was.

            Because the thing is…I had the distinct feeling that from now on, the only hives I’d be getting are the ones that came when I was worrying over the fact that I _wasn’t_ getting hives.

            Shit.

            _Shit_.

            When the bloody hell had _that_ happen?

            James tossed me a look that was all, “Honestly?”� but I couldn’t even be bothered with it. I didn’t want to look at him too hard or else the hives-that-came-when-I-wasn’t-getting-hives were going to arrive and I would have preferred not to be scratching absently at different parts of my body while conversing with Dumbledore. So even though James was still glancing at me like I was a few important candles short of a birthday cake, I forced my face to loosen up, pushed past him, and started up the steps. Undoubtedly used to my insanity, James just chuckled again and followed along.

            When we reached the landing, the door to Dumbledore’s office was partially open. I could already see him seated behind his massive desk, scribbling something or another with a long quill that was moving rapidly back and forth across a page. I suspected he heard our entrance, but I still rapped my knuckles against the wooden door before stepping inside. “Professor?”�

            He glanced up, his close-lipped smile welcoming. “Ah. Miss Evans, Mr. Potter. Come in.”�

            James and I shuffled inside, James closing the office door behind us. The place hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been there, though I don’t know why I expected it might’ve. There was still enough odd clutter and knickknacks on every perch to be mildly disconcerting, but the chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk were empty enough, so I took a seat in one of them. James settled in the other.

            “I apologise for the short notice,”� Dumbledore started, finishing off whatever he’d been writing with a flourish of his quill. He dropped the feather back into the inkwell, then smiled at us again. “I’m glad you were both available.”�

            “Nothing like some post-meal discussion,”� James replied, flashing the Headmaster a grin.

            Psh. Like he’d even _been_ at dinner.

            “It was no problem, Professor,”� I added much more sensibly, and while I’d like to think that the Headmaster’s eyes began to twinkle at my courtesy, it was probably because of James and his stupid wit. Naturally.

            Pleasantries were exchanged for a few seconds more, but Dumbledore seemed quite ready to get down to business. It became rather evident that if he _was_ planning on chucking either of us, he intended to go through all the motions in pretending otherwise first. He grabbed a few pieces of parchment from beneath one of the whatsigigs on his desk and straightened them out with a few slight taps against his desk.

            “I sorted through all of your points calculations this afternoon,”� he said. “Everything seems in order.”�

            I smiled politely, even though I couldn’t take credit for most of that. We had discovered early within the sorting of Head duties that James was the one with the head for figures, so he’d been assigned the responsibility of keeping track of all the point-change notices we got. He was quick with numbers and all the incessant counting didn’t make him want to tear the hair out of his head like it did me. More often than not, I just double-checked his work, making sure he wasn’t messing around with the Slytherin points or something equally as ridiculous (which he occasionally liked to do just to give himself a chuckle). The pages Dumbledore was holding were filled with James’s tight scrawl. He placed those down and picked up another stack of papers, these ones filled with my handwriting.

            “These are all the prefects’ reports from rounds?”� he asked. I nodded, and he briefly skimmed through the pieces of parchment. He asked about a few of the reports I’d compiled, but there really wasn’t anything particularly suspect or overly dramatic (snogging, snogging, snogging, sleepwalking, snogging, Marauder, was how it usually went) so it didn’t last very long. 

            Still, you’d be surprised by how much Dumbledore had to talk with us about–I mean, I suppose it was good that he didn’t chuck us from the beginning, but if he meant to, he was sure leading us astray before dropping the bomb. I decided he’d probably save the firing for another day. After all, if he hadn’t done so yesterday when he and James spoke, he probably wasn’t going to bother replacing us just yet. For some mad reason, the man seemed to like the pair of us. Perhaps that was simply because he recognised his fellow mad kindred spirits in us hooligans, but either way, the whole meeting was quite pleasant and jovial.

            We went through all the basic Head rubbish, which kept us suitably busy for a good twenty minutes or so. Aside from requesting that James stay out of detention (“Can I promise to _try_?”� James asked), we were surprisingly not doing too terribly at our jobs. Maybe I was slightly shocked to realise that I wasn’t such a failure at the position I’m still not entirely sure I deserve, but mostly I was just proud of myself for being such a fab fake.

            Really, my pretending talents know no limits.

            In any case, Dumbledore seemed to be wrapping up our chat after we told him that our next Prefects meeting was set for Thursday and we’d have November’s round schedule settled then. I was internally congratulating myself on a job well done when Dumbledore blotched up that idea.

            “I don’t wish to keep you too late,”� he said, folding his hands on top of the desk as James and I began to shift about in our seats, getting ready to leave. “I know Professor McGonagall is expecting Mr. Potter for his detention.”�

             “She so looks forward to our opportunities to work on building my character together,”� James said with a sigh. “I’m sure she’ll be devastated if you keep me much longer.”� 

            Dumbledore laughed appreciatively. “You have much character to build, James. I shan’t keep you from it. However, there is one thing I wish to speak with you both about, if you could spare me a few more minutes?”�

            Both of us gave our “yes, of course,”� responses and Dumbledore nodded, seemingly satisfied. I figured it’d be one last warning to watch our behavior, or perhaps some truly Dumbledore-esque words of wisdom, but it was neither. For the first time since our meeting began, Dumbledore’s lips slipped into a frown.

            “You might recall a conversation we had the last time you both were here,”� he began softly, carefully eyeing us from behind his glasses. “A conversation that pertained to information you may be privy to that exceeds the boundaries of this castle. I hope you can call it to mind?”�

            I felt the hair at the nape of my neck begin to stand on end. 

            Of course I could call it to mind. It wasn’t all that often that professors blurted out the fact that we’d be occasionally discussing Voldemort over tea and biscuits.

James sat up straighter as well, clearly alarmed.

            “Sir?”� he asked, his voice quiet. “Has something…”�

            “There has been little change outside of the castle,”� Dumbledore told us, and I could feel James ease beside me. “However, though they have yet to grow worse, they grow no better, either. And I fear this may just be calm in the storm.”�

            He appeared so serious, the indestructible Dumbledore with his brow furrowed and his eyes sharp, looking decidedly more weighted down than I think I’d ever seen him before. It didn’t occur to me until then how much pressure a man like Dumbledore must carry upon his shoulders. In the eyes of so many, he could do no wrong. It was difficult to remember he was only human, just like us.

            “Is there something we can do?”� I asked, thinking now only to ease the poor man’s burden. “Is that why you’re bringing it up?”�

            It seemed to be the right thing to ask, because instead of shaking his head and scoffing at the notion of two schoolchildren aiding in a fight that was so far beyond their untried comprehension, Dumbledore nodded gravely. “There is indeed. And I hope the both of you will be willing.”�

            “Just tell us what to do,”� James said instantly.

            “What is it?”� I asked, more wary.

            “I would never ask either of you to work outside the walls of this castle until it was absolutely necessary,”� Dumbledore told us, his tone firmer now than ever before. “Graduation seems far closer than it’s ever been and I’m afraid we’ll be releasing all of you into an unstable world. And unfortunately, I’ve come to discover that it may not be the most stable environment _inside_ this castle, either.”�

            He said it without any particular pointed look or insinuating expression, but when his eyes skimmed briefly over mine, I felt it. A jolt of alarm spread throughout my body. I sat up straighter, my mouth gaping open.

            “Just as I speak to you now, there are others being spoken to by far less honourable parties,”� he continued, still revealing nothing. “My deepest hope was to keep my students out of this fight for as long as possible, but that doesn’t seem feasible any longer. All I can do is hope to have the chance to speak with these students before they do something they regret. Much as I would like to think I know who these students are, I would appreciate both of you helping in being important eyes and ears. I’ve only a single pair of each.”�

            “Voldemort’s courting students,”� James reiterated bluntly, his expression blank. “You want us to help root out who’s falling prey.”�

            “There are incidents and exchanges that I have no way of discovering,”� Dumbledore replied, but nodded. “I’m not asking you to seek such information out, but simply to be aware. I hope that you will succeed where I fail and we can all be better for it.”�

            Like spies, I realised, taking in the request with a certain amount of shock and zeal. Dumbledore wanted us to discover who was playing at being a Hogwarts Death Eater and report back to him like actual undercover, investigative _spies_. It would have been absolutely, spectacularly _brilliant_ if it hadn’t also been so absolutely, spectacularly terrifying.

            Holy hell. My head was spinning.

            But I knew what was coming next. I could see it every time he looked at me. He knew. He _knew_.

            “You think he’s getting to people?”� James asked before Dumbledore could go on, his tone suddenly hard. “You think they’re actually falling for his shit?”�

            “ _James_ ,”� I hissed.

            But James refused to be chastised. He stared unapologetically at the Headmaster, waiting for an answer. Dumbledore seemed to take James’s anger in stride. He didn’t admonish him for the swearing, in any case.

            “I can’t be certain,”� he answered frankly, after considering it for a moment. “I fear a few may already be lost. You’re aware of how deep certain prejudices run in our community. But there are others… I believe they can be swayed to reason. Half our battle may very well be trying to do just that.”�

            “Bloody ridiculous,”� James brooded, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing himself back against his chair. “They’d be mad to try anything here though, wouldn’t they?”�

            The few seconds of silence that followed couldn’t have been heavier if they’d tried. James had been expecting a quick agreement to that, and instead he got me all dithery and Dumbledore slowly glancing my way, an expectant look upon his face. James had worked himself into a fit, but not so much so that Dumbledore’s pointed looks at me went over his head. After a few moments, he uncrossed his arms and glanced over at me, as well. His eyes were narrowed behind his glasses.

            “Lil?”� he asked.

            Shit.

            Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

            “If you don’t mind, Miss Evans,”� Dumbledore said quietly, “I’d like to hear about your afternoon.”�

            My afternoon.

            My _afternoon_.

            Bloody fucking hell, how did he _know_?

            “How…”� I couldn’t get the words out, merely pathetic fractions of sounds and sputtering phrases. “It’s…how could you’ve…”�

            “What happened this afternoon?”� James cut in, his tone sharp. “What the bloody hell is going on?”�

            “ _James_ ,”� I hissed again, but he didn’t seem any more contrite than he had before. He simply stared at me, and then turned to Dumbledore. When the Headmaster said nothing, merely continued to stare at me patiently, I knew James’s mind was entering into overdrive. I could practically see the millions of thoughts streaming past his eyes, rushing through his head, faster than lightning. It didn’t take him very long to come to a conclusion. Unfortunately, it was too damn close to the right one.

            “The concussion,”� he said softly, his face darkening as realisation dawned. “You said…Lily, did someone _attack_ you?”�

            “No!”� I answered quickly, frantically shaking my head. Oh, _hell_. “No, it wasn’t–I mean, well, maybe it sort of _was_ , but–”�

            “ _What_?”�

            “James.”� Dumbledore’s voice was quiet, and I’ll be damned if just the man’s calm tone didn’t effectively shut James up, even if it couldn’t completely leash him in. He still looked furious, but he stewed in silence long enough for Dumbledore to give me a short nod. “Do go on, Miss Evans. I believe we’d both like to hear what occurred.”�

            I took that as my irrefutable cue to explain.

            But bloody _hell_ , I didn’t want to.

            I panicked. I felt cornered. I mean, I hadn’t even decided whether or not I was going to tell James about what had happened in the first place, and for all my earlier threats, I hadn’t seriously been considering going to Dumbledore, either. It just seemed too much like four-year-olds tattling in the schoolyard and I didn’t want to make it worse. I dreaded even thinking about it.

            But that was foolish, and the longer I sat there, the more I knew it. If it had been anyone other than me on the receiving end of this whole debacle, you bet your arse I would have marched straight up here and demanded some sort of satisfaction. It was different when it was me, though. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with. If I could have gotten away with shrugging it off, I would have, but that was the coward’s way out. I didn’t know how Dumbledore had discovered what had occurred or how much he knew, but clearly it was enough to cause him concern–hell, _I’d_ been concerned, as well.

            Somehow, I didn’t think James or Dumbledore was going to accept my usual concussion excuse to explain my lack of communication with either of them. Between the Headmaster’s expectant silence and the holes James’s angry gaze were burning into the side of my head, there was no putting it off. I squirmed about uncomfortably and sputtered like an idiot for a few moments, but finally forced myself to start talking.

            “I should have come to you earlier,”� I began, nibbling at my lower lip as I stared resolutely at Dumbledore. “I meant to…but after it was all over, I just wanted to forget it. I didn’t think it was serious enough to…I mean, it wasn’t a planned attack or anything. I was just walking in the dungeons and…”�

            The words poured out of me, quickly but succinctly. I knew that I’d be all but signing someone’s death warrant if I went into too much detail about what Evan had done and how the other two had stood by passively until it was their turn, so I decided that a bit of editing was probably best. I didn’t lie–even _I’m_ not stupid enough to lie to Dumbledore–but simply spent quite a bit more time describing the potion Evan had dropped and the group’s reactions afterwards than I did what had followed. On that, I only said that I’d mouthed off something provoking to Evan that I couldn’t quite recall and he’d reacted badly, yelling and shoving me until I’d hit the wall behind me. As to how I’d gotten away, I told them how I’d managed to push Evan off and then confessed to hexing Jack, ending with Sirius’s arrival and his stopping the whole thing before any further damage could be done.

            “Sirius?”� James asked, the name coming out as more of a bark than a question. I had refused to glance over at him while recounting the story, having caught a glimpse of his white-knuckled fist gripping the armrest when I’d dropped my gaze down to my lap during my retelling and deciding I couldn’t handle his anger just yet. But I chanced a quick glance over at him now, relieved to see that he wasn’t so far gone that a decent amount of surprise couldn’t permeate his fury. Sirius’s name had managed it, at least. “Sirius was there?”� he asked.

            “Only at the end,”� I clarified, glancing back at Dumbledore. _He_ didn’t seem too surprised by the mention. “He’d been walking and he saw–er, I mean, I suppose he heard Evan yelling or something. Anyway, he came along and stepped in. I’m glad he was there. I don’t know…I mean, Regulus might have been shooting a few hexes, so–”�

            “They should all be expelled,”� James snapped instantly, and I suppose his anger had overwhelmed his surprise because now he was back to simply looking livid again. “You should expel every last one of them, Professor. They can’t just–”�

            “Mistakes are made, James,”� Dumbledore interrupted calmly, bridging his fingers into a dome upon his desk. “We can’t act rashly. You are aware of my thoughts on expulsion from this school. I will speak with the parties concerned, and decide what’s to be done.”�

            “So they get off? Just like that?”�

            “James.”� I lay a hand upon his arm, feeling the tension in him even with a touch as light as that. He glanced at me from out of the corner of his eye, his jaw taut with fury. I tried to reason with him. “It’s no use working yourself up like this. I’m fine, Professor Dumbledore will deal with the lot of them, and we’ll all move on. It’s not the first time someone’s called me dirty names and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”�

            “And that’s just _okay_?”� James demanded.

            I shrugged, trying to soothe him with a dose of pretend indifference. “It is what it is. I’m not about to toss away any chance I have of actually making a difference in order to gain a moment’s satisfaction by strangling someone.”� I turned back to Dumbledore, hoping that James understood my tacit implication the _he_ shouldn’t go searching for that moment’s satisfaction, either. “I don’t know what they were doing,”� I told the Headmaster, “but that potion wasn’t anything I’ve ever seen before. Do you have any idea what it might have been?”�

            “There are a few possibilities,”� Dumbledore answered, shaking his head, “but unfortunately nothing I can clarify.”�

            Damn. If only Evan hadn’t banished it so _quickly_.

            “I appreciate your sharing your memory of the afternoon, Miss Evans,”� Dumbledore said next, giving me a small nod. “I understand that it is not always so easy, but it could mean a great deal if you would mention any similar occurrences to me. Regrettably, you’re a target not of your own doing.”�

            “Yes, of course,”� I agreed immediately, feeling a bit shamed that I hadn’t come directly here in the first place. Report to your superiors. Wasn’t that the _very_ first thing a good Auror learned? I hadn’t even graduated and already I was failing basic training. “I mean, I don’t know how much help I’ll be,”� I confessed honestly. “I know I may have made it sound rather commonplace before, but this sort of thing doesn’t happen often. I’m not a perpetual victim.”�

            “Be that as it may,”� Dumbledore said, “I unfortunately cannot be everywhere. I’m once again asking both of you to stay on your guard. Nothing is too small in times like these. Do you understand?”�

            I nodded earnestly. James grunted.

            After that, our meeting wrapped up rather quickly. I wasn’t much surprised. After all, what was there really left to say when we’d already discussed points, patrols, and playing private detective? Unless of course we’d moved on to international espionage or something. 

            Oh, well. There’s always next time.

            Leaving Dumbledore’s office, I felt…strange. I was anxious–how could I _not_ be after all that?–but I couldn’t help feeling a little eager, as well. I liked the fact that I could be doing something–that a man like Dumbledore trusted me enough to even ask–but this wasn’t a game. I hadn’t wanted to think about it, but what _would_ have happened if Sirius hadn’t come along when he did? Evan had been _livid_ , and though I shouldn’t be making assumptions about him…well, it’s rather obvious that his family is involved in things of a decidedly dangerous nature. There’s no way to know how much of that has already been passed on to him. And how many more Evans are there hiding inside these walls? True, I know of a few people who have never been the nicest of sorts, but that doesn’t make them a _threat_ …or does it?

            And was it bad that I was almost impatient to start trying to figure it out?

            The gargoyle sprung back into place as James and I left the spiral staircase and entered the corridor. He hadn’t said much, not even as we were giving Dumbledore our polite goodbyes and shuffling out of the office. I didn’t have to keep looking at his brooding glower to recognise that he was cross, I just didn’t know whether he was cross with _me_. As we began walking back towards Gryffindor Tower in silence, I realised that I was going to have to be the one start talking if I wanted any answers.

            “James?”� I started hesitantly.

            “What?”� he barked.

            Well, that was encouraging.

            Deciding that it probably wasn’t going to get much better than that, I asked bluntly, “Are you angry with me?”�

            He had been striding down the corridor with heavy steps, his feet making sharp echoing sounds against the hard stones, but his pace and vigor slowed slightly at my question, so I think I may surprised him with my directness. There was no certain way to tell, though. His face did not shift out of its stony scowl, not even a smidgeon.

            “I don’t know,”� he finally answered, his voice tight. “I’m thinking about it.”�

            Lovely. He was _thinking_ about it.

            I suppose that this was not the time to make one of my cracks about the dangers of thinking.             “Er. Well, that…”� I cleared my throat, not exactly knowing what _to_ say, hoping something good would just come out. “Right. I know that it was a bit of an interesting meeting and all–”�

            “Is that what you’d call it?”� he cut in, stopping short. “Interesting?”�

            Sensing that I was playing with fire now (he did not like the word interesting, apparently), I stopped, too, lifting a hand to the ends of my hair and nervously twirling the strands with my finger. 

“There are probably better words,”� I conceded slowly, “but I don’t think I’ll say any because knowing me, I’ll pick the wrong one and you’ll go ballistic.”�

            Turns out, I didn’t have to worry about that.

            He went ballistic, anyway.

            “I’ll tell you what’s going to be interesting,”� he said, and started stomping off down the corridor again. “What’s going to be _interesting_ is when I track down all three of those fucking bastards and see how _they_ like–”�

            “No, you’re not!”� I cried, hurrying after him, grabbing hold of his arm and tugging until he quit trying to stomp the stone floors into submission. He whirled on me with a glare. I glared right back. “You heard what Dumbledore said, James! Let him take care of it! It’s not even any of your– _hey_! Get back here!”� I rushed after him once more, scowling. “Merlin, I _knew_ you weren’t going to be rational about this–”�

            “ _Rational_?”� James choked, but at least he quit storming off again. He loomed over me, waving his hands in the air like a madman. “Those shits are attacking you in the corridors and you want me to be _rational_? Are you out of your _mind_?”�

            “You can’t just–”�

            “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”� James snapped. “I am _this close–_ that fucking bastard has pushed it for the last time! You don’t even _know_ …no. No, he’s dead. He’s fucking _dead_.”�

            “This wasn’t even _about_ you!”� I lied, willing to say anything if it would just get through to him. “Can you quit taking this as some sort of personal attack and realise that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”�

            “Stop,”� James said, his voice harsh and angry. “Just _stop_. You know as well as I do that it’s not like that. And don’t think you’re getting off just like that, either! Were you even going to _tell_ me about any of this?”�

            Oh, hell. I should have seen that coming.

            I expected that there would be a lot of righteous indignation and sputtering to cover up the fact that no, actually, I hadn’t been entirely certain if I was going to tell him about any of it, thanks, but for once, I was actually grateful that my traitor-of-a-mouth decided to step on up and take over.

            “Didn’t I _tell_ you I had an eventful afternoon?”� it asked, and even sounded all properly cross and offended. “Like some other conversations I could mention, there’s a time and a place and you’ll have to forgive me for thinking that a casual stroll on the way to Dumbledore’s while you’re still half-asleep wasn’t exactly one of either!”�

            Which actually sounded quite fab and logical with far better reasoning than I would have ever come up with. And it wasn’t even entirely rubbish! I _had_ thought that at one point, hadn’t I?

            Sometimes my lying lips can be quite on top of things.

            James seemed momentarily thrown by my argument as well, his mouth jerking closed with the remnants of his next tirade dying on his lips. He gave me a hard look, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should have come to me straight off,”� he said. 

            “You were _sleeping!”�_ I cried.

            “Then you should have bloody woken me _up_!”�

            “For what? What could you have done?”�

            The look of outrage that crossed over James’s face then was so over-the-top indignant, it was almost comical. 

            “What could I have done?”� he raved, his face red. “What could I have _done_? I’ll tell you what I could have…I _could_ have…”�

            He trailed away, his face slowly falling, the brutal scowl slipping into a frown as he never quite managed to complete his sentence. It took some time, but I think he finally realised that I had a rather strong point and that he was acting like a lunatic. I tried not to look too smug about it, but he really was being such a stupid sod. I bit back a smile as he let out a tired sigh.

            “I could have killed them,”� he muttered bitterly, dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. “I could have, but I don’t suppose I’m allowed to do that, am I?”�

            I shook my head very sympathetically, slipping my arm around his waist and patting his side in what I hoped was a supremely comforting manner.

            “Terribly sorry, but no–unless of course you want to go to Azkaban. And while I like you and everything, I’m warning you now, I probably wouldn’t visit all that often.”�

            James glanced down at me in mock offense. “Really? My crime done in your honour and everything?”�

            “I didn’t say _never_. Just not all that often.”�

            That got a smile out of him, and even though it was only the slightest of lip quirks, it was still a vast improvement over the steaming, stewing, madman James who had just been ranting and raving nonsensically. And while I know one should not be thinking about such things with spy missions, possible Death Eater attacks, and a still probably less-than-stable mate-with-potential on hand, I really couldn’t help but go a bit girly when James put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me in, and pressed his lips against my hair.

            It’s the _concussion_. It’s addled my priorities.

            “Look at me, yelling at you like this whole damn thing is your fault. Christ, just ignore me,”� he said, letting out a quiet sigh. He didn’t look entirely through with his ranting and raving, but his features had softened enough that I wasn’t worried about dealing with an explosion anymore. He nudged at my side until I was facing him again. “You’re fine, aren’t you?”� he asked seriously. “That concussion codswallop was just your mad idea of a joke, right?”�

            Hey, my jokes aren’t mad!

            “Are you saying I have a rotten sense of humour?”� I asked.

            James rolled his eyes. “I’m saying that I never know whether you’re dying or perfectly fine, you complain so often.”�

Well, then. Ring round the Flattery School, I’ve got another prize candidate.

            I pulled a face and James laughed, but I suppose he did have the _tiniest_ bit of a right to do so considering I do occasionally indulge in the sporadic whining drag. But only because I have so much to complain about! You would too if you suffered as much as I do. There’s a reason why Pomfrey and I are such bosom buddies. We see each other all the time!

            “You’ll be sorry when I’m gone,”� is all I told James, shaking my head. “You’ll miss my complaining terribly and–what are you doing?”�

            “Checking your head,”� James answered, already sifting his fingers through my hair and feeling about my scalp. When his fingers brushed against the bump protruding from the back of my head, I flinched.

            “ _Ow_.”�

            “Sorry.”� But he gently passed over it again, and this time I only winced when his fingers brushed by. I could tell by the way his frown deepened that he was getting ready to work himself up again. It made me damn thankful that he couldn’t see the finger-shaped bruises Evan had left on my arms after holding me so tightly.

            “It feels worse than it is,”� I assured him, trying to assuage his temper. “I just don’t heal. And I have a pathetically low tolerance for pain. Any kind of pain. I’m really quite like a five-year-old that way.”�

            “You shouldn’t have to be tolerant at all. You should never have reason to test it.”� His fingers started moving around my head again, but this time more soothingly than in search of damage. “You drive me up the wall, do you know that, Evans? How am I supposed to sleep at night when you’re being attacked in corridors?”�

            I dared to give him a little smirk. “I don’t know. Count sheep?”�

            James snorted, thankfully still clear-headed enough to be amused. “Count sheep,”� he repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that has some merit. But I think we both know the only solution that’s _really_ going to make this work: you’ll just have to sleep in my bed _with_ me–”�

            The flash of his grin came so quickly, I was rather thrown off by the sudden change–or I _thought_ it was the sudden change that was throwing me off, anyway. But as I continued to watch him, something…I don’t know, just _something_ happened. What I thought was whiplash from his abrupt mood-shifts was somehow settling in my chest, a sort of pressure building up there that I couldn’t call bad, but I couldn’t call good, either. He was just standing there in front of me, stroking my hair with the lightest of touches, looking equal parts amused and yet still worried over everything that had happened…but that was enough. I watched his eyes skim over my face, our close proximity reminding me of earlier when I’d been knotting his tie and my heart had went _whoosh_ straight down to my toes and that was _something_ too, wasn’t it? Especially considering I still didn’t have any hives? It had to be. I knew it was. 

            So that’s when I did it. 

            I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I didn’t even know that it was coming until it was out and done and there we were.

            But I suppose that sometimes the most important decisions aren’t the ones you spend eons and beyond considering and pulling apart. They’re made just like _that_ , in a split second, when it’s right.

            And even though I never– _never_ –work that way…I don’t regret it.

            The words just came out, simple as that.

            “You have the afternoon free on Tuesday, don’t you?”� I asked.

            “All right, all right, I was just kidding. We don’t have to sleep in my bed–we can sleep in yours. But that’s my final–”� James cut off his joking spiel, obviously realising that I hadn’t just told him off and getting a bit caught up by it. His eyes focused on mine in confusion. “Wait, what?”� he asked.

            “Tuesday,”� I said again, my voice surprisingly steady. “You don’t have class after lunch, right?”�

            James didn’t seem to understand the question any better the second time around. “Er, not directly,”� he answered, his expression silently inquiring where the hell I was going with this. “I have a free, and then Muggle Studies last thing. But why are we talking about lessons? Don’t you–”�

            “Because I’m the same,”� I interrupted quickly, and now the words started flowing out of my mouth at a rather alarming rate. “I mean, obviously I don’t have Muggle Studies–I have Divination–but I meant I have the same schedule. Free then class. And that’s perfect, isn’t it? Because I can teach you more about Muggles than that stupid class ever could, and though I really _ought_ to go to Divination, we’ll only be doing our partner projects and I’m sure that if I speak to Rob earlier he won’t care in the least–he’s a really fab bloke. I’ll just write him a rhyming apology note or something–and then it would all work out. Tuesday’s just right.”�

            “Tuesday’s just right for _what_?”� James asked in exasperation.

            “For our lunch.”�

            _For our lunch._

            Oh, hell.

            Oh, double bloody flipping _shit_.

            I can’t believe I just said that.

            Not surprisingly, James couldn’t quite believe it, either. He froze.

            “Excuse me?”� He gaped at me like I’d just demanded he jump off London Bridge. “ _What_ did you just say?”�

            “Unless you don’t want to!”� I added quickly, my heart thrumming frantically against my chest. “I mean, we don’t _have_ to. I just thought that because you’re mostly free, and I’m mostly free, and I’ll probably be well into my Transfiguration review by then, so that shouldn’t be a problem, it–”�

            “Our _lunch_ ,”� James said, each word punctuated very sharply and slowly. “Do you mean our _date_?”�

            The word–especially the way he said it, and with that bright-eyed look he bore down on me with–gave me goosebumps, but I didn’t feel like vomiting or screaming or fainting and of course the hives were happily absent as usual.

            Still, I swallowed hard before breezily scoffing, “Oh, what’s in a name? You call it what you want, I’ll call it what I want, everyone’s happy. Who needs labels?”�

            Apparently James did, because he was not even remotely satisfied with that answer. He gripped my arms, digging into the same bits of skin that Evan had sunk his fingers into earlier, but the hold was more urgent than painful. His face was a jumble of emotions. 

            “Lily,”� he said softly. “What are you asking me?”�

            “I wasn’t really asking you anything,”� I evaded, starting to grow a tad bit irritated now that he wouldn’t just answer. “You’re the one who proposed the idea. I just picked a day.”�

            Even though that was a rather clear-cut sentence and I don’t think I used any words or phrases that should have proved particularly tricky for him to comprehend, James continued to stare at me as if I were rambling away in Mermish. And while I knew this could have been a time for me to start cracking jokes about his slow learning and lack of English skills, it’s a bit difficult to be coming up with clever jibes when you’ve just agreed to go to Hogsmeade with a bloke after weeks and weeks of soul-tearing indecision…and all he does is look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

            Oh, no worries about my heart or feelings or anything. I’m sure they’re quite happy to be _battered to pieces_. Much thanks, James.

            Still standing there, feeling a little bit like that fainting and screaming I’d been so worried about earlier might end up making a late arrival after all, I was about to tell James that he could just forget about the whole damn thing, I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, when all of a sudden, he finally moved.

            Leaning back slightly, the smile that crept across his face was positively blinding.

            Oh, hell.

            “You just asked me out,”� he said, his voice slightly stunned, but equally giddy. “ _You_ just asked _me_ out.”�

            Not liking the sound of that, I instantly huffed in offense. “Excuse me, but like I said–”�

            “Shhh.”� He placed his fingers over my mouth and closed his eyes. “Don’t ruin it. I’m savouring the moment.”�

            “You can’t–”�

            “Shhh.”�

            “Jam–”�

            “ _Shhh_.”�

            What a stupid sod.

            “You’re such a git,”� I finally got out, but that only made him open his eyes and grin even more, which just goes to show who the mental one in this relationship really is. I scowled as he started to chuckle, feeling like he thought this was just one big joke. “What’s so funny?”� I snapped.

            James’s eyes twinkled, his face flushed an eager red. “Oh, I’m just thinking about how many times in the next four days you’re going to change your mind about this.”� He was outright laughing now. He cocked his head to the side and played at considering it. “What would you say? Three times an hour? Four? Have you already changed your mind?”�

            “Well, now that you _mention_ it,”� I bit out, and gave him a good glower as he continued to snicker to himself. I rolled my eyes and turned away, deciding I was mad and he was mad and the whole thing was just a giant mad mess, but James caught me around the waist before I could start stomping off. His arms snaked around my stomach and he tugged me back against his chest.

            “Go ahead. Change your mind,”� he said, dropping his head down into the crook of my neck. His warm lips pressed against my pulse point. “Just warning you now, though–there’ll be no getting out of it.”�

            “I thought I was the one who asked?”� I said, and maybe– _maybe_ –closed my eyes for a second and just sort of nestled in his arms. “I can rescind my invitation.”�

            “You wouldn’t do that. You _want_ to go.”�

            I was about to open my mouth to tell him the hell I did, but do you want to know the absolutely maddest thing about it?

            He was right. I did.

            I have no idea when that had happened. The last time I’d been considering this–back in the library when I’d first discovered that my hives were gone and certain words were no longer automatic triggers for tears and illness–I was dead-set on waiting another year or two before giving the issue any sort of serious consideration. Dates were for people in relationships– _serious_ relationships–and James and I were still in the potential phase of that. I’d thought that we were going to keep it that way for awhile, but now…

            I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still not ready to jump into this thing headfirst, simply crossing my fingers and hoping that I land on my feet. I’m not an idiot. My delicate relationship issues have not dissolved _that_ quickly. But if today has taught me anything, it’s not to take things for granted. Like, if I had to make a list:

**THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT TAKE FOR GRANTED:**

1) That social outcasts can’t eventually get some mates.  
2) That you are abysmal at Transfiguration and will never improve.  
3) That just because your mate-with-potential has been patient with you this long, he will be forever.  
4) That lunches are always as simple as they ought to be.  
5) That a stroll through the castle is a decent pastime.  
6) That you’ll always be quick enough.  
7) That someone who might have once hated you (no matter what he says) can’t end up a mate.  
8) That idiot, slag, ex-girlfriends can’t sometimes, under all their dither, have a point.  
9) That you can’t do anything as a student.  
10)  That you don’t always know yourself as well as you think do.

            See? And while I don’t think that I’m going to reevaluate and restructure my entire life according to my ‘don’t take things for granted’ rule…is it so bad to allow a _little_ bit of change? Like, one tiny smidge? A date was not a marriage license. No one was holding a wand to my head. I could survive a little shift in the scale, a little more ‘potential’ than ‘mate.’

            Because maybe it would be awful. Maybe it would be horrifically terrible, incredibly awkward, and we’d both be so miserable that even the sight of one another afterwards would be enough to gag.

            But then again, maybe it wouldn’t be.

            Maybe we’ll go to the Three Broomsticks and have Butterbeer and tell elaborately pre-planned amusing stories about ourselves for hours. Maybe we’ll stroll along the streets and it’ll be a little cold but mostly all right and you’re allowed to huddle together on dates, anyway, so what does it matter? Maybe he’ll drag me into Zonko’s or I’ll drag him into Scrivenshaft’s and we’ll respectively whine and complain like it’s the worst sort of torture, but will probably end up buying things in each place anyway because you can never have too many quills or dungbombs. 

            Maybe it would be fun and different and as perfect a day in Hogsmeade as one can imagine (and don’t bother to protest– _every_ girl has imagined her perfect Hogsmeade).

            It could happen. And mad and unlike me as it sounds, I sort of wanted to jump right in and find out which one it would be.

            James was still happily nibbling away at my neck while all of this was floating through my head, images of him and me and Hogsmeade and other glimpses of a potential afternoon rolling on by like a film. There was no way to know whether this was the biggest mistake in the world or the most put-off, inevitable event of the century, but what I _did_ know was that I liked James. I liked James– _really_ liked James–I liked Hogsmeade, I liked lunches, and I definitely liked whatever the hell the idiot was doing with his mouth, which is when I decided that he couldn’t keep doing it or else all of this might disappear straight from my head.

            I turned in his arms, leaning back slightly when we stood face to face. He was still smiling so brilliantly at me, beaming as if I’d just handed him the key to the world and what girl in her right mind wouldn’t be absolutely keen on that? I might have shared in his contagious delight if the fact that this was actually happening–James and I were going on a _date_ –hadn’t settled in just then. And even though I still wasn’t interested in backing out or keeling over in illness, there _were_ little spots of panic that began flaring up inside my stomach.

            “This’ll be fun, right?”� I asked, lifting my hand to brush the hair back from his forehead, deciding I was allowed to indulge in his nervous gesture if he was. “It doesn’t have to be momentous or anything. It’s just lunch.”�

            “It’ll be fun,”� James confirmed, smiling like he knew exactly what was going through my head. His hands drifted up and down my back. “People go on lunch dates all the time and the world continues to spin, Infallible, I promise.”�

            He was kissing me before I had a chance to think any more about it.

            Really, the things that boy does with his mouth should be outlawed. Haven’t I said that before?

            “Thank you,”� he murmured against my mouth, as one kiss turned into another. My mind was all pleasantly hazy–just his plan, I suspect–and all I could do was hum back something incoherent. That seemed to be enough of an acknowledgement for him to continue, however. “I think I might have been willing to wait for you to come around forever, but it would have been a damn waste.”�

            “Sorry,”� I whispered, feeling the heat start to rush towards my face. “I’m just…I work slow. I over-think things. I can’t help it. It’s just how I am. Especially…especially when they’re important, you know?”�

            James drew back slightly, cocking his head to the side. “Are you calling me important, Lily Evans?”�

            “If I say yes,”� I replied flatly, “are you going to lord it over me for the rest of eternity?”�

            James’s grin was answer enough. “Oh, at least that long,”� he informed me anyway. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll try to keep it to a minimum amount of constant gloating.”�

            “Well, I suppose I can only admit to you having your important _moments_ , then. Precautionary measure, you see. I’m sure you under–”�

            But I never found out whether James understood or not. We got a little busy.

            Hm.

            Oops?

            And I know I probably should have put a stop to the whole thing straight off–you know, been all, “Um, James? Yeah. Do you think you could…yeah, remove that from there. Oh, and that, too, please. Much thanks.”� But what sort of more-potential-than-mate would I be if I didn’t let him revel in this moment a little? What kind of shrew does that after driving the poor thing round in circles for ages and ages so that he’s probably gotten so dizzy, he’ll be permanently damaged? That damage is all on me. Really, it is. So naturally, I should be the one to fix it. And while I’m no subscriber to the whole oh-snogging-cures- _everything_ -free-love-and-happiness- _yeah_ hype, I have to admit that _occasionally_ there is a time and a place for a bit of a healing love-fest.

            And maybe I just wanted to snog him. Just for a little while. More-potential-than-mates are allowed to admit that, right?

            I really didn’t care about the intricacies. Truth be told, I didn’t care about much after that except how to have it so James didn’t stop what he was doing. I had already been in this exact position today–pressed back against a wall, someone’s body flush up against mine–but it was almost comical how different those two situations were. And even though I knew we had reached the point where James and I had done this times enough that I shouldn’t be getting those first-touch shocks, the rush of something new…well, I was still getting something. And maybe they weren’t _exactly_ first-touch shocks anymore, but they seemed pretty damn close. There were sparks–there were _always_ sparks with us–and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why it was like this with him and no one else.

            My fingers dug into his sides, pulling him closer when he seemed too far away (he always seemed too far away) and I shivered in delight when he fit more snugly against me, stroking my lips with his. He let out a low groan, one that I felt all the way down in my toes. I kissed him harder, knowing what he tasted like now and knowing how to get more of it. My hands slowly drifted upwards until they gripped at his shoulders, while his hands went to my head, cupping it from behind. 

            It took me a few seconds to realise that he was using his fingers to protect my head from the wall just as surely as he was using them to shift my face around for better angles.

            Tell me, how is a girl supposed to resist that sort of thing? How was I not supposed to simply _melt_?

            “James,”� I whispered breathlessly, moving my hands until they covered his behind my head. “You don’t have to…really, I’m fine–”�

            “More than fine,”� James murmured, his mouth barely leaving mine. “Perfect. Damn _perfect_.”�

            “That’s not what I–”�

            But his fingers only curled tighter in my hair, clutching firmly as he tilted my face to the side and his lips started making a hot trail away from my mouth, over my jaw, and down to my neck.

            And since we’re all already aware of my feelings on the topic of James and his neck nibbling, I’m sure it won’t come as much of a shock to hear that I promptly quit protesting.

            I mean, it wasn’t like we couldn’t have the discussion later. Rain check.

            So I let him have his way for a bit, trying to hold back the pathetic mewing noises that were desperately yearning to push past my mouth. Always the quick thinker, I decided that the only way to guarantee that they’d stay under wraps was to drag James’s mouth back to mine, so I did just that and buried the sounds against James’s lips. I don’t think he minded the sudden shift of snog locations. He’s very adaptable that way.

            Everything was going swimmingly until I started to feel a bit like I might faint. I think James was starting to feel it, as well, because his mouth started moving more slowly against mine and then he suddenly broke away.

            “Hell,”� he groaned, the word coming out as a hot burst of breath against my cheek. He started kissing me again, but it wasn’t too much longer before he pulled away once more with another muted swear.

            “All right?”� I asked, littering kisses along the underside of his jaw.

            He nodded jerkily, but I could feel him tense beneath my mouth. His lips caught mine again briefly.

            “Let’s get out of here,”� he said finally, his voice low and hoarse. “Somewhere. Anywhere. The Tower. The Room of Requirement. Christ, anywhere but here.”�

            “Why?”� I asked, my brain all muddled and confused. I didn’t want to go anywhere.

            But James’s hands finally shifted from the back of my head to the curve of my neck and then lower. His eyes were dark as he stared at me, his expression sharp and intense.

            “Because if I don’t touch you now, I swear to Merlin I’m going to lose it,”� he whispered heatedly. “And that’s something I shouldn’t be doing in the middle of a public corridor.”�

            Oh.

            _Oh_.

            Um…

            My mind–already not working at its best–suddenly seemed so much hazier, a coherent response quite impossible to come up with. Part of the problem was the simple fact that I didn’t _know_ how to respond to it–half of me was already jostling about from foot to foot, ready and willing to be dragged wherever James deemed fit. But the other half…

            Well, the other half basically wanted to die of terror and embarrassment.

            And when you pit the two against each other, I suppose there really was no competition. With options like that, I knew which side was winning.

            I pressed one last hard kiss against James’s mouth (the losing side was whining and sulking already) before letting out a small sigh and shaking my head.

            “You have detention,”� I reminded him, sounding quite forlorn about the whole thing. “We shouldn’t–”�

            “Fuck detention,”� James shot back instantly. He started kissing me again. “Lily…”�

            Strong, Evans. Be _strong_.

            With some sort of inner will that I certainly hadn’t known was there, I somehow managed to ease James away, shaking my head once more.

            “It’s McGonagall. You can’t.”� I was trying to be firm about it, but I don’t know how much I was succeeding. When James only started protesting again, I covered his mouth with my fingers, muffling his words. Then I pulled at my bottom lip with my teeth anxiously. “Besides…”�

            James’s load groan permeated the barrier of my fingers.

            “Besides,”� he repeated, dropping his head onto my shoulder. “Bloody hell, not a _besides_.”�

            “I just think that we should still…take this slow,”� I said, bringing my hand up to rest on the top of his head. “I mean, not that I don’t _want_ to–of course, I…really, it sounds lovely, but…er. Well, it’s–”�

            It’s too much.

            It’s too terrifying, too good.

            It’s the fact that you know too much and I know too little and I don’t know how to balance that.

            “It’s too fast,”� James bit out, and that was a better answer, even if he said the words like they left a bitter acid on his tongue. He sigh was ragged. “Yeah, I know.”�

            “Sorry,”� was all I could think to say. What else was there, except perhaps for some sort of pathetic, “It’s not you, it’s me?”�

            I would not degrade myself to that. It was too sad.

            But at the same time, it was mostly _true_.

            I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t _want_ to go off and continue molesting James in the nearest semi-concealed location we could find. If that’s all that this was about, we’d already be fumbling with each other’s clothing in a nearby broom closet. But that’s not all this was. And, I mean, yes, was I entirely unnerved by the fact that James had…that he’d been…that he’d probably been doing things when I didn’t even know what such things _were_ and with people that I… _ugh_. Yes. _Yes_. Of course that was unsettling and intimidating, but I wasn’t prudish enough to let that completely derail me and besides, I’m quite certain James was _not_ suggesting we go off right now to find some place to de-flower me.

            But we might have…I don’t know. Touching could encompass a lot of things, most of which I was in no state of mind to consider. Today had already been impossibly long and impossibly significant and I didn’t think that I should be making decisions like, “Should I or should I not allow James to allow me to take advantage of him?”� when my head was already so jumbled. It just was not going to end well. I hadn’t had time to think any of this over. There was another time, another place.

            I tried to convey all of this through a sad sort of apologetic grimace once James finally lifted his head from my shoulder. I think he understood most of what I was trying to say. He just wasn’t very happy about it.

            “Yeah, all right,”� he muttered like a child grudgingly agreeing to do the chores his parents set out for him. He swiped a quick hand through his hair, let out a long breath. “Slow. I can do slow. I’ve survived slow so far.”�

            “Spoken like a true champion,”� I tried to joke, though it came out a bit breathlessly. I hadn’t realised how anxious I was about this until I heard him agree and was practically sagging against the wall in relief. Apparently my very strong will had already been stretched flat.

            “Right,”� he said, but when he slowly started untangling his limbs from mine, I started to regret my decision.

            I mean, who really cared about poor choices, anyway? I make enough of them accidentally–why not try one on purpose for once? It could all work out quite well in the end!

            Ohh, stupid hormones. Stop messing with my good judgment!

            It seemed like James was having a mini-scuffle with his hormones just then as well because as soon as he was done untangling himself from me, he took a few long steps down the corridor, letting out a loud breath and turning to face the opposite wall. One hand rested on his hip while the other went straight up to his hair again, gripping a good chunk off the top. I shifted about against the wall, wondering if I should say or do something.

            “All right?”� I finally asked him.

            James nodded, but didn’t turn around.

            “You’re lethal, Infallible,”� he said, his voice gruff. “What do you reckon my chances are that McGonagall orders me to do some deep sea diving in the Great Lake for detention?”�

            “On a Friday? Come now, that’s more of a Monday task, isn’t it?”�

            James snorted, but I guess my clever quips were enough to cool his ardor because he finally dropped his hand down from his hair and glanced over his shoulder at me. He smiled.

            “Don’t look at me like that,”� he said. “You’re the one who wanted to stop.”�

            “I’m not looking at you like anything!”� I cried, even though…well, whatever. Some things are just out of my control.

            James laughed, clearly feeling a lot better about himself. He turned fully, and then waved me over.

            “Come on,”� he said, sighing very dramatically. “If we’re not allowed to have any fun, I might as well see what McGonagall’s got to offer. She’s probably biting at her bit waiting for me as is.”�

            “Yes, too true,”� I agreed quickly, pushing off the wall and moving towards him. I let him toss his arm about my shoulders, figuring I owed the boy at least that much. “McGonagall is a very fun person. I bet she’ll let you scrub pots and everything.”�

            “Care to join?”�

            “And steal your fun? I could never be so cruel.”�

            James grumbled something that sounded all bitter, but the way his fingers were stroking up and down my arm told an entirely different story. We didn’t have to walk very far before we’d already reached one of the side staircases. I’d have to keep going on my own to get back to the Tower, but James could take these straight down to McGonagall’s office. He stopped in front of them, turning to me with a quirked eyebrow.

            “Last chance,”� he said. “The Room of Requirement is–what? Three corridors down? Four?”�

            “McGonagall would kill you,”� I told him simply, and hoped he couldn’t tell how my heart had just jumped and my hormones were once again speeding about at the mere possibility. I crossed my arms over my chest, standing firm against boy and body chemical. “If you don’t go now, she might force you to make it up during a free and I’m warning you, I will make you wait _ages_ to reschedule–”�

            “Oy, with the threats!”� James laughed, but held up his hands in defeat. “All right, all right. I’ll go play slave for McGonagall. But just so you know”�–he pointed an accusatory finger at me–“I’m calling you out on your rubbish.”�

            “Calling me out on what rubbish?”� I asked.

            James’s grin was a quick glint of teeth, his eyes shining down at me so brightly I’m surprised that they didn’t reflect off his glasses.

            “Admit it,”� he said quietly. “You’re so keen on me, you’d break me _out_ of detention just to go on our date. It’s really quite sad how hung up on me you are.”�

            Oh, the little _cretin_.

            “You are _so_ –”�

            “Bye.”� His mouth smashed against mine for a swift second, and then was gone again with the only replacement the low hums of his soft chuckles. I swiped at him, but he was already hightailing it down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. When he was well down the flight, he turned around and gave me a wave.

            “I’ve changed my mind!”� I hissed at him.

            “You want to change the _time_?”� The smirk spread across his face. “You want our date to start earlier? Really, Infallible, you’ll infringe upon my academics.”�

            “Oh, _please_. As if you even–”�

            “Must go, love. S’later!”�

            Then he dashed down the next flight of stairs and out of sight.

            Which just goes to show that I _must_ be insane because I was smiling all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

            And now James and I are going on a date. A _date_. An actual, real, live, just him and me, romantic, non-platonic, potentially horrifying, no doubt _maddening_ , anxiously awaited, legitimate _date_.

            And do you know the secret that I will never in a million years tell?

            I think he might be right. I _would_ bust him out of detention.

            My decline into complete juvenile delinquency is complete.

            Or maybe he was just right about the other bit, too–maybe I’m just _that_ keen on him.

            Oh, dear.

_______________________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 39  
** **Total Observations: 277**

 

_Dear Lily,_

 

_I’m terribly sorry to hear about our row. Things are well here–Tunie had Vernon round for dinner yesterday and your father made that pasta he’s always thinking is so tasty. It wasn’t, but he tried. Thankfully, I don’t think Vernon noticed. I’m thinking of inviting Aunt Mae round for tea tomorrow, but she’s grown strangely fond of her cat all of a sudden and refuses to leave it behind anywhere. I don’t take fur with my tea. Perhaps I’ll suggest we make a trip to Harrods instead._

 

_As for your hypothetical question…yes, of course I’ve tagged along on those fishing trips. Not my finest days–you know how I feel about Bitsy Simon and Hettie Clarke–but they make your father happy and that’s all a woman in love can ask for._

 

_I suppose that some might consider love an ailment. If you fear you’re infected, a mother would appreciate knowing such things._

 

_The weather’s getting chillier. You should probably start wearing your thicker socks._

 

_Love,  
_ _Mum_


	23. October 25th: Playing the Cliff Game

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is seriously going to be the death of me. In all its 45,000+ word glory, it's late, but here. I hate editing myself and I'm certain there are a million mistakes, but I believe it's readable enough and I'll have some decent editors look at it soon. In the meantime, enjoy what you can. I hope everyone's holidays have been fab and that the New Year is a good one! =)

 

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We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can't scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me.

-Jack Handy

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**_______________________________**

**Saturday, October 25th, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 40  
** **Total Observations: 277**

**Ten Reasons Why a Witch Might Wake Up One Morning in a Peculiarly Cheery Mood**

1) The sun. The way it just streams in through the windows—and at the end of October, no less!—is positively magical. Who could frown when everything is so bright?  
2) A comfortable bed. Something must be said about whatever wondrous miracles go into cleaning our double-posters. Have blankets ever been so comfortable? A pillow so plush and perfect? If House Elves received wages, I’d suggest a raise.   
3) Serene quiet. After being subjected to the bothersome boisterousness of Gracie’s missing gloves yesterday, the simple pleasures of peace and quiet as one’s eyelids flutter open on their own accord is not something that should be taken for granted.  
4) The prospect of breakfast. It’s everyone’s favourite and most important meal, isn’t it? And what screams cheeriness more than a stack of waffles with strawberries? Really, it’s practically the definition.  
5) The weekend. Saturday means freedom. Go gallivanting across the grounds or hole yourself up in your comfortable bed for the next forty-eight hours. It’s _all_ possible on the weekend. Huzzah!  
6) Thicker socks. Mum might be out of her bleeding _mind_ about most things—I mean really, _seriously_ out of her mind. Insanity must be genetic—but the woman does know her seasonal garments. In these Northern climes, thicker socks create a snug, scrumptious little home for my cold toes.  
7) A morning shower. There’s just not enough time in the a.m. to indulge in a nice, long washing during the school week. Even us Early Risers have to be conscious of the amount of time we spend beneath the hot showerhead. But not on a Saturday. Three cheers for prolonged bathing!  
8) The smell of autumn. One so easily forgets what a delicious scent comes along with this late-year season. Take a big whiff! Enjoy, nostrils!  
9) A good quill and some paper to write on. Not everyone has these things, you know. We should all be thankful for our ready access to both. I bet these things are in short supply in places like Guam and the Bermuda Triangle.  
10) A lack of hives. Because delayed reactions are entirely possible and there is nothing more reassuring (while simultaneously terrifying) than waking up and realising that your body is still entirely all right with some recent decisions you may have made regarding blokes and meals after breakfast. And even though you are relieved/terrified, you are also, above all else, cheery, and isn’t that just about the damnedest thing in the world?

            I think I’m going to take that long shower now.

__________________________

**Much Later, Hogwarts Grounds**  
**Observant Lily: Day 40  
** **Total Observations: 278**

            All right. So perhaps I took a _bit_ longer in the shower than I really ought to have done. 

            Like, an hour longer. An hour plus some. 

            But in my defense, I didn’t _hear_ anyone banging away at the lavatory door (though they all insist they were having at it rather adamantly). I have no control over my water-based auditory deficiencies. They are entirely of their own doing. So it was really not my fault. I mean, I sped up the process as soon as it came to my attention, but that wasn’t until I was stepping out of the shower, wrapping myself in my towel and humming contently all unawares. That's when the fierce poundings of fist against door and Carrie Lloyd's shrieking moans finally filtered in through the poor loo acoustics.

But really, all I was thinking then was that it's a terrible pity Carrie isn’t more of a morning person.

            “ _Finally_!” she cried, barreling straight past me as soon as I opened the door. When I didn’t move out of the way quickly enough, she shoved impatiently at my back. I stumbled out of the doorway. “Were you trying to _drown_ yourself in there or something?”

            The door slammed shut with an angry _snap_.

            Huh.

            Cranky little bugger, isn’t she?

            I turned away from the door with a sad shake of my head, feeling quite bad for Carrie and her unfortunate disposition. I knew it was a bit later than I usually showered (it was already going on ten. I hadn’t been able to resist lounging about in bed for a while earlier), but really, there was no need for such impatience. For Merlin's sake, it's Saturday! Who has plans on a Saturday, hm? No one with any bit of sense, that's for certain.

            I looked towards Grace’s bed for someone to commiserate with over this blatant disrespect, but her four-poster was noticeably empty, the sheets hanging haphazardly off the sides of her bed. I thought that odd— _Grace_ , up before ten?—but only continued to grow more alarmed when I saw that Emma’s bed was vacant as well. I frowned. Had the pair of them gone and abandoned me during my perhaps- _slightly_ -longer-than-necessary shower adventure? How terribly rude. I never would have participated in such neglect. 

            I was just contemplating the ways in which I could get back at them for such horribly ill treatment when I realised that I might have gotten a bit ahead of myself in the heave-the-mates-over-the-nearest-windowsill department. Because unlike Grace, Emma was actually still in the room. She was just sitting on _my_ bed.

            I love waking up in the morning having to hate only one of my mates. It's so convenient.

            “Was she kidnapped?” I asked, hooking a thumb towards Gracie’s empty bed. I tried to sound properly concerned, but I’m not entirely certain that Grace couldn’t do with a slight kidnapping scare.

            Emmeline shook her head, effectively dashing that idea. “She’s down in the kitchens,” she told me instead, sounding rather casual about it all...until she added, “Preparing.”

            Eh?

            My eyebrows lifted.

            “Preparing for what?” I asked slowly.

            Emma's only reply was a semi-painful looking wince. My stomach sank.

            Oh, hell. I knew that look. 

            I didn't bother holding back my groan. Brilliant. Just brilliant. True, it’d been awhile since Grace had made us do anything remarkably mad, but I think that some part of me had been foolishly hoping she'd grown out of that particularly insane facet of her personality. I should have known better. As if I could have ever garnered such luck! I never seem to learn. Just as Grace never seems to learn. We have that in common, it seems. I suppose the only thing left to do was hope that whatever happened, Grace didn’t end up getting us locked in the kitchen freezer.

            You know, again.

            “You should get dressed,” Emma said, looking entirely sympathetic, but giving nothing away. “She’ll be back soon.”

            “We're going somewhere?” I eyed Emma warily. The shoes on her feet, the scarf about her shoulders, the cloak lying across her lap...she looked quite prepared for an outside jaunt. Her rucksack laid next to her on the bed, though, a few books sticking out from the top. An outdoor study session? That seemed entirely innocuous, and not at all Grace's style. That lunatic wouldn't be caught dead studying on a Saturday.

            Emma nodded. “She’s been up for awhile”—Emma sounded understandably worried over this fact—“and she's got something in her head. I can see it. She has that crazed look about her, you know? But I've needled, and all she keeps insisting is that we’re going on a—”

            “—picnic!”

            I turned at the sudden outburst, glancing over my shoulder to find Grace’s equally outdoor-clad figure suddenly filling the dormitory doorway. My eyes drifted up from her shoed-feet, past her wicker basket-filled hands, over her light autumn cloak, all the way up to her positively manic smile.

            Oh, bloody hell.

            I groaned again. Loudly.

            “Please don’t make us go searching for unicorns in the Forbidden Forest again!” I begged unabashedly. “It’s cold. And they don’t like humans. And all those, ‘You’re the purest of us, Lily! Take the lead!’ cracks get old very fast!”

            Grace stepped into the dormitory with a highly disappointed frown.

            “Firstly,” she said, including Emma in her disapproving stare now, “neither of you appreciates the wonders of a particularly good search for an exceptionally elusive Magical Creature. Hodges gave us extra points for that!”

What Grace _didn’t_ seem to recall was that those points had been of an entirely pity-driven nature. The three of us had come back from our wilderness quest with a slew of unattractive rashes covering a better portion of our bodies, the unfortunate result of brushing by the wrong sort of plant numerous times. An extra 'E' or two had been the least Hodges could do.

            Funny how selective memory works, isn’t it?

            “And secondly,” Grace went on, and the sudden smirk that her frown curved into here was nothing short of mocking, “I hate to break this to you, Slaggy, but I wouldn't be so certain you’re the purest of us anymore.”

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.    

            I huffed indignantly. “Forget to do up a few buttons and all of a sudden you’re Jezebel. _Honestly_. ”

            “You were Jezebel beforehand,” Grace returned cheerfully, plopping herself down on my bed next to Emma. “You just never had anyone suitable to tart it up with.”

            Really, and this was supposed to be my best mate? Psh.

            Grace laughed as I shot her a remarkably dirty look, but I don’t think she cared much about my obvious displeasure. I grumbled nasty insults under my breath as I made my way to my dresser and began pulling out clothes at random—a pair of jeans, that blue jumper Mum thinks looks so fetching but I know makes me look stumpy, another pair of thick socks, some not-the-least-bit-slaggy underthings...as I dressed, Grace explained more about her latest plan.

            “It must be said—I have been feeling _terribly_ neglected lately,” is what she started with, looking woefully wounded and holding a hand over her _terribly_ neglected heart. “When was the last time we had a proper best mates chat, hm? Christmas? And don’t you dare think that I don’t know about your early morning chat and snuggle the other day! Really, I’ve never felt so _desperately_ left out in all my seventeen years! It’s enough to make a witch want to sob into her morning porridge.”

            “Couldn’t you do that instead of this?” I muttered.

            “Lily started the chat and snuggle,” Emma tattled.

            I stuck my tongue out at her.

            “All I want is to spend some quality time with my very favourite people in this sad, miserable world,” Grace went on, as if neither Emma nor I had spoken. “And if I would like to do so out on our spectacular grounds, a nice plaid blanket beneath our delicate bums, a basket of food to keep us company...I say, where are the objections?”

            “It’s cold,” I argued.

            Emma bit her lip. “Well, I sort of told Mac—”

            “Gah!” Grace threw her hands up to cover her ears, shaking her head frantically. Emma and I exchanged looks. “No, no, no, not _yet_. We're not speaking of a single precious Mac Reunion detail until we're outside! _Merlin_. Like it's bleeding Experimental _Charms_ or something.” When she finally deemed it suitable to drop her hands, she did so while snapping, “Can’t you dress any _faster_ , Evans?”

            “My slaggy fingers are only used to _un_ dressing," I replied tartly. "The opposite is actually quite more difficult.”

            I indulged myself with a smug smirk as Grace’s face scrunched up into a sour scowl, but I know she was actually very appreciative of my cunning wit. You know, internally.

            As Gracie continued barking out orders (“Grab the basket, will you, Em?" "Merlin and Agrippa, do you need _help_ , Lily?”), I coached my slaggy fingers into moving faster as I resigned myself to a morning spent outside. Despite the nice sunshine that was still filtering in through the windows, it probably _was_ quite cold out. I’d have to grab my cloak—oh, and perhaps I’d bring my Transfiguration books along, as well. Emma seemed to have the right idea. Maybe I’d get some studying done in between Grace’s moaning and groaning and all of Emma’s Mac confessions. I mean, if we _were_ indeed picnicking as Grace claimed. I still wasn't entirely certain that there wasn't going to be a "surprise" change of plans once we got outside. 

            But even though Grace’s picnic idea was mad and we’d probably end up doing something entirely foolish in lieu of actually chatting and eating…I had to admit, the prospect wasn’t entirely gruesome. I mean, I hadn’t actually gotten around to telling Grace or Emma about last night. About my…yeah. The, er, lunch business. And all things considered, I figured they’d probably appreciate knowing. 

            And surprisingly enough, I _wanted_ to tell them. Not only because of the inevitable highly entertaining shock factor, but because…well, the confession would be one last test, a final way to gauge if my friends The Hives were actually gone for good or just waiting in hiding for the opportune moment to strike. If I told Grace and Emma about...agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with James, and my skin remained its naturally pasty self, I’d know this immunity probably wasn’t temporary. I could go to Hogsmeade with James—on a _date_ with James—and not have to panic that midway through, I’d become a splotchy mess.

            A date with James.

            I was going on a _date_ with James.

            Merlin’s beard, it was still so strange to say. An actual _date_.

            It was also strange how thoroughly the simple thought of it perked me up. When you’ve spent so many weeks with even the tiniest _reference_ to such a thing automatically prompting an abundance of horror and nausea, it was rather alarming to find that simply giving in to it would cause an entirely opposite reaction. Even then, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning like an idiot. I covered it up quickly though, trying not to be so obvious.

            “Send Mac an owl and tell him you'll be occupied for the remainder of the day,” Grace ordered, pointing a finger at Emma’s owl, Orem, who was snoozing contently in his cage. I saw the idea of arguing flash over Emma's face, but in the end, she only sighed, giving a sort of resigned nod. While Emma went to Orem, Grace's words actually registered. My eyebrows lifted.

            “Wait a second—the remainder of the _day_? How long is this picnic?”

            “As long as it takes,” Grace grunted.

            Well. I’ll just set my alarm to that, then.

            As Emma dashed off a note to Mac and Grace watched over the lot of us with a critical eye, I went to the closet to grab my beat-up old trainers (best to wear shoes broken in for running. You never know), then migrated over to my bed to pack a few books. I stashed this, my Transfiguration notes, and a Charms book into my bag, then grabbed a few spare quills and parchment. Grace was forcefully chanting, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s _go_!” when my hand brushed past James’s scarf still hanging over my headboard. At the last second, I grabbed it and tossed it about my shoulders, then scurried to follow Grace’s dictates to, “March, march, _march_!” out of the dormitory.

            And really, I’d forgotten how nice and comfy this thing was. Why had I ever stopped snuggling with it?

            The trek down to the ground floor was rather uneventful. Emma and I trailed dutifully behind Grace, listening as she rambled on about this, that, and some other things (I suppose “listening” might not be the best word for it). Judging by the way she walked alongside me with minimal eye rolls, Emma must have accepted the inevitability of this little outdoor adventure, as well. Or perhaps she was simply eager to share the numerous recounts of recent events in her life. That wasn’t much Emma’s style, but it wasn’t much _my_ style either, and I was already anticipating dropping the Date Bomb. I knew that Grace would go spare when I told—she’d be horrified that I hadn’t mentioned the whole thing yesterday, and would probably want to go find James to give him a congratulatory hug or something—but I really didn’t know what Emma might do. I couldn’t decide whether she would stare utterly shocked, or smile at me all knowingly, as if she'd been perfectly aware I’d say yes all along.

            Most students were up by that point, so the Entrance Hall was a bit crowded when we finally got down there. I gave the throngs of people a quick scan, but save Penny O’Jene and Hyena Boy having a snogfest by the front doors, I couldn’t spot anyone I knew. Much of the traffic was still streaming in and out of the Great Hall though, so new faces kept popping up. Before I could request a brief interlude into the dining area to see if certain personages might be hanging about, Grace whirled on Emma and me with a fierce look.

            “I’m going in there to steal some pumpkin juice,” she told us, pointing a finger towards the Great Hall. It whipped back around to wag threateningly in our faces. “Neither of you moves from _this spot_ , hear? If I have to search for you, I will be very, _very_ cross."

            I gave her a quick salute. “Aye, aye.”

            “We won’t move,” Emma promised.

            Grace grunted, but seemed to trust us—or probably trusted Emma, anyway. I was the one who was getting the majority of her intimidating stares—enough to leave. She gave us (me) one last stern look before pivoting on her heel and striding off, leaving Emma and me at the foot of the stairs. She slid in through the crowds and quickly disappeared.

            The moment she was gone, Emma grabbed my hand and started tugging.

            “What are you _doing_?” I hissed.

            “We won’t go inside,” she assured me quickly, her guilty conscience seeping through as she deftly dragged me through the hordes of people towards the Great Hall. “We’ll just stand by the doors for a moment, then we’ll go straight back to where she put us! I just want to make sure Mac got my note. I’ll signal him or something.”

            “Signal him?” My dubiousness was obvious, but I also couldn’t quite contain a slightly giddy smile. Oh, how perfectly glorious! Emma was all properly concerned over her boyfriend once more! _Who_ exactly was against my meddling again? “Should I start up the fire and you guide the smoke?”

            Emma shot a quelling look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lily— _where’d_ you get that scarf again?”

            Hey, now. How uncalled for.

            I sniffed dismissively, my hands going protectively to the scarf still hanging about my neck. “Romantic happiness has made you catty, Emmeline. I’m not certain I like it.”

            Emma flashed me a quick grin, but couldn’t be bothered to spare me much more than that before we’d reached the entrance to the Great Hall and she was back in Mac Mode. We stood partially hidden behind one of the open doors, poking our heads inside all surreptitiously.

            “There she is,” I whispered, nodding my head towards the right. Grace was easily identifiable across the room, swerving through the crowds on her way to the Gryffindor table.

            “Do you see Mac?” Emma asked, her head swiveling about as she fretfully scanned the Ravenclaw table. I joined her in the search, inspecting the room for Mac’s heavy head of hair and rather large ears.

            “There!” I cried, catching sight of him sitting not too far away from us. His back was to the doors, giving us an obstructed view. He was sitting with a few of his mates (hey, look—Rob! I didn’t know Robbo-Rhymo was mates with Mac!), but seemed to be mostly scanning the room too, possibly on the lookout for Emmeline. Brief glimpses of his profile showed that he was frowning in that serious Mac way of his. “Do you think he got your note?” I asked.

            Emma continued to fuss. “It seems like he’s looking for me—doesn’t it seem like he’s looking for me? Maybe Orem was delayed. Or maybe he’s just not that fast—Orem, I mean, not Mac. Of course, not Mac. He's plenty fast. I just sent the note a few minutes ago, though, and Orem’s really getting on in years…oh, he can’t even _see_ me from here unless he turns around and—”

            Merlin, and people say _I'm_ a Nervous Nancy.

            We'd've been there all day if I'd let Emma continue with her unhelpful blabbering.

            “Keep an eye on Grace, would you?” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”

            Emma managed to look simultaneously relieved and uneasy. “What sort of plan?” she asked.

            I pulled a face that clearly informed her I was none-too-pleased about her subtle skepticism as to the brilliance of my plans, but figured there was no better rebuttal than simply demonstrating how clever I am. I turned back to Mac’s spot at the Ravenclaw table, poking my head further out of the doorway and even going as far as to bring one of my arms into the mix—an arm that, with little hesitance, I frantically began waving about.

            And because he’s just _so_ brilliant and I really don’t know how I’ve gotten on in life without him, it took Rob mere moments to see my incessant flailing.

            Love that kid. Seriously. Just _love_ him.

            With a highly amused laugh, Rob waved back enthusiastically. I grinned, then started motioning madly towards Mac. Rob’s eyebrows quirked up, not getting what I was saying. He lifted the platter of muffins in front of him, then pointed to them as if to say, “This?” I shook my head, then motioned towards Mac again, mouthed his name slowly— _MAC_ —then pulled Emma further out into the doorway and jabbed a finger her way. Rob’s face instantly cleared. He nodded in understanding, then said something to Mac across the table, pointing towards Emma and me. Mac immediately twisted about. The moment he saw Emma, a small smile spread across his lips. He started to rise.

            “ _No_!” Emma hissed at the same time I started furiously shaking my head and giving the universal arms slashing signal for, “NO, NO! STOP!”

            Mac froze halfway out of his seat, staring at the two of us as if we’d gone completely round the bend. The boy was nothing if not obedient, however, and slowly sat back down. Emma and I sagged in relief. I darted a quick glance about the hall, thankfully spotting Grace still over by the Gryffindor table. Chris Lynch had stopped her, holding onto her arm and seemingly trying to convince her to hang about. Grace was grinning, but shaking her head in refusal.

            “Oh, thank _Merlin_ ,” Emma sighed, and I glanced up to see that Orem had finally made his way down from Gryffindor Tower. He was dutifully delivering Emma’s note to its desired recipient, holding his little leg out for Mac's convenience. Mac’s gaze switched from Orem to Emma, then down to the note he'd just untied. Emma motioned for him to read it. He broke open the seal with his finger, then briefly scanned the page.

            It was just as I was giving Rob an appreciative “Good job!” thumbs up that I felt that strange prickling that tells you someone is staring. My eyes lifted. I don't know what it says about me and mine that I almost instantly caught the gaze that was fastened directly on me two tables beyond and a little to the left of Rob’s shoulder.

            Oh.

            _Oh_.

            And the thing is...I mean, I’m not stupid, all right? I _know_ I’ve been staring at the boy for the better part of seven years. He's nothing new. Nothing shiny or different. He's the same lanky lunatic he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. But it's just...oh, I don't know. Sometimes you just don’t _look_ look, you know? Not until you have a reason to. And I figure if any day is the day to pay attention, it’s probably the day after the night that you semi-sort-of-perhaps agree to be a bloke's more-potential-than-mate. It’s practically required. I almost didn’t have a choice.

            And...well, basically...

            Oh, bugger it.

            Basically the bloke is just really, really good looking, all right? In one of those squirm-in-my-stomach, blush-embarrassingly-red, grin-like-a-goon-and-twirl-in-place kind of ways.

            Even when he was watching me with a look that clearly read, “Dear Merlin, what the hell is that madwoman up to now?”

            But interwoven with much affection, of course.

            I think.

            I gave James a small smile, wiggling my fingers in a subtle sort of wave. He placed the glass of pumpkin juice he'd been drinking slowly onto the table, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. I suppose I didn't much blame him for that. I couldn't be certain how long he’d been watching and I didn’t have an incoming note to depend on to explain everything, so I just gave him a guilty sort of shrug. 

            Apparently not a fan of the uninformative guilty shrug, James gave me a, "Really? Thought that was going to work, did you?" stare before, like Mac before him, he went to get up.

            Bloody hell, not _again_.

            I instantly started up my frantic shake-head-slash-arms-no-no- _no_ business, but that only made him look _really_ suspicious. When he paused, I pressed my finger to my lips in a desperate plea for him to stay put and keep quiet and then subtly jerked my head towards Grace, who was heading in James’s direction with the jug of pumpkin juice successfully secured. I twirled my finger around my ear, assuming he’d know the motion to mean, “Grace is on an insanity rampage. Don’t engage.”

            But you know what they say about assuming. And James managed to make a particularly _giant_ ass out of him _and_ me when instead of letting Grace walk by, he decided it'd be a brilliant idea to call her over instead.

            The ruddy _blockhead_.

            Really, how can anyone so pretty be so bloody _stupid_?

            I grabbed Emma’s arm and jerked her back behind the wall.

            “Hey!” she cried.

            “We’ve been outed,” I whispered, pressing my back against the wall beside the doorway. I scowled fiercely. “For someone who gets away with so much, James Potter is a damned idiot when it comes to other people’s intrigues! I fancy a fool. I should have known it’d come down to this—looks or brains, you only get one. He just _had_ to pick the former, didn’t he? And I’m superficial enough to tolerate it!”

            Ignoring my jabbering, Emma shifted back towards the doorway. Regardless of the danger (I suppose she figured we'd already been caught, might as well see how badly), she poked her head back inside the hall.

            While Emma accessed the damage, I mentally offed James in various ways.

            “Hey, Lil?" she said after a moment.

            "What?" I was enjoying watching a few nasty hippogriffs butcher James to tiny bits and pieces.

            "I wouldn't be so certain about that beauty/brains paradox,” she said slowly, leaning farther out of the doorway. “I think…I think he’s creating a diversion for us."

            The hippogriffs paused in their gorging.

            Er.

            "He's what?"

            "Distracting her. Grace isn’t glancing over here with daggers for eyes, in any case. In fact… she’s yelling at James.”

            “Yelling at _James_?” I moved instantly, poking my head back into the hall, as well. My eyes went automatically for where James was sitting. “But Grace never yells at James. She _loves_ James.”

            But sure enough, there was Gracie, mouthing off something that looked quite hostile to my slightly bewildered more-potential-than-mate. She had one hand on her hip—well, one hand-carrying-a-pumpkin-juice-jug resting on her hip—and was wagging her finger in his face with the other. I could just barely catch the words, “prat,” and “ruined,” and then, quite emphatically because she mouthed it so sharp and slowly, “STAY. AWAY.”

            Uh-oh.

            I don’t think James is invited to our picnic.

            As Grace gave James one last withering glare, I bit my lip and wondered what exactly he could have done to get Grace so riled—other than perhaps request to join our Witches Only luncheon. That might've been enough to do it, but who really knew with Grace? She just stomped off, and James twisted back around with a highly pained expression straining his face. Our gazes caught again and his wince deepened.

            _Sorry_ , he mouthed.

            Sorry? _Sorry_?

            Sorry for what?

            “Come on. Here she comes.” Emma was already tugging me back to our place next to the staircase. I wanted to protest—what did he mean, 'sorry'?—but Emma didn’t give me much of a choice. I would have been annoyed about that, but she got us in place just in time. Moments after we’d returned to our designated spot, Grace came striding out of the Great Hall. She looked quite pleased to find us where she'd left us, dashing all suspicions that James had ratted us out.

            “Thank you for keeping Lily in check, Emmeline,” is what she said when she came over, nodding with much satisfaction at Emma.

            Oh, puh- _lease_.

            “Yes, thank you _ever_ so much for keeping _me_ in line, Em,” I bit off, but that was as close as I dared go to tattling. Emma and I were in this together, after all. We had to band as one against the insanity when we could. Even if it meant taking slanderous blows to our good names.

            Besides, I had other things to worry about. Just _what_ was James sorry about?

            “Let’s go,” Grace said, not giving me time to think about it. She shoved the jug of pumpkin juice into my hands, gave Emma a nod when she saw the picnic basket was still in hand, then pivoted on her heel and marched towards the front doors with unwavering determination. Emma and I exchanged looks, but obediently followed along. 

            It _was_ a bit on the chilly side when we first made our way outdoors, but the sun was shining so brightly and it felt so nice against my skin that I couldn’t really be bothered to complain about a little extra nip. Besides, I had a nice warm cloak and a fab snuggly scarf, so what did I care? Maybe my hands were a bit chilled from carrying the cold pumpkin juice, but it was mostly worth it to be out in the fresh air.

            “I reserved us the perfect spot,” Grace assured us as we shuffled across the grounds towards the lake. A few other people had had the same nature-minded idea that Grace had had and were already sitting in groups on various patches of grass, but Grace must have been one of the first to get out there because she had indeed secured us the best spot beneath the beech tree. A scarlet and gold plaid blanket was spread beneath the shady locale.

            “Very nice, Gracie,” I complimented, giving appreciation where it’s due. My praise allowed a sort of cocky strut to enter Grace’s already overconfident step, but occasionally we best mates must put up with these sorts of theatrics if we ever want a friendly conversation.

            But I must admit, settling beneath the beech tree with the sun streaming little patches through the branches, the cool breeze floating through the air, the Giant Squid causing a bit of a ruckus in the lake, the soft sounds of the moving water creating a pleasant sort of soundtrack…maybe Gracie _wasn’t_ such a lunatic. This might actually be quite nice!

            “This _is_ rather lovely, Gracie,” Emma said as we all ditched our cloaks, speaking the words I didn't dare confess. She even kicked off her shoes, wriggling her socked toes about in newfound freedom. She dropped her head back and enjoyed the sun. “I might like this picnic."

            "Of course you'll like this picnic," Grace said, sounding offended that Emma would even suggest otherwise. She kicked off her shoes, as well, making it a trend. "Open that basket, would you? I've got pure brilliance in there."

            'Pure brilliance' turned out to be a plate of pancakes and waffles, a small bowl of oatmeal, and enough fruit to drown a market. Emma bee lined for the oatmeal while I lunged for the waffles. Grace had stashed some flatware and utensils in the basket, as well. We filled our dishes up thoroughly.

            "Pass the pumpkin juice." I placed my plate on the blanket and grabbed a few cups out of the basket. Emma did as I requested and I filled a glass up for each of us. The pumpkin juice was still chilled. Even in the slightly nippy air, it was delicious. "Are we eating then talking, talking then eating, or talking while eating?" I inquired. 

            "I'm not talking with my mouth full," Emma stated firmly, and stuck an overloaded spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth for good measure. Ew.

            "How precious," Grace said. "She thinks she has a choice."

            I grinned, hoping Emma spotted all my sympathy interwoven with the proper amount of "too bad" sentiment. Judging by the way her shoulders slumped, I reckon she did. She swallowed down the enormous hunk of oatmeal she'd just forced down for naught. I did commiserate with her lack of control over her own life, but honestly, she had to know this was coming.

            "It's not that exciting a story," she protested weakly.

            "We're not asking for excitement," I said. "Just information."

            Grace cleared her throat. "Correction. _Lily's_ not asking for excitement. I'm actually rather set on it myself."

            I swiped at Grace with my foot, feeling a keen sense of accomplishment when she scowled. Emma was probably very appreciative of my actions on her behalf, but was too concerned with sighing and placing her bowl of oatmeal on the picnic blanket in an obvious act of resignation. I think we all knew she wouldn't have much time for eating.

            "Let's start from the beginning," I said when she couldn't seem to find the proper words to begin her tale. "Thursday. Post dinner. I leave to find James. You two go off. What happens?"

            "I went to the library," Emma answered, squirming about on the blanket. "Grace had gone off to be with Chris, and I had to finish that Potions assignment. I thought I'd fit it in then. But when I got there...Mac was at one of the tables. I thought about leaving, but then he looked up, and I remembered your bit about the two-way street, Lil, and I figured...well, if _you_ were making it work, what sort of coward was I not to try?"

            "Godric must have been singing in his grave," Grace said.

            I gave the obligatory clap, trying to tame my self-satisfaction (even though I had every right to be feeling wholly self-satisfied, it being _my_ two-way street and all). "Fantastic! So what did you do?"

            "I went over," Emma said, looking a little less jittery. "He was with his mates, so I asked if we could go somewhere else to talk. He didn't even hesitate. He practically jumped out of his seat. Rob Harms laughed."

            Ha. Good ol' Rob. 

            "So then? Where did you go?" Grace asked expectantly. 

            Emma's face took on a pinker tint. "Er. We...well, we sort of went…" She cleared her throat, then spit out the rest very fast, "Well, to the Astronomy Tower, actually, but—"

            This information was even better the second time around.

            Grace whooped in delight. "All right, Emmeline!"

            "Who's the Jezebel now?" I smirked.

            Emma rolled her eyes, but the bright red flush bloomed down to her neck. "Would you two quit it? It wasn't like that! It was just...well, who goes to the Astronomy Tower before curfew? It was a place we could talk. Honestly. That was it!"

            "Oh, I'm sure," Grace said, her knowing grin practically uncontrollable at that point. "We all chat in the Astronomy Tower until midnight. Fair assessment. Think nothing of it."

            "Gr- _ace_." Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands. 

            "Look, you came in with your clothes done up right. You're already a step ahead of Lily. No need to be embarrassed."

            Oh, for the _love_ of…I was never going to live that down, was I?

            "Many thanks, Gracie," I muttered.

            Grace's grin flashed my way. "Any time, my love. So what's next, Em? You didn't maul him straight off, did you? Oh, what a pair of dirty slags I've raised!"

             Emma's blush was positively rampant. "Of course, I didn't—will you quit laughing, Grace? I'm not going to tell you the rest if you can't behave!"

            The threat was a good one, and actually quite more forceful than I expected from our dear Emmeline. Grace controlled her giddy giggles suitably enough for Emma's face to turn from its nice lava red hue to a hearty rose colour. I gave Grace a good elbowing to get her to shut it altogether, but that was mostly unsuccessful. I don't know why she was being such a hen. She should have known she wasn't going to get far with Emma by teasing her.

            "Go on, Em," I said, giving the girl an encouraging smile, letting her know that at least one of us could maintain a semblance of dignity and respect. "If Grace acts out again, we'll toss her in the lake. Promise."

            It would have been a prospect enough to mollify me, but I suppose that just says something about Emma's lack of bloodthirstiness and my inner savage because Emma didn't appear much soothed by my promise. She stuck Grace _and_ me with a stern frown, but I think that perhaps I was right about the story wanting to come out more than she was originally letting on because despite all signs indicating otherwise, she continued.

            "We _were_ just talking—I mean, mostly," she said, the confession coming out quickly. "You know I'm not good with confrontations. I don't work like you two—when I'm cross, I get quiet instead of loud. It took awhile to get the words out." She fiddled with the picnic blanket, keeping her eyes locked on the ground. "Mac says that's frustrating. I promised to work on it."

            "That sounds reasonable," I said, all supportiveness. "Compromise is key in any successful relationship. I hope he promised to work on something in return?"

            Emma's head bobbled in assent. "I told him I wouldn't have the lying, even if he thought it was harmless. Things that start that way never end it. If he'd just explained things to me from the start, I wouldn't have gotten so upset. I don't like those boys he was working with, but I would have understood if he'd just told me. He apologised profusely for it, of course, and I—"

            Emma went on, but her words didn't register. I froze.

            _I don't like those boys he was working with_ …

            Oh, bloody _hell_.

            Lily, you _idiot_.

            "Emma!" Her name flew out of my mouth in a sharp breath, abruptly cutting off whatever piece of her evening she'd just been relaying. Both she and Grace turned to me in surprise, eyes questioning my tone. I blurted out the rest hastily. "The potion brewing. With Evan and Jack Avery. Did Mac tell you what they were brewing?"

            "What?" Emma looked positively baffled, a bit accosted, too, but she must have sensed my urgency because she quickly shook her head. "No. No, he didn’t tell me. I don't think I asked, honestly. Something for his father's work, I know, but—"

            "Was it purple? Did it smoke?"

            "What—purple? I don't—"

            "Bloody hell." The swear came from Grace, who bolted up from her lying position on the picnic blanket and stared at me with wide eyes. "Yesterday…you think it's the same?"

            "Sounds the same, doesn't it?" My heart was thumping harder inside my chest. "Mac wasn't there, but maybe they've continued on without him. Of course, they would. _Merlin_. I can't believe I forgot—"

            "Me, as well!"

            "Wait a second, what's going on? What's the same? Forgot what?" A note of slight panic had entered Emma's voice, her head swiveling back and forth between Grace and I. Up until that point, I'd entirely forgotten that I hadn't told her about yesterday, about my run in with the Slytherins and the drama that had followed. I cursed my own stupidity. If I hadn't been so consumed with my own affairs, I might have had something more useful to tell Dumbledore last night.

            "This thing happened yesterday," I explained hurriedly, eager to remedy the mistake. "After lessons. I was walking in the dungeons and wasn't paying attention…"

            I etched out an even more abridged version of the story than the one I'd given Grace. Emma listened with rapt attention, taking in each word with serious consideration. I couldn't decide whether to tell them the lot of it—about Dumbledore's interest in the incident and his request that James and I keep our eyes open in the future—but in the end, I decided that that was a detail I could tell them later, if it was necessary. After all, part of super secret spying is the 'super secret' bit, isn't it? That included best mates. I'd almost botched up the job on the first day!

            Emma was anxiously twirling at her hair by the time I finished, staring at me, but not really looking as she processed the whole affair. She took her time before replying.

            "That sounds the same as what I walked in on—though there were more of them then, of course." She tugged her lower lip into her mouth. Her eyes lifted. "You don't think…I mean, Mac told me he'd quit helping them—"

            "I think Mac's telling the truth," I instantly assured her, though truth be told, there was no way to guarantee that. "He wasn't there yesterday in any case."

            "Reg is good with Potions," Grace put in, appearing to be considering this carefully now, too. "He wasn't there the first time, right? And they needed Mac's help because they're all shite with brewing. Perhaps they've replaced Mac with Regulus. It'd make sense."

            The tension in Emma eased visibly. "You think?"

            Grace nodded. "Whatever it is, they seem to need it done. If Mac's not helping anymore, they'd need someone else. Reg is stupid enough to go along with anything."

            "We don't know for certain that it's something dangerous," I said, not entirely sure who I was trying to convince with this. "Evan Rosier's a loose cannon. Always has been. He bleeds suspiciousness. For all we know, Mac could be right. It could just be some potion he's brewing up for his dad and Evan just wanted to throw some scare tactics my way. It's possible."

            "You don't seriously believe that, do you?" Grace's lips pressed into a grim line. "They're not the sort who deserve the benefit of the doubt, Lily."

            "I'm not giving them any benefit, I'm just being practical. I don't want to make a ruckus out of something that could be nothing more than the lot of them being arses." It was partially the truth, partially a deflection until I could figure out what was really going on. I didn't want to drag Emma and Grace into this if I didn't have to…but there _was_ something I could use from one of them. I turned to Emma. "Do you think Mac would balk if I asked him about it?"

            Emma hesitated. "I don't know if he'd _balk_ precisely, but…" She gave me an apologetic look. "Maybe I should ask him about it? He might be a bit more comfortable if it came from me."

            I had to stifle my disappointment. "Right. Sure. Of course."

            Emma nodded gratefully and I felt a bit guilty about resenting the change of plans, even though I had my reasons. I mean, I knew she was probably right. Mac was skittish as a rabbit around me as it is, I don't think I would get very far confronting him about his potion making business.

            But I also knew that Emma wasn't going to get me the information I wanted—no, _needed_. She didn't possess the same super secret spy initiative that's required for these things. I'm rather certain she'd be quite content to simply have Mac's reassurance that no, as far as he was aware, there was nothing suspicious going on. That was about as helpful as a brick to the head. One had to ask the proper _questions_ with these delicate matters. Emma was blinded by her affection. It would never work.

            But just because I know I could do a better job of it doesn't mean that I should.

            Even if the very fate of national security rests on it.

            Or, you know, Hogwarts security. But same thing, really.

            Sort of.

            "Let's quit talking about this. It's ruining the picnic," I said, though honestly, I was less worried about the picnic and more worried about the fact that my meddlesome instincts were starting to kick in and I was already contemplating doing things that I really ought not do (how very shocking). I grabbed an apple out of the basket, made a production of taking a large bit out of it, and then lay down on the picnic blanket. I watched the leaves on the beech tree rustle with the breeze. "Did you tell Mac that you love him, Emmeline?"

            Emma choked loudly.

            Ha. All hail the Queen of Distraction.

            "W-what?" she sputtered.

            "While you were 'just talking' up in the Astronomy Tower," I said, "did you happen to get around to exchanging vows of eternal love and devotion?"

            Emma was back to blushing furiously. " _Lily_."

            I bit back my grin. "What? It's a legitimate inquiry."

            Grace tossed a banana at my head. "What do you know about eternal love and devotion, Slaggy McSlaggerson?"

            "Hey, I listen to The Beatles. 'All You Need Is Love,' etcetera, etcetera." I lobbed the banana back towards Grace, but I suppose this goes to show why I'm not much for Quidditch because the fruit missed her by about twelve meters. Still, I closed my eyes contently and decided I'd made my point.

            Grace was quiet for a moment, but I felt the picnic blanket shift beneath me and knew she was scuttling over. "The Beatles, you say?" Her voice was light, close by. "Interesting you should bring them up. Because speaking of, I've got a Beatles song for you, Evans. Ever heard, 'Do You Want to Know a Secret?'"

            "Er, sure, but—"

            That's when she dumped her pumpkin juice on me.

            Yeah.

            _Dumped her pumpkin juice on me_.

            " _Ah_!" I was on my feet in an instant, the cold juice soaking through my blue jumper and a good bit of skin beneath as I let out a disturbed shout. I wiped in vain at the spreading wetness blooming across my chest before snapping my gaze up to glare at Grace in shocked outrage. "What the ruddy hell was that for, Grace!"

            The bint in question didn't even bother looking apologetic. She sat unconcerned upon the picnic blanket, nonchalantly pouring herself some more pumpkin juice, as if thirst were her biggest concern right then. "I don't know, Lil," she said. "What do you _think_ it was for?"

            Was she honestly asking me to find logic in this?

            "Because you're sodding _insane_ ," I snapped.

            "Maybe."

            "I'm bloody soaked _through_ —"

            "You're also a bloody holdout!" Grace cried, eyes blazing as I swiped up a napkin and blotted uselessly at my wet front. I shot her another glare, having no idea what she was talking about, but honestly not much caring. She stood as well, crossing her arms over her chest impatiently. "Keeping any _secrets_ , Lily Christine? Isn't there something you'd care to _share_ with us?"

            Other than the fact that she was a mad _cow_? No, actually, I didn't.

            "I don't know what you're talking about!" I shouted, throwing my hands up in frustration. "Terribly sorry that I'm not a bloody _mind reader_ , but..."

            The words trailed away.

            _Terribly_ s _orry._

            Sorry.

            _Sorry_.

            _Keeping any_ secrets? _Is there anything you care to_ share _with us_?

            The napkin fluttered out of my hand and down to the ground.

            Shit.

            Double bloody fucking _shit_.

            I was going to kill him.

            My mouth dropped open in outrage.

            "He's bloody _told_ you already?" I shrieked.

            "Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Emma said.

            But I wasn't paying her any mind. I stared at Grace, watching as the satisfied scowl settled across her face. I knew then that I was right, that my secret— _my_ secret, thank you very much!—had been outed.

            Holy hell. That bigmouthed, brainless, _bastard_ of a betrayer! 

            "He thought I knew!" Grace defended lamely, as if that justified any of it. "I _should've_ known. The very _second_ , I should have known!"

            I let out a strangled noise. "He had no right! No bloody right at all! I was _going_ to tell you. I can't believe he would—"

            "I can't believe _you_ wouldn't!"

            "I would! I just—"

            "Can someone _please_ tell me what's going—"

            "Is this a bad time?"

            The three of us ceased in our squabbling, whirling towards the intruder with I'm sure a series of equally scathing retorts looking to come out, but all halted when we saw that it was Marley standing there next to our picnic blanket, an innocently amused expression donning her face. She was holding a folded bit of parchment in her hand and flickered her eyes questioningly between the lot of us. The girl had either very good or very bad timing.

            Grace snorted, waving Marley down. "Not at all, Marls. Go on, take a knee. You've come just in time to see me _maim_ Lily!"

            I scowled. "You know, if James hadn't—"

            "I've a note from James," Marley cut in, lifting the slip of parchment she'd been holding and waving it about as if it were a winning ticket and she was trying to claim her prize. She took a step closer, extending it towards me. "It's for you," she said.

            Oh, I just _bet_ it was for me. It looked decidedly too small to be the long, groveling letter of eternal apologies that I deserved, but I still reached for it eagerly, impatient to see what idiotic excuse the arse had come up with for spilling the beans to Grace.

            Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough. Before my fingers could even brush by the slip of parchment, Grace had already snatched the thing straight out of Marley's hand, clutching it possessively against her chest.

            "Hey!" I cried, lunging for it.

            "Quiet," Grace ordered, giving us her back as she flipped open the folded parchment and read James's note in private. It must have been short (I knew it), because it wasn't long before she was shooting me a critical look over her shoulder and folding it back up again. I stuck her with a nasty glare, holding my hand out expectantly. After a moment, she handed the parchment back over. I opened it quickly, scanning the brief few lines.

             _L-  
_ _Sorry about Grace. She guessed.  
            _ _J._ __

_P.S. - Have you changed your mind yet?  
_ _P.P.S. - Is that my scarf?_

__

 

Oh, that stupid ponce.

            "All right, that's enough." Emma was suddenly on her feet, too, snatching the note out of my hands. She flipped it open as she strode a few steps away, eyes quickly scanning the short lines. Her face scrunched up in confusion as she examined the clipped, vague sentences. Marley came up behind her, reading over her shoulder. Neither seemed to have any idea what to make of the note. "What'd Grace guess?" Emma finally asked.

            Heat rushed to my cheeks. In all my imaginings, this was not how I'd ever expected to drop my Date Bomb. "Er. Well, see, the thing is…yesterday—I mean, last night—well, not really, I suppose it really started—"

            "Lily and James are dating!" Grace shouted.

            Oh, for Merlin's—I was _getting_ there!

            " _Grace_!"

            "James and Lily are _what_?" Emma asked.

            "Brilliant!" Marley cheered.

            "We are not dat _ing_ ," I corrected quickly, feeling my face burn hotter and hotter. "We're going on a _date_. Singular. One. More of a lunch, really. On Tuesday. It...it just sort of happened."

            Grace snorted loudly.

            "Just sort of happened like the _grass_ just sort of grows happened," she said, plopping herself back down on the picnic blanket. She sniped off a clip of aforementioned grass with her fingernail and flicked it my way. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this to happen, Evans? How many _months_ of anticipation I've endured? And now, when it's finally has, I have to hear it from James the Besotted Fool at the crack of dawn when he forces me awake this morning to talk _date_ _strategy_? _Really_ , Evans? That's how you played this?"

            I glanced derisively over at James's note.

            Psh. Guessed, my arse.

            Marley seemed to find the whole thing spectacularly hilarious. She shook her head, muffling her laughter as she covered her face with her hands. " _Date_ strategy? Cripes, Potter. What is this, Quidditch or romance?"

            "One needs strategy with Lily," Grace replied flatly. "She's mental."

            "I'm standing right here," I reminded her.

            "Yes, you are. Many congrats."

            "You know—"

            "All right, that's enough." Emma rolled her eyes in exasperation. She seemed entirely put out with the lot of us, but her gaze was aimed most forcefully at me. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hear how exactly this all came about. Last I'd heard, dates still gave you hives. When did that change?"

             "Not sure," I answered honestly, pushing up the sleeve of my jumper and showing her my hive-free arm. I even twisted it about to prove that there weren't any in hiding. "They just…wouldn't come. I tried to make them. Really, I did. They just didn't want to."

            "That's what happens when you start looking after your nutrition," Marley said, grinning from ear to ear. "Balanced breakfasts are fine hive repellents. Didn't you know?"

            I was starting to get that, yeah.

            As a matter of pride, I shot Marley a look, but it was mostly for show. I'm relatively certain that my slagitude was all but advertised in sky writing these days. That would have been terribly unfortunate if I weren't such a Jezebel and didn't mostly thrive on such attention. One can't fight one's nature.

            "It's not that big of a deal." For lack of anything better to do, I joined Grace back on the blanket, settling myself down by the open picnic basket. I poked absently through the fruit. "It's just lunch."

            "But it's lunch with your boyfriend, isn't it? That's something to most," Emma said.

            …

            Lunch with my _who_?

            I couldn't help it. I know it wasn't the best of reactions—not even one of the _sanest_ or even the healthiest of reactions—and I know I was digging my own hole with it, but the idea seemed so absurd…I laughed. Gave a great, big guffaw and _laughed_.

            "Are you _daft_?" I asked, sputtering on my chuckles. "James is not my _boyfriend_."

            Emma's eyebrows lifted. 

            Grace dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

            "I think I see what you mean about the strategy," Marley muttered.

            I ignored them all. Really, the whole thing just seemed far too comical a suggestion _not_ to. "You can't be serious," I said, shaking my head in absolute wonder. "He's not my…he's my _James_. It's lunch with my _James_. You can't…you don't just hop straight from mate-with-potential to boyfriend like that! There are steps! _Stages_ , even—no, quit looking at me like that! It's true! Boyfriend… _pft_! No. Just…no."

            I was right—I was _so_ right—but the three of them continued to gawk at me as if I'd just declared my pet flubberworm a probable candidate for Minister of Magic. And for the life of me, I couldn't understand why. I mean, yes, we all know I'm a little bit (a lot) rubbish at this relationship production. I don't do things in order and have a hard time with all this pacing nonsense and an inferiority complex to boot. But regardless, I'm relatively certain that I'm not the only witch who wouldn't fall into hysterics at the idea that going on _one_ _date_ with someone meant you'd entered into Significant Other territory. If that was the case…well, if that was the case, Amos would have been my boyfriend. And Pat Durner, that tosser who I'd gone to Hogsmeade with for half-a-second last year. And any other number of entirely un-boyfriend-like characters. I mean, _honestly_? Why were they staring at me as if I needed shock therapy? _They_ were the lunatics here.

            But stare at me they did, and with varying degrees of pity and disbelief.

            And the thing is…I mean, I wasn't saying it wouldn't _ever_ happen. That's not what I was saying at all. With time, it probably would. And I wouldn't even want to die of embarrassment when it did. But the boy had just barely been lifted from mate-with-potential status, for Merlin's sake! Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. One day, James and I would reach that very official, very confining, much-more-for-the-label-than-for-anything-else standing. But for now, he was just my James. My James, who I was lunching with on Tuesday. I didn't like other people coming along and trying to put a damper on that.

            And if the lot of them didn't like that…well, too damn bad. That's just the way this was going to be.

            "I knew this was too good to be true," Grace said, exhaling loudly. She was taking this particularly hard. "It couldn't possibly be that easy."

            "Does _James_ know he's not your boyfriend?" Emma asked, in a very slow, very precise, I'm-talking-to-a-child-let's-hope-she-understands way. Psh. "You should probably let him know."

            "He knows!" I cried, which was mostly true. I mean, I _thought_ he knew. He _should_ know.

            "He knows," Grace confirmed flatly, sounding none-too-enthralled by her own verification. When we all looked at her questioningly, she heaved another giant sigh. "He said as much this morning," she explained, then mimed out their conversation, taking on a deep voice that am assuming was meant to be James: "'I've got to pull this off, Gracie. I haven't a shot at dating her if this runs amuck.' And silly me, I was all, 'Haven't a shot? James Potter, you fool, you're dating her now! You just said she agreed as much, did you not?' 'Foolish Gracie,' he told me, 'We have barely tipped the cauldron on dating. We'll be lucky if she doesn't flee the country before Tuesday. One step at a time.'" Grace shot me a distinctly disdainful look, crossing her arms over her chest. "Apparently, one of us has more faith in your sanity than the other," she muttered. "You should probably marry him, Lily. He's the only one who could put up with your lunacy."

            "Leaving the country is a bit extreme," I muttered. "I mean, simply logistically, I probably wouldn't make it farther than the next county."

            "You _are_ planning on going, aren't you?" Emma asked worriedly.

            Oh, for the love of…honestly, where's the faith? Now I was getting cross.

            I glared. "Of course I'm planningon going! I was the one who asked the wanker, wasn't I?"

            Grace paused in her pouting long enough to listen to me. "Hold a tic— _you_ asked _him_? He didn't tell me that!"

            "What _did_ he tell you?" I asked.

            Grace waved off my question with a careless flick. "Never mind that! How the bloody hell do you ask someone on a date and then _not_ want to actually date them?"

            "I _do_ want to actually date him! I just … don't like labels." I shifted about uncomfortably, hating how they were all still practically rolling their eyes at me. "They're too constricting. They don't match our relationship. It's like tacking on something that doesn't fit. And if it's really of such consequence to you, I suppose I didn't _technically_ ask him. It was more like…like a joint asking. Sort of. In a way."

            "All right, now you've really lost me," Marley said, scratching her head in confusion. "Are we actually going to get the full story here, or are we continuing to talk in garbled code?"

            "Yes, I want to hear this, too," Emma said, picking her oatmeal up once more. She spooned a healthy portion into her mouth and waited expectantly. She wasn't the only one. Marley plopped herself down on the picnic blanket across from me and Grace had on one of her, 'Yes, this is happening. No arguments,' faces. 

            Blast.

            Despite my eagerness from earlier, I found myself hesitating. I can't be certain why. Perhaps it was my decision that this would serve as some final test, or that fact that Emma's 'boyfriend' comment had managed to rattle me slightly. I checked the skin revealed beneath my still rolled-up sleeve and found it had remained hive-free. I said the word in my head— _boyfriend._ Boyfriend, boyfriend, _boyfriend_ —and even though it made me want to squirm a little, I didn't feel like keeling over in a fit of uncontrollable panic. I thought of James inside the hall and even though I was still rather cross that he'd gone and blabbed to Grace before I could, I didn't yet feel like a prolonged trip to Guam was required. I thought of our lunch—our _date_. I had to stop avoiding the word—on Tuesday, and the familiar pool of eager anticipation filled my stomach.

            It was all right. _I_ was all right. Some part of me had known that already—that despite the impulsiveness of the moment, I wouldn't have agreed to James's suggestion if I wasn't ready—but it was good to know that the decision didn't look significantly drearier in the light of day.

            I was going on a date with James. I was. And now I was going to tell my mates about it.

            That turned into quite a production, though why I'd ever thought it _wouldn't_ be is beyond me. I had to start by telling them about James and Elisabeth's lunch, something that I was raked through the coals over for not mentioning earlier. Marley declared Saunders a hag, while Emma was quick to support James's claims that he and Liz were nothing but friends, and it wouldn't— _doesn't_ —matter whether Elisabeth wished otherwise. Grace remained uncharacteristically quiet, making me wonder if she might not be more aware of the intricacies of James and Saunders's relationship than she originally let on. I didn't question it then, but made a mental note to bring it up with her at some later point. Truth be told, I didn't want to get into then. Saunders had already ruined enough of my day yesterday. I didn't want her tainting this, as well.

            When I got to the bit after Dumbledore's office, I sped up my retelling, finding myself slightly disconcerted about sharing the moment. I told them briefly about arguing with James (I didn't mention over what. I still wasn't certain whether they should know about Dumbledore's interest in my afternoon, and they luckily didn't pry), then about how it had just sort of burst out of me, that bit about Tuesday. I didn't know how to explain it more than that, and what followed after it…well, this was an informative discussion, not one of Gracie's novels. They didn't need to know any of that.

            But apparently I'm rather transparent.

            "So you ask him out, then molest him in the corridor," Grace summed up at the end of my retelling, giving a satisfied nod. "Fine work, McSlaggerson."

            "I think it's sweet," Marley said, intervening before I could throw a hex Gracie's way. "What better way to settle the thing than with a few snogs? I don't think James was complaining."

            "Of course he wasn't complaining," Grace said, lounging back on the picnic blanket. "I'm surprised he didn't lug you off to the nearest broom cupboard. You've taught him restraint, Lily. Pat yourself on the back."

            I pulled a face, resisting the urge to confess that he'd tried. That was a private victory. "Not everyone's as shag-happy as you, Gracie. Some of us have some morals."

            "I think we should ask James his position on morals," Grace returned with smirk. "Something tells me he _might_ sway towards my side."

            Something tells me she might be right, but a conversation about morals—and everything that that entails—was not something I cared to mar the morning with, either. I am well aware that most girls my age aren't as… _selective_ as I've been. I know I'm the anomaly in a sea of happy debauchery. Hogwarts may have been wrong when they deemed me the ultimate prude, but the misconception had to start somewhere. At some point, I knew this absent conversation would spring out like an angry, sleeping dragon, but I was going to leave it lying dormant for as long as possible.

            And in the meantime, I wouldn't give James cause to rile up the issue, either.

            Which might make me worse than a prude—it'd make me a tease. But I'd deal with that when the time came along, as well.

            "You do that," was all I said to Grace, conveying through my dry tone that the subject was not of my favoring, another story for another day. I was quick to turn the topic. "So there you have it. Now you know. And if James hadn't gone and ruined it all this morning, you'd still know, because I _was_ intending on telling you. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet."

            "You have every right to your privacy, Lily," Emma said, probably able to be this sympathetic now that I no longer _had_ any of this so-called privacy. Still, I suppose she gets points for the sentiment. "Grace is sorry she dumped pumpkin juice on you, aren't you, Gracie?"

            "No," Grace said automatically. Emma kicked her. " _Ow_. All right, all right! _Fine_. I am possibly _slightly_ apologetic for dousing you with pumpkin juice. But only in retrospect and only vaguely."

            "Apology accepted," I said, because we who know Grace best were well aware that that was all I'd be getting. Grace grunted in response.

         "I think it's really exciting, you and James finally going on a date," Marley said, sending me a small smile. "I probably won't be the only one to think so, either. Hogwarts will be up in arms when they hear. Hearts will be broken. Riots will break out. Only those of purest heart will be spared."

            "That's why they're not going to find out," I replied pointedly, not bothering to hide the underlying order. Emma's brow furrowed.

            "Lily, you can't seriously expect that." Her tone was understanding, but highly dubious. "You know how small this school is. And you and James have already been high on the gossiping list. It won't stay secret for long."

            "I don't need it secret _permanently_ , just until this first date is over." I sent them all extremely stern looks. "So you all know what that means"—I ran a finger across my lips in a zipping motion—"shut it. I don't care who asks. You don't know a thing."

            Grace clicked her tongue at me. "That's never going to work, Lily, but I'm mum. Emma's too smitten to spill anything but love sonnets and Marley is an old hand at keeping romantic secrets, aren't you, Marls?"

            Marley's smile dropped. Dropped _significantly_.

            _Int_ -eresting.

            "Uh-oh," I said, the meddling instinct already kicking in. "I sense a story."

            "It was _supposed_ to be a secret," Marley muttered, grabbing my half-eaten apple off the picnic blanket and chucking it at Grace's head. Quidditch skills proven pure and true, unlike my attempt, the fruit clipped Grace's hair, even when she squirmed to avoid it.

            "Don't throw a fit, Marls. It's only Lily and Emma. They've no one to tell. Their only mates are me and each other. And besides," she said, lying contently back on the ground after her fruit-dodge-attempt and closing her eyes, "this is a picnic of romantic revelations. You can't stay unless you've confessed your romantic troubles. It's a rule."

            "Since when is that a rule?" Emma asked, and the three semi-sane of us not spouting off nonsense shared mirroring eye rolls.

            "And correct me if I'm wrong," I added, "but _you've_ yet to reveal your romantic troubles to the group. I sense a revolt coming."

            Grace snorted, waving that accusation off with a careless flick of her wrist. "Hold your torch fire, heathens. I've plenty of romantic troubles. Like the fact that I did _not_ get my proper dose of slag last night because Lynch has become a bit of a clinger and I am fraught in endless debate over keeping him and his magical hands around or tossing him aside for someone less pansy-arsed. There, I've gone. Marls? I'd like to hear more about your sexual assault in the Transfiguration classroom now, please."

            Sexual assault in the Transfiguration classroom? 

            Oh, this was going to be _good_.

            "Bad things happen in the Transfiguration classroom," I said, giving Marley a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "No worries. I understand completely."

            She laughed a little, rolling her eyes mostly and shooting Grace one more 'I'm going to hack you up for this' look before accepting the inevitability of her spotlighted confession time. She heaved a large sigh before starting, the unease written all over her face. I think it was the first time I'd ever seen Marley genuinely ruffled. Whatever had happened, it was clearly grating on her.

            "It wasn't _really_ a sexual assault. More like a very strange snog attack." She lifted her shoulders into a slight shrug, showing her obvious discomfort again. She continued despite it. "It was earlier this week, right? We had Transfiguration last thing and McGonagall'd assigned us some miserably difficult wandwork that we were supposed to get down. Usually I'm pretty good with that sort of thing, but this stupid spell—you must remember it. The Burgess Anti-Transfiguration Block?"

            I shuddered visibly.

            I still had nightmares about the Burgess Anti-Transfiguration Block. Vivid, horrifying nightmares.

            I very nearly cooed all over her. "You poor thing."

            Grace cackled. "Hey, isn't that the one you accidently maimed Jervis Rennet with, Lil? Oh, Merlin, it was _priceless._ Poor lad couldn’t walk properly for days!"

            I didn't _maim_ him. Really, it was more of a…slight mutilation.

            He was fine within a week or so.

            "Well, I didn't maim anyone, but it wasn't looking too pretty," Marley said, shooting me a commiserating look while I swiped at Grace. When we'd settled, she went on. "I don't know what I was doing wrong. I _tried_ to follow McGonagall's instructions, but every time I did, something was off. And that was made triple times worse by the fact that the bloke sitting in front of me was performing it without even _trying_. He was lounging back in his chair and flicking his wrist like he was carelessly clicking through wireless stations. I was equal parts livid and jealous."

            "Who was it?" Emma asked.

            Marley pursed her lips.

            "She won't say," Grace grumbled, obviously already aware of this particular admission in the story. "She's set on protecting the menace's identity. Or perhaps hers, depending on who he turns out to be."

            "Ah. So the Transfiguration pro is the mysterious attacker, is he?" I was already enjoying this story. Just the proper blend of mystery and romance! "Keep your secrets, then. Just go on. I want to hear the rest."

            "There's not much left to tell," Marley confessed, but she started to look uncomfortable again, even more so than earlier. I felt rather bad for her, actually. "I'm a bit of a perfectionist and this bloody Burgess codswallop was getting to me. So towards the end of class, June Mackey cocks up her spell and Becky Pilter is screaming, and so McGonagall sort of ends the lesson in an uproar while she brings Bex to the Hospital Wing and everyone clears out really quickly— _except_ this bloke and me, see?"

            We all nod accordingly, because of course, we all _do_ see. Girl and boy stand inside otherwise empty classroom. If this were one of Gracie's novels, a lot of button ripping would soon follow.

            "He's one of those not-so-friendly curt types, you know?" Marley's voice grew lower, slower. "I've talked to him a few times, but never with positive result. I probably wouldn't have bothered with it if this stupid spell wasn't grating on me so much. So while everyone else was dashing towards freedom, I lingered around. He's one of those slow types, so he takes longer to pack up than everyone else. His mates had already gone. When almost everyone had left, I strode over to him."

            "And that's when he snog attacked you?" I asked.

            Marley shook her head. "Not just then. I said to…let's just call him 'Fred', shall we? So, I said to Fred, "Listen, Fred. You've got to help me out here. I don't know what I'm doing wrong and it's driving me up the wall. Give a witch a few pointers, won't you?' And I swear, he looked at me as if I'd gone completely round the bend. He was all, ' _What_?' all sharp and crossly, like I'd offended him in some way. I would have given up then, but I figured I'd already approached, I might as well see if I could get something out of it. So I tried again. 'I've been watching you all lesson and you're about driving me to drink. How do you _do_ it?'"

            "And _that's_ when he snog attacked you?" I asked again.

            Marley laughed. "Impatient, aren't you? No, not then. What he did _then_ was continue to stare at me as if I were mental, then he started looking around as if to see if anyone else was standing around, possibly called P—er, Fred. Possibly called _Fred_ that I might be speaking to, and when that proved false, he actually _asked_. He went, 'Are you talking to me?' and somehow managed to sound highly confused and highly offended at the same time. I really wanted to hit him."

            "You should have," Grace said, nodding in support. "It probably would have saved you a whole lot of trouble."

            Marley snorted. "Don't I know it. But unfortunately, I was a bit incensed then, so instead of whacking him like I ought've done, I just started rambling: 'Look, Fred, I know you don't like me much and that's all cool and keen, but I've been sitting there behind you for the past hour and you're _right there_ and everything, and I'd would really like to get this sorted out, so if you wouldn't mind lending some assistance with my wandwork…'" Marley trailed off, ending her sentence on a small sigh. She glanced over at me expectantly. "Well, go on then!" she said.

            I grinned. "So _that's_ when he snog attacked you?"

            Marley nodded. "So that's when he snog attacked me. Right then. Completely out of the blue. And he wasn't the least bit polite about it, either—fairly knocked me to the ground with his wayward mouth. I didn't even have time to stop it. And just when I finally managed to shake off my shock in order to scream, he was gone! Lips off, grabbed his bag, and hightailed it out the door before I could even utter a word! Can you _believe_ that?"

            She seemed so irate over the whole debacle, face flushed, curls bobbing about, but there was also something…I don’t know. It was something that I couldn't quite put my finger on initially, but then, looking a bit closer…

            Oh.

            _Oh_.

            Marley, Marley, _Marley_.

            "Holy _hell_." I broke out into a huge smile. "Marley, you fiend! You _liked_ it! You liked your attack snog!"

            "Pardon?" She tried to hide it, but her face turned an ugly shade of crimson, her eyes ricocheting every which way. "That's _not_ what I—"

            "You so did!" I cried, outright laughing now. Oh, it was _too_ good—and quite nice to be on the _other_ side of this debate for once. Denial was so lovely when you weren't the one clinging so desperately to it. "You loved being attack snogged by the mysterious Transfigurer! You wish he'd stayed around and snogged you more! No wonder you're so agitated!"

            Marley shook her head furiously, but every fiber of her radiated the truth. The others were quick to catch on, as well.

            "Leave Marley alone, Lily," Emma chastised calmly, proving once more why she's the one everyone likes best. "If she says she didn't like her attack snog, then she didn't like her attack song."

            "Oh, but she so _did_!" Grace joined in, bolting up into a sitting position to examine Marley's jittery state further. She started laughing, too. "I can't believe I didn't catch that earlier! Marley, you little holdout! I can't believe you hid that bit from me!"

            "I wasn't hiding anything!" She tried desperately to hold onto a bit of forcefulness, but her blushing was getting so uncontrollable that it was really all for naught. "You two have lost it. Really, you have!"

            But Grace and I only continued to cackle, giddy with our victory in discovering Marley's secret. The girl in question hemmed and hawed and continued to go on and on about us having the wrong idea, but we all knew the truth. Marley was enamoured with her attack snogger. Whoever "P—er, Fred" was, he had himself a suitor.

            But I suppose denial really is a natural progression in every witch's romantic adventures because despite all our prodding and teasing, we could not get Marley to confess to either her attack snogger's mysterious identity or to admit that she had enjoyed their kiss. All she'd attest to was the fact that the bloke was in her Transfiguration class, and that she supposed he _might_ technically, if she really had to consider it, have slightly supple lips.

            Ha. Supple. 

            Codeword _brilliant_.

            Emma finally put a final stop to our inquisition, telling us multiple times to leave Marley to her own affairs and that we wouldn't like it one bit if someone was having at one of _us_ like that, now would we? Of course, Emma's kind interjection only served to backfire on her when the lot of us instead started inquiring how slightly supple _Mac's_ lips were and if, on a scale of one to ten, that suppleness was better implemented on her corresponding body part or if they had particular skill in other areas…which promptly had Emma dying of embarrassment, but it was all in good fun.

            And when Marley questioned pointedly about James's place on the Supple Lips Scale, I was happy to report a firm ten, subject to change with future research.

            For science's sake, I figure I'll probably have to look into the matter a bit further.

__________________________

**Later Afternoon, Still on the Hogwarts Grounds**  
**Observant Lily: Day 40  
** **Total Observations: 278**

Marlene McKinnon is my new hero. Seriously. My very favourite, stunningly gorgeous, magnificently brilliant hero. Or heroine. Whichever. Whoever it was that snogged her in that classroom had the right idea. If I didn't already have a more-potential-than-mate, I'd snog her, too. Perhaps I still will. I think James will understand.

            Do they seriously mean to tell me that _that's_ all McGonagall meant when she was going on and on about articulation? Seriously? That's it? Bloody hell, then why didn't she just _say_ that? Do we all really need a Marley around to translate this rubbish? Was 'M. McKinnon' an item on the supply list that I accidentally forgot to purchase? For Merlin's sake, what is wrong with the institution of education these days?

            Honestly, and then they wonder why I'm failing. They might as well be teaching me in Mermish.

__________________________

**Evening, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 40  
** **Total Observations: 279**

**Why weren't you at dinner?  
** **J.**

**\-------------**

_What do you mean, why wasn't I at dinner? I was at dinner. Just now. Delicious rice selection. I was quite pleased. You weren't at dinner.  
_ _L._

**\-------------**

**Of course I was, but at a decent hour. Who has dinner past six?**

**P.S. – Sorry again about Grace.**  
**P.P.S – You never told me if you changed your mind yet.  
** **P.P.P.S. – Or if that was my scarf. I'm pretty certain that was my scarf.**

**\-------------**

_I hate to break this to you, but the only people who aren't eating after six are the ones who have detention soon after. I wonder what kind of nodcock is forced into that position?_

_P.S. – You're lucky I like you. And I'd tell you if I'd changed my mind. And whatever choice clothes accessory I choose to hang about my neck is my business, thank you.  
_ _P.P.S – Whose owl is this?_

**\-------------**

**I'd be willing to overlook this 'nodcock' business if you come and apologise for the slander in person. I'll be in the Owlery until nine.**

**P.S. – You haven't changed your mind _because_ you like me. And I think I get a say in your outerwear when the said scarf happens to be mine.  
** **P.S.S. – Dunno. Nicked him from one of the perches. Quick though, isn't he?**

**\--------------**

_There's nothing like the peaceful sounds of owl screeching and the delicious scent of droppings to_ really _woo a girl. Nice play, Potter._

\---------------

**Come on. I thought you liked crashing my detentions?**

\---------------

_I thought you liked having a date on Tuesday?_

\---------------

**You called it a date.**

\----------------

_So?_

\----------------

**Get up here and we can discuss it.**

\----------------

Good night, James.

__________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 40  
** **Total Observations: 279**

The Owlery is far. And dirty. And smells. Like _owl droppings_.

            Besides, it's nearly curfew. He's probably gone already.

            But what if I—

            No _. No_. Dear Merlin, I can't believe I'm eve _n contemplatin_ g this. He was probably just kidding. A _joke_. What is _wrong_ with me?

            I need some sleep. That's what this must be. Sleep deprivation. 

__________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 40  
** **Total Observations: 282**

Observation #280) When a girl is seriously considering spending her evening rolling around in owl droppings over staying put in her clean bed, a trip to the nearest health facility is probably a good idea.

Observation #281) A scarf, while wonderfully snug and cozy, is not the same as a scarf owner.

Observation #282) When clear, rational logic no longer seems to be working, sleep is the only answer.

__________________________

**Sunday, October 26th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 41  
** **Total Observations: 282**

Things to Do:  
1) Go to breakfast (But _do not_ dawdle, regardless of who is there, or what they do, or might possibly suggest, or look like in the attractive morning light. Dining and dashing is utterly acceptable here. Go, grab, leave— _alone_ )  
2) Head straight for the library  
3) Wave hullo to Pince  
4) Complete weekend assignments (Potions questions, Charms reading, Runes translations)  
5) Break for lunch?  
6) Head straight back to the library  
7) Wave hullo to Pince again (prove you have brought no edibles back into her sacred land)  
8) Enter complete Transfiguration mode  
9) Study until vision blurs  
10) Pass out

__________________________

**Later, Back of the Library Somewhere**  
**Observant Lily: Day 41  
** **Total Observations: 283**

            You know, I've never much thought about it, but an awful lot of non-book-related dealings tend to take place in this library.

            Seriously. Who even comes here to do a spot of reading anymore? A handful of poncy pansies with questionable social skills and an affinity for professor fawning perhaps, but other than that, it's pretty much a dying breed. And I don't mean 'non-book-related things' in an exclusively slaggy way (though I'm quite certain many-a-dirty thing has transpired between several of the dustier shelves). It's pretty much open territory for anything. Like when Willie Rhodes and Phil Rook set up that Exploding Snap tournament back behind the Potions section. Or when Penny and Hyena Boy chose the card catalogue as the perfect spot for a particularly nasty row last week (even Pince couldn't out-screech Penny). Or that time those idiot second-years decided to put on an impromptu production of _Narvis the Narcoleptic Nundu_ and took down half the Magical Creatures section in the process.

            Or my encounter just now. It was certainly many things, but book-related isn't the predominant adjective I'd choose. Interesting how that happens, isn't it? 

            Especially considering I actually _was_ trying to be one of the poncy pansies this morning. My only goal for the day had been to get through my To Do list without extreme issue. Some higher power with a generous soul must have figured I deserved at least a tiny chance at accomplishing something academic because things moved rather swiftly in the beginning. When I got down to the Great Hall for my speedy breakfast run (all the while giving myself a nice, motivational pep talk about how Aurors don't get to be Aurors by snogging their more-potential-than-mates during moments when crucial learning can be getting done, regardless of the fact that they did not visit the Owlery last night and therefore haven't indulged in such a pastime in over twenty-four hours), it was only to find that none of the usual Early Morning suspects were about yet.

            And I wasn't disappointed by that. Really, I wasn't.

            I mean, yes, I _may_ have moseyed about for a handful of minutes more than a dine-and-dash really requires, but that was only to finish my muffin. You know, because of Pince and her lunacy. The woman would have positively _murdered_ me had I even considered bringing nutrients anywhere near her precious domain. And surprisingly enough, I have yet to acquire a death wish this morning. So I _had_ to stay. Obviously.

            (Though even if it _was_ something a bit more than simply completing my muffin munching….well, nothing came of it anyway, so what's the point of quibbling about it, hm?)

            By the time I got to the library, it was still too early for anyone but the truly dedicated to be up. I wouldn't say that Pince seemed particularly overjoyed to see me, but she wasn’t overtly scowling either, so I decided to take that as the Pince equivalent of a friendly wave and grinned at her before grabbing a seat at one of the tables near the Transfiguration section. The swotty library loons didn't look any more enthralled to find me invading their haven, despite the “Yes-fellow-library-dwellers-we-are-all-so-diligently-brilliant-and-devoted-to-our-schoolwork-look-how-early-we've-risen-and-how-many-books-we've-spread-out-at-our-tables!” nods I gave each of them. They seemed entirely dubious of my intentions. I would have been insulted—really, I'm _Head Girl_. I should be their bloody _leader_ —but considering my slightly spotty track record in here, I suppose they may have a point. Still, I was determined to prove them wrong. I could be diligent—I _would_ be diligent! They'd see.            

            And surprisingly enough, for the most part, I didn’t let the swotty scholar security team down. I mean, they may have grown a bit more concerned had they bothered to look closer and seen the almost permanent expression of befuddlement I was sporting as I sorted through my Transfiguration notes, but they were luckily too engrossed in their own pursuits to pay me that much mind. Still, for their sakes and mine, after I quickly finished my other weekend assignments, I forced myself to remain intent on McGonagall’s favourite pastime. I pulled out some of James’s old paperclips and got to work transfiguring more household items than any one household would ever need. I wouldn’t say that it got much easier, but by the time the room started filling up with Late Risers, it was certainly a bit less painful.

            It was just as I was contemplating light fixtures (and how exactly anyone with any bit of sense expected me to be able to get the damn thing to light without setting the world aflame) that my diligence was finally interrupted. I lifted my wand, attempting to keep it as steady as possible as I carefully feinted through the desired arch, prepared to either succeed in lighting the damn lamp or burn the castle to the ground trying...

            …On went the light.

            Um.

            All right. All false modesty aside, I _know_ that wasn't me.

            Someone behind me cleared their throat. I whirled around, wondering who was so concerned with their safety that they wouldn't even let me try tampering with electricity. But instead of a concerned citizen, it was Sirius I found standing behind me, casually pocketing his wand before slipping easily into the seat next to mine. He didn't waste any time.

            “So how much of this lunch business was because of you,” he asked without preamble, “and how much of it was because of me?”

            Oh, bloody hell.

            The heat rushed instantly to my cheeks, the newly lit lamp casting a hazy glow on my flushed skin. I put the light out with a quick wave of my wand, not exactly surprised by the bluntness of the question, but feeling slightly accosted nonetheless. I mean, how was I supposed to answer that? What did it even mean?

            “It wasn’t…I mean, I didn’t…” The sputtering phrases tangled up on my tongue. I bit down on it, stopping the half-arsed excuses from coming out before they got me in trouble. I imagined Sirius wasn't the sort of person who did well with lies. And damn it, mates tell the truth, don't they? It was time to step up. “90/10,” I answered honestly after thinking about it a moment. “I wanted to. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to. Our conversation may have…prodded me along, but I needed to be prodded, don’t you think?”

            “You needed to be _rammed_ ,” Sirius replied flatly. “Wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise. I’m just not sure how I feel about being the one who did the ramming.”

            "There was no _ramming_ ," I grumbled, the word hardly complimentary to either of us. And not even remotely true, either! Perhaps it was a forceful shove, but I was no wooden door being thumped away at by a felled tree. "I told you, you barely factored into the equation. Besides, I thought you'd be pleased. Weren't you the one spouting your mouth about not wading and not existing and all that rubbish? Don't tell me you've changed your mind already?"

            "It's not my mind I'm concerned with," Sirius said grimly, staring at me with obvious censure. He took an unnervingly long time to continue, leaning back in his chair with a deceptive casualness. "You said yourself you didn't know what the hell you were doing. You expect me to believe that in the few hours between when I left you and when James somehow conned a yes out of you, you got it all figured out?"

            Er. Yes.

            "Does it have to be that black and white?" I recoiled from the boxes he was trying to push the situation into. I let out a huff of tired breath, agitatedly brushing a strand of hair behind my ear and sticking him with a good frown. "Come on. You and I both know I was already skirting along the edge of all this before that afternoon. And yes, I did have a bit of a soul-search after our conversation, but don't flatter yourself here, Sirius—you're not that monumental. Now quit badgering me!"

            I thought my arguments fair, but if Sirius was feeling even the least bit convinced, he didn't show it. He only continued frowning at me with enough condemnation to let me know he was still contemplating how genuine my date invitation/acceptance was. I would have grown cross at that—and maybe I did, a little—but mostly I knew I couldn't blame him for it. And truthfully, I hadn't actually considered what role my discussion with Sirius had played in my motivation for saying yes to James. Not that my desperate need to be Sirius's mate or his more-blunt-than-tactful comments were that compelling a force, of course, but he _had_ made me think. Then again, so had a million other things. I mean, I've been doing little else _but_ thinking about this in varying degrees for the better part of two months. Much as I'd love to blame Sirius for my impulsive moment and its unknown results, I can't. Not even remotely.

            I'm not certain he believed that, though.

            "Quit frowning at me, too," I ordered, giving his still down-turned lips a stern look of my own. This was getting us nowhere. I still didn't understand why he was in such a snit. "What's this about, anyway? Did you _want_ me to balk for good or something?"

            "I don't care one way or the other, Evans." Sirius's eyes narrowed slightly. "But James does. He's not going to take it well if you decide to cry off at the last minute."

            Considering James apparently expected to find me halfway to France come Tuesday morning, I had a feeling Sirius might be projecting a bit. " _He's_ not going to take it well, or _you're_ not going to take it well?"

            "Both."

            Eh. At least he was honest.        

            "Fair enough." But I didn't intend for things to stay that way. If I had to beat the trust into him, I would do it. I'd thought we'd made some progress on Friday, but Sirius's skepticism was apparently far more engrained than I'd previously imagined. Propping my chin up in my palm, I leaned against the table and sighed. "You know, we're supposed to be mates. You could try trusting me just a smidgeon."

            Sirius lolled his head back and groaned. “Merlin and Morgana,not this again.”

            Denial is just so unhealthy in a wizard, don’t you think?

            I decided to ignore his nonsense. I didn’t want to be an enabler.

            "One day soon you'll finally be able to acknowledge all my fine and stellar qualities," I said. Sirius rolled his eyes, but I ignored that, too. You know, after I elbowed him. "You'll hardly be able to believe how you got on in life without me. You'll curse the day you ever thought me a hag."

            "I never thought you a hag," Sirius said. But then he had to go and ruin that nice thought with, "I just think that for someone who’s got such brains, you really are one of the flightiest bints I’ve ever met. I never know with you.”

            _Flighty_? Excuse me, I am not _flighty_!

            I mean, I may change my mind about some things more often than others do, but that’s simply because I’m… discerning! Yes, that’s it. I'm _discerning_.

            Pft!

            I decided just to stare at him. "You know, you're possibly the worst new mate ever."

            Sirius flashed me a grin—the first he'd deigned to bestow since abruptly showing up at my table—obviously greatly pleased by this new title. In the name of keeping the peace in our budding mateship, I decided not to tell him that I'd meant it as the worst sort of insult. Instead, I just let out a very weary sigh.

            “You’re so lucky my charitable soul has decided to take you on,” I said, turning back to my Transfiguration notes and flipping carelessly through a few pages. “Your cynicism is positively rampant. Something really ought to be done about it.” 

            “My cynicism is _fine_ ," Sirius said.

            I glanced at him briefly. “Only a true cynic would say something like that.”

            His responding snort was nothing short of mocking. “Oh, and _you’re_ such a batch of sunshine and daisies? Don’t make me _laugh_ , Evans. I’ve never met anyone who was so suspicious of every damn thing in my life!”

            The quick, overly bright grin I shot him then was a deliberate blitz, a surprise attack. _Bam_. “And _that’s_ why we’re going to be such fantastic mates, see?”

            It was almost comical watching the slew of reactions play across Sirius's face—confusion that the responding insult had never come, shocked befuddlement over the grin that had, reluctant admiration for the unexpected offensive tactic, exasperation that I'd successfully pulled it over on him. It all amounted in a sort of snort of amused disbelief and a narrow-eyed look of hesitant approval.

            Not entirely out of the clear, but I'd take it.

            Honestly, I've conquered mountains more easily than I've conquered Sirius. 

            “Sometimes—just _sometimes_ ,” he said, the words coming out on a slight sigh, “I can sort of see what James sees in you.”

            Oh! I grinned something manic, nudging him playfully in the side and feeling inordinately pleased. "Thanks. Sometimes I can sort of see what he sees in you, too."

            Sirius grumbled something under his breath, but I could see his ever-present frown flattening out, probably despite his better efforts to keep it in place. I started to remember why I didn't mind adopting Sirius as a new mate. He was going to make me work at it, of course, but I was a determined chit. I would break him down. Eventually, we wouldn't have to go through the "Oy-I'm-a-crotchety-suspicious-codger-deal-with-my-issues-and-grouchy-accusations" song and dance every time we had a conversation. It was a day I was eagerly awaiting.

            I felt Sirius's fingers lightly chaff by my hair. "How's the head?" he asked.

            I shooed his hand away. Really, was this the time for a 'you're mad' crack? "Just fine, thanks. How's yours?"

            He rolled his eyes. "I meant from the pummeling you took the other day, bint. A concussion, wasn't it? All my fault? The giant bowl of tragedy?"

            "Oh." I had rather forgot that Sirius knew about my head injuries...um, and that rather telling note I'd sent him. Shite. "It's fine. Sorry about that. I was having a moment."

            "You seem to have a lot of those." He grabbed one of the Transfiguration books off the pile I'd acquired and flipped it open. He shot me a side-glance. "Should I be worried?"

            "I told you, you got me thinking. I don't do well with sudden realisations. They get me ornery." I grabbed the book he'd started flipping through and jerked it away. He threw me a look, but I had just remembered something else, something I'd realised yesterday and meant to ask him. Now seemed as good a moment as any. "Did you tell Dumbledore about Friday?"

            "What?" The word came out sharp, short. 

            Guilty.

            "You did." I blew out a long breath, somewhat relieved to have the mystery solved, but still surrounded by dozens more. I stared at Sirius curiously. "Why? When?"

            "He had to know." Sirius squirmed about in his seat, pulling absently at the cuff of his shirt. "You didn't seem in the right frame of mind to tell him, so I did. Who cares?"

            "Who cares? _I_ care." When he still refused to look at me, I flicked his arm in agitation. His eyes briefly flickered over. "Dumbledore spilled the beans to James and he completely went off. You could have at least _warned_ me."

            "You weren't going to tell him?" Sirius asked.

            "Not like _that_." I preferred to block out those moments when James had looked so furious, so completely lost in his fit of rage, that things had looked bleak, indeed. I was used to his sudden temper, had gotten used to it even, but I hadn't been expecting such blind wrath. Another piece of the Rosier-Potter puzzle I would probably never understand. Well, unless... "He really hates Evan, doesn't he?" I asked Sirius quietly.

            "Wouldn't you?" Sirius shot back. The irritation pulled at his features. "You don't know what that bastard was like after last summer. He was already a walking reminder for James, but the bloody pillock taunted him every chance he got. I don't even know how many times we had to cover up fights the two of them got into. James would have been expelled ten times over if Dumbledore knew the half of it."

            I don't know why I was surprised to hear that—Merlin knows I wasn't inclined to think Evan better than taunting someone who was already so down, and from all I'd heard, James had been volatile to the extreme. Still, I felt...maybe it was guilty. Guilty that I hadn't realised any of this was going on. Guilty that I probably wouldn't have cared much even if I had. It was bizarre to think now that there was a time not so long ago when James Potter's name meant less than nothing to me. It wasn't my fault—or not _really_ , anyway—but I still hated to think of him suffering like that. I wished that I had done something, anything, just bloody _noticed_. I think I just wanted something to cling to.

            "No use crying over it now," Sirius said, probably noting my suddenly dejected disposition. He even went as far as to drop a quick pat on my shoulder. "James isn't going back to that. If he didn't kill Rosier after hearing what he did to you, he won't ever."

            "Are you sure he didn't?" I muttered, not wanting to think it, but not exactly trusting James's reliability in the pounding-people-he-shouldn't department.

            Sirius shook his head, though. "He didn't—wouldn't now, not after you pulled this date stunt on him. Clever move, really. In James's short list of fucked-up priorities, it seems dating you ranks just above hating the Rosiers."

            I blushed. "Wonderful."

            Sirius's eyes narrowed on me a bit. "You don't sound too enthralled with the whole thing."

            "With what? The date?" When Sirius nodded, I rolled my eyes. Back to this, then, were we? I had really hoped we'd moved on. "Just because I'm not a mess of giddy giggles doesn't mean I'm not enthralled. I just keep my bursts of girlish excitement internal, thanks."

            "That's probably for the best, anyway," Sirius said. He gave a short snort. "James's probably had enough bursts of girlish excitement for the pair of you."

            I cocked an eyebrow.

            Sirius shook his head sadly. "It's pathetic," he said. "Can't even get a patch of decent conversation out of him without hearing about you anymore. And he's got this glazed look about him. Are you sure you didn't slip him some sort of potion?"

            I held my hands up in surrender. "Oh, all right. You've caught me. Amortentia, every morning with his breakfast. Don't turn me in."

            

            Sirius smirked. I think he appreciated that I could play along with his jokes. "No point in it now. Already permanently altered. You can have him."

            Sensing that I had him in as pleasant a disposition as I was probably going to get, I decided to press my luck a little and nudged him gently with my shoulder. "So I suppose that means that you _have_ tried to talk to him?"

            Sirius's head jerked around. "What?"

            “You were supposed to talk,” I reminded him, giving him another prodding nudge. “To James. You said you would, remember? You were supposed to talk to him and sort things out and—"

            "Quit bumping me, would you? I get it." He swiped a hand irritably through his hair. Then, succinctly, "We talked."

            Oh, _thanks_. I can just run with that, can't I? Psh.

            “And?” I prodded.

            Sirius's lips pressed into a grim line. “And we talked."

            Holy hell. It was like interrogating a bloody _wall_.

            When all Sirius got from me was silence and suspicious looks, he growled in exasperation and stuck me with a particularly annoyed scowl. “For fuck’s sake, Evans, I knew you’d said yes, didn’t I? We talked.”

            “That could just be hearsay. It doesn’t prove a thing."

            Sirius glared. Aggravated. Exasperated. Unwavering.

            Oh, _fine_. Foil my meddling plot. I'd find another way in.

            I decided to concede some privacy to him...with the knowledge that I'd get it all out of him eventually, of course. I'd settle for a brief overview of the situation if I must. You know, for now. "Fine," I said, throwing my hands up in defeat. "Keep mum. It's not as if my _great wisdom_ guided you in the proper direction towards reconciliation or anything. It's not as if I played a _key_ role in your newfound life balance. But at least tell me this...things are good? Sorted out?"

            Sirius remained obstinate. "Evans."

            "Don't 'Evans' me," I said. "I'm not asking for details, just a little peace of mind. You can't even give me that? After all our recent hours of connection? Our fragile mateship? You should be ashamed."

            "Oh, I am. Extremely. Drowning in it."

            I picked up the Transfiguration textbook and swung.

            "Bloody—will you _quit_ that? Ruddy violent _banshee_ —"

            And again.

            " _Lily_."

            Ha.

            Sirius jerked the textbook out of my hands as I went in for a third wallop, tossing it onto the opposite end of the table. It landed with a loud _thunk_ , but the momentum proved too great and soon it toppled over the end of the table, collapsing into a heap of bent pages on the floor. From the other side of the room, Pince's trained ears zoned in on the sounds of book abuse and hissed out a furious reprimand. Sirius gave her a careless wave of acknowledgement as I pretended I hadn't just been assaulting his person with the very same abused book and gazed at him all disapprovingly. He turned back around with an angry glare.

            " _Fine_ ," he hissed, I think wisely realising that I wasn't going to let this go as easily as he'd hoped."You bloody win. Yes, we talked. We talked and it was fine and no one punched anyone else. All right? Happy now?"

            Psh. Hardly, but I knew I'd have to be content with what I'd gotten. Sirius was a tad touchy about the subject, which made me think that a lot of mushy bloke bonding and back thumping had taken place and he was embarrassed about sharing it with me. We'd have to fix that, of course—no mate of mine was going to get out of falling under the clutches of my meddlesome ways—but I figured if he remained obstinate about this one, I'd just get it out of James later. In any case, I rewarded him with a pleasant smile for his lame attempt at playing along.

            "There," I said, giving the same arm I'd just been systematically beating a few gentle pats. Tough love, you know. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? My mind's at ease now. Thank you."

            Sirius seemed entirely disgusted with himself. "How did I ever think you were a normal bird?" he asked, mystified. "I should have spotted the barmy from countries away."

            "Don't be so hard on yourself," I said. "Sometimes I hide it well."

            Sirius muttered something none-too-flattering beneath his breath, but I chalked that up as remnants from his recent almost personal revelation and decided he was allowed to be a little bad-tempered about it. I shot him another one of my patent friendly grins and tried not to revel too much in my victory when he gave a snort that quickly blended into a reluctant laugh. 

            "So are we done now?" I asked, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction. "No more barely veiled skepticism? No more questions about what the hell I was thinking? What James was thinking?"

            Sirius's laughter faded into a grunt. "For now."

            Stubborn prat.

            "Well, now that _that's_ through, then"—I waved a hand towards the textbook Sirius had just felled—"go fetch that. In return for being such a suspicious bastard, you're going to show me how the hell you lit this thing without burning the library down. Please."

            " _Levis lucerna,_ " Sirius replied, as if that's all there was to it.

            Oh, to be so naïve!

            I pointed a finger towards the textbook. Sirius rolled his eyes, but slid out of his chair to fetch it.

            And even though he is a suspicious bastard and not exactly what I'd call the kindest of tutors, Sirius did hang about to help me with the Lighting of the Lamp, and then some. His directions weren't as technical or precise as James's, but somehow, I could still pick up on most of what he was trying to teach me. Perhaps it was because his constantly blunt manner was something I could easily respond to in a teaching capacity...or simply because I wasn't constantly growing distracted by his devilishly good looks like I did with certain other tutors of mine. Either way, I got my lamp lit without any major conflagration and by the time we had moved on to the dreaded animal portion of our coursework, I knew that I could at least transfigure a decent household for whatever new species of animal I would inevitably create.

            " _Left_ , Evans. Bloody hell, I said _left_!"

            Sirius's hollering caught the attention of some of the people working around us, but I was mostly too busy hollering myself to pay them much mind.

            "I _went_ left!" I repeated the complicated swing and jab motion—to the _left_ —and then shot Sirius a triumphant look. He lifted his eyes towards the ceiling in a familiar plea to the heavens that I'd been getting a lot of since we'd begun our study session, grabbing my wand hand and going through the movements with me for the fourth or so time.

            "Not _curved_ left, _twist_ left." As he moved through the pattern with me, he gave the wand a subtle rotation left as he arched it upwards.

            Oh.

            "I _did_ that," I muttered, even though…well, I _would_ have, had I known it necessary. Sirius merely lowered his eyes towards the spot on the table where the paperclip with legs (it was supposed to be a mouse) lay trapped beneath the heavy book Sirius had tossed on it before it could scurry away. I felt my face heat.

            Fine. So maybe I hadn't _exactly_ twisted left. But I'd tried.

            "Bloody _rubbish_ ," I grumbled, shaking off Sirius's hand and repeating the stupid movements on my own again and again. " _Twist_ left, not _curved_ left. I'll give you twist left—right up your left _nostril_ , I'll give you twist left—"

            "If you think you could manage it, go ahead," Sirius said. "But I reckon you'd just end up _curving_ left and catching my ear."

            Oh, the little _shit_.

            I lunged. Sirius's arms flew up in defense. It was just as I was in the process of testing that theory—getting, I think, despite Sirius's best efforts to ward me off, a lot closer to sticking my wand up his left nostril than he'd expected—that I suddenly felt my arms being grabbed from behind, jerking me back and away from Sirius. The laughter died in my throat. I jerked my head around in surprise.

            James stood behind me, glaring daggers at Sirius.

            "What the hell did you say to her?" he snapped.

            Sirius's laughter died, as well, but his humour didn't dissipate entirely. Watching him, I'm not certain that was a good thing. Looking far more darkly amused than I'd expected of him, Sirius dryly muttered, "Left ear."

            I snorted, collapsing into another fit of laughter as James still held my arms behind my back. I glanced up to find Sirius staring at James with a deliberately mocking look, one that I wouldn't even really describe as kind. Perturbed, I squirmed out of James's already loosening grip.

            "Let go," I said, arching in discomfort when James finally released me from his awkward grasp. I rubbed at the spot on my forearm that he'd been holding and twisted around in my seat to stare at him questioningly. He looked baffled. "What are you doing?" I asked.

            James's eyes flashed away from Sirius and down to me. "I saw you on the map," he said, sounding uncertain. "You and Sirius. I came to see...and then you were fighting..."

            "I was trying to get my wand up his nostril," I explained.

            "The left one," Sirius supplied.

            The two of us grinned like a pair of loons.

            James went still behind me.

            Taking some pity on the poor boy after what was undoubtedly a bit of a first-glance-at-the-new-camaraderie surprise (even though I didn't much imagine he and Sirius could've had any sort of proper talk without at least briefly mentioning our recent attempt at friendship), I twisted round in my seat and gave James's side a few comforting pats. "We were just studying," I told him.

            "Studying?" James said the word as if he'd never heard of such a concept. His eyes flickered back to Sirius and narrowed. "Studying."

            "Your girlfriend doesn't take direction well," Sirius said.

            I jabbed at him with my wand. "I take direction perfectly well." _And I'm not his girlfriend_ , I wanted to add, but didn't think this was quite the time for that particular discussion. Instead, I glanced at James again. "Your best mate doesn't know how to tutor without making someone want to hit him. That's the problem here."

            "What's going on?" James asked.

            I wasn't sure what he was asking. "What do you mean, 'what's going on'? I've just told you. We're studying. Your best mate's rotten."

            James rounded the table and dragged out the chair across from us. As he sat, Sirius leaned back in his seat and asked, "Who invited you?"

            James didn't seem even mildly amused. "What's going on?" he asked again.

            The whole thing was getting just entirely ridiculous. What was with these two? I mean, yes, I can't exactly claim to be overly knowledgeable about the inner workings of male friendships, but something told me that these kind of interactions weren't the norm. I hardly expected more out of Sirius, knowing his piss-poor record with taking anything the least bit seriously, but I know James. Where was the excitement? Where was the immense pleasure at the strives I've taken to make his life easier? Being mates with Sirius is no picnic, you know. He has his moments, but most of the time he's just a giant pain. And where's the delight at being reunited with his mate? Where was the happy camaraderie? Where were the foolish grins? These idiots did not look like two best mates who'd recently patched things…

            Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.

            These idiots did not look like two best mates who'd recently patched things up… _because they hadn't_.

            This time, I wasn't aiming for a nostril. I was going for an eye.

            "You filthy, little liar! You told me you talked!" I rounded on Sirius, hissing the words as loudly and furiously as I dared, glaring daggers as I contemplated just how thoroughly I could trounce him without catching the wrath of Pince and her ever-alert senses. With keen reflexes of self-preservation, Sirius scooted his chair a few significant paces to the right and held his hands up in defense. 

            Psh. As if _that_ would save him. I was furious.

            Sirius's expression was blank. "I told you we talked. I didn't say about what. You assumed."

            That was a crap excuse, but a clever avoidance trick so close to my own heart that I was even more livid for falling prey to it. Bloody hell, I _knew_ the blighter had been taking me on the turn. Something had been off from the start, but I'd just thought that he didn't want to share all the pansy bloke bonding details. I hadn't honestly expected that he hadn't discussed any of this with James at _all_. But judging by the way the two of them were still uncomfortably shuffling around each other, too suspicious to even remotely imply any sort of resolution, less than nothing had been resolved.

            Well, we'd just see about _that_.

            While Sirius and I bickered, James was left mostly in the dark. He blinked in confusion. "Talked about what?" he asked. "When? What's going _on_?"

            Very much, James, m'dear. You just _wait_ for it.

            If a girl wanted to get something done, it seemed she had to do it herself. Luckily, I was quite resourceful that way. Very theatrically, I slapped a palm against my forehead and moaned. "Oh, dear me. Do you know what I've _just_ realised? I think I need another book. Yes. Yes, I really do. A big one. A big, dusty one. That will probably take me ages to find. Really. _Ages._ Double damn. Can't get on without it, though. Better go fetch it. _Alone_."

            I quickly rose to my feet. Sirius snorted loudly and James simply stared. "Infallible," he said in warning, but I just wiggled my fingers in a parting wave.

            "Terribly sorry for abandoning you. I'll be back soon!"

            You know, or not.

            I had nearly managed to round the table and flee when James managed to grab hold of my wrist, jerkily halting my impromptu flight. I skidded to a stop next to him, my overly pleasant smile plastered unmoving on my face. James didn't return it. In fact, he didn't look particularly pleased by what was really only a meddling action taken for his own good, but I suppose I can't blame him. He's always been a bit touchy with my meddling, and Merlin knows he had to be damn confused right about now, no thanks to his no-account best mate. But it took more than a few falsehoods to deter _me_. I'd get these two back on track if I had to shove them in a broom closet and leave them there until June.

            Though I sincerely hoped it wouldn't come down to that. James was of no use to me locked in a broom closet.

            You know, unless I was in there with him.

            Hm.

            "Sit down," he said, sticking me with a look that ordered no argument, not appearing as if he would even appreciate a few decades locked in a closet with me. "I want to know what's going on. And I want to do it without you concocting some half-arsed, daft plan."

            "One that's not going to work," Sirius put in, sticking me with an irritated look of his own. His eyes narrowed. "I don't like being manhandled, Evans."

            Oh, for the love of…can't a girl just meddle in peace?

            Concocting some half-arsed, daft plan on the spot, I distracted James by twisting my wrist out of his grip as I quickly pressed a fleeting kiss on the corner of his lips, strategically swerving out of reach as he was still recovering from my surprise show of affection. From the other side of the table, Sirius grunted, "Dirty play."

            Perhaps, but a witch's got to do what a witch's got to do.

            "You"—I pointed a stern finger at Sirius—"talk. And you"—finger to James—"listen. Then switch. I'm going to find my book. When I get back, there had better be so much brotherly love at this table, I'll have to leave again just to preserve my scant witchhood. You've already something in common—you're both annoyed with me. Run with it. Got it?"

            "Lily—"

            "You can't just—"

            But I could. And I did.

            Ta-ta, obstinate fools. See you when the world makes sense again.

            Ha.

            As I all but dashed into the maze of shelves, I could still sort of hear them rambling on about my audacity, but I figured having provided them with something to agree upon was as proper a start to the conversation as any—even if it was to slander me. They'll thank me for this one day. I can see it already. There will probably be tears of gratitude and a lot of groveling. "Oh, Lily, goddess divine, how could we have ever said an unkind word against you? Where would we _be_ without you?" "Now, now, gentlemen, you can stop lavishing the ground I walk upon. I was only doing what I do best—interfering in others' lives when they can't be depended upon to do a proper job of it themselves. It's my life's work. No need for thanks." "Oh, but we _want_ to. Thank you. _Thank you_."

            The unmitigated flood of gratitude that follows will probably be very embarrassing for all of us. But necessary, too. Naturally.

            I'll await it with great dignity and patience.

            …sort of like I'm awaiting the conclusion of this conversation now, with equal dignity and patience. How long do you reckon it takes to patch up a friendship? I mean, accounting for the fact that neither of them seemed particularly enthused about having said patching up occurring at present? But that was all just pride and mirrors. They want to patch things up, they are just too "Oh-I'm-so-stubborn-and-manly-and-you-didn't-do-what-I-wanted-blah-blah-blah-masculinity" to admit to it. Perhaps I should go check on them, make sure things are going well? That they're still even _there_? But they wouldn't leave. If nothing else, they'd know I would hex their bums halfway to Thursday if they even tried, but I have faith in the pair of them. Obstinate and wounded they might be, but best mates they are and have always been. They'll work it out. I know they will.

            And in the meantime, maybe I'll stop sitting here in the back of these dusty shelves and actually _look_ for a book. The Transfiguration section is just around the way. I could probably find something useful in there—read, useful: stupid and boring. Not like something I'd find in the Charms section…which is just around the _other_ way. Not that I'm thinking of going over there. I can't. I need to focus on my studies. Which, yes, Charms is part of, but not the part on which I need to be focusing at present. McGonagall's exam is just around the corner! I can't be reading for pleasure when there is torture to be conquered. It's just not right! It's not Head Girl like! It's not—

            _Keep Your Guard: An Auror's Guide to Defensive Charms_.

            ...

            When did we get _that_?

            Maybe I could just…you know, a quick peek…for _career_ purposes…

__________________________

**Much Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 41  
** **Total Observations: 283**

            I swear, I'd truly only meant to give the thing a quick glance.

            Honestly. Just the tiniest of peeks, that's all I'd intended. I hadn't even intentionally walked into the Charms section—I _know_ I told my feet to head left for all things Transfiguration—but I was just _casually_ passing through and the book just sort of jumped out at me, like a sign from the Higher Powers or something. "Glance this way and behold your future!" it called, loud and clear. 

            And, I mean, come _on_. A girl can't deny her _future_. Simply in the name of cosmic order, I had to pick it up. I almost had no choice. It was simply poor luck that I happened to briefly fan to the section on Shield Charms.

            I decided that was the work of the Higher Powers, as well. I mean, what are the chances? I _love_ Shield Charms. Truly. _Love_ them. Especially those performed with the counter-clockwise jab at the end, which are idiotically quite controversial in the Charms world. However, Mr. George Abbott, author of _Keep Your Guard_ , is on _my_ side of the debate, wondering how in the name of Merlin anyone could think to perform anything _other_ than a counter-clockwise jab shield. So I naturally _had_ to keep reading to find out what _else_ Mr. George Abbott, clearly brilliant man, was promoting, just to see if there was anything else we could agree upon…

            …and there went the time. 

            Bye, Time. Nice having you. Come again soon.

            I would be embarrassed by the fact that I am so clearly the biggest Charms codger in the entire universe, but it's hard to disparage yourself when you're having such a splendid time. And the thing is, it's not like I had anywhere to go. I had to wait out the James and Sirius conversation anyway, didn't I? So what was a quick, immersing read while they were having their chat, hm? Yes, perhaps I should have taken the left instead of the right and been immersing myself in _Transfiguration Today_ , but what of the technicalities? In the end, I was still being a proper meddler. It was thoughtful, really. I was giving them their space. They needed time, and I needed knowledge about the advantages of the Helious Guard over the Jhumpier Shield. Win-win.

            Right?

            Right.

            Obviously.

            (That's what I told myself anyway.)

            And I _am_ embarrassed to admit that Merlin only knows how long I would have sat there on the floor reading if it weren't for outside interferences. But truly, can you _blame_ me? Mr. George had just gotten to the wand-type debate! And wouldn't you know it, he was a willow wielder, as well! Yes, he made allowances for all the fools who claimed rosewood might perhaps hold a scant few properties that would aid them in their Charmswork, but he mostly called their bluffs, talking about the clear superiority of willow's weight and arch and the necessary lightness of its magical properties with the versatility of—

            Someone knocked loudly against a nearby bookshelf. 

            I yelped, nearly jumping out of my skin.

            James chuckled warmly at my surprised response, pushing off the bookshelf and tucking his hands neatly into his trouser pockets.

            "Good read?" he asked innocently.

            Bloody _hell_. Give a girl a _heart attack_ , why don't you?            

            I shot him a nasty look, holding a shaky hand over my still pounding heart. It took a moment for me to catch my breath again. "You could've _warned_ me, you arse. Give a girl a chance to breathe properly!"

            James didn't respond to my reprimands. He started forward instead, moving closer until his toes nearly brushed mine. I watched as he silently turned and slid down to take a seat on the ground next to me, leaning his back against the bookcase behind us. 

            "I was loitering over there for the better part of five minutes," he told me, motioning towards the spot he'd just abandoned. His small smile was blatantly teasing. "You didn't even look up. Did you know you jostle your fingers when you're excited? They wouldn't stay put on the page. Like you could hardly keep still with the thrill of it or something."

            He reached out a hand to swipe his own fingers across mine, which were motionless for what I could admit was probably the first time since I'd sat down. He wasn't wrong. I knew of my finger-wriggling tendencies. Grace made fun of me endlessly for it. I couldn't help it, though. They just didn't stay put.

            I didn't want to talk about my restless fingers, though, not even when James was running his over them in a rather soothing fashion. The fact was, I didn't want to talk at all. If anything, I wanted to yell. 

            What did he think he was doing over here? For Merlin's sake, he was supposed to be talking with Sirius! This was no time for a visit or astute personal observations. Was I honestly going to have to resort to the broom closet thing?

            My frown was so fierce, he should have withered. He didn't, of course, but he should have done. "What are you doing back here?" I demanded, not holding back my disapproval. "You're supposed to be back there, talking. Do I have to tie you to the chair or something? Where's Sirius?"

            "We did talk," James said, sounding surprised.

            Oh, I don't think so. This witch doesn't fall for the same thing twice.

            "I'm sure," I muttered dubiously, already shifting to get up, to drag him back to the study table kicking and screaming if I had to. "And what was it you talked about, hm? Let me guess—how idiotic you both must think I am if you thought I was actually daft enough to fall for this one! Get back out there and do things properly! It's been what, fifteen minutes? It takes just that long to get Sirius to quit acting like a ponce. Shoo! Now!"

            But James didn't shoo, didn't even bother to budge an inch. In fact, the only thing he _did_ move was his lips, shifting them into a highly amused grin. My mouth very nearly dropped open in outrage. He thought this was _funny_? I was about to show him just how _funny_ I could be when he slipped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me against his side.

            "Oh, Infallible," he said, laughing quietly against the crown of my head, pressing his lips into my hair. "Sometimes I forget what a swot you are."

            I whipped around in offence. "I am not a swot!"

            James grinned even wider. When all I did was continue to glare at him, he lifted the arm that wasn't holding me against his side and moved it until his wrist was hanging just before my face. I thought for a second that he was giving me his hand to slap—how very thoughtful. Many thanks—but then I realised that he'd shifted his watch so that the face was suspended right before my eyes. I shot him a look, then narrowed my eyes on the watch.

            _1:29._

 

No.

            There's...there's _no_ way...

            Double bloody fucking shit.

            I had been back here for an _hour_?

            "You changed that," I accused, staring at him indignantly as I felt my skin start to flush. It wasn't possible. It _wasn't_. "You changed it. It can't have been…you thought it would be a laugh…tried to trick me…"

            James shook his head slowly, still smiling. "Sorry, love," he said. "If it helps any, I think it's endearing that you're such a studies pet. Gives me something to convert."

            "It's George Abbott's fault," I moaned, burying my burning face in George Abbott's book, cursing the moment he came into my life. An _hour_! "He's dangerous. He sucks you in. He's the kindred spirit I never knew I had."

            James tugged the book out from beneath me. "George who?"

            I lifted my head to find him examining the book with a hard gaze. His absurdity was enough to pull me out of my pit of mortification. Trust James to grow jealous over a _book_. I reached out and flipped it to the back page where George Abbott had his biography page and accompanying photo. I'd given it a quick gander earlier. He was actually quite pleasant to look upon, his face long and narrow, his lips quirked up amicably as he posed all scholarly and dignified for this portrait. Every so often, he winked.

            He was also at least sixty.

            "He lives in Hogsmeade," I said, pointing gleefully down to that bit of the brief biography as James frowned. I made a show of sighing heavily. "But he's married. Too bad, really. I've always had a thing for older blokes."

            "Great," James grunted.

            I nudged his shoulder with mine. "Oh, don't fret. I've never been much of a homewrecker. Besides, I only have you by two months. I suppose I can make an exception."

            James's frown wavered. He looked away from George to shoot me a shrewd glance. "You know my birthday?" he asked.

            "I think everyone from here to London knows your birthday," I replied flatly, rolling my eyes. "Or have you forgotten that darling fireworks display of third-year that nearly took out half the Forbidden Forest?"

            The slight waver lifted into a full grin, then a laugh. "Oh, yeah. That was Peter. Never has been very good with trajectory."

            "Poor Peter," I muttered, but actually didn't much care about that particular mate and his talents (or lack thereof) concerning physics. I might have still wanted to cry a little bit by how swotty I had turned out to be (wouldn't the library patrol be proud?), but there were bigger things to discuss now. It had been an hour, which meant that James and Sirius had been talking for nearly that long. I held back the giddy feeling that provoked, but I think my fingers started squirming again. I tried to keep my cool, sound as casual as possible. I wondered how receptive James would be to my prying. "So." I smacked my lips together, took my time glancing up at him. "How…goes things, then?"

            James's eyes flashed in amusement. He checked his watch again. 

            "Four minutes," he reported. His eyebrow lifted admiringly. "Have you been practicing restraint?"

            Why, yes. Yes, I have. Thank you for noticing!

            "You can't be cross with me," I returned quickly, swift to crush all inevitable annoyance with an argument of sound logic. Perhaps if I assaulted him with it quickly, he would be too confused to chastise me. "I know you don't like me meddling, but if you didn't want my interference, you should have sorted things out on your own. And I don't care what you or Sirius say, I'm involved in this. I am not going to be responsible for the two of you walking around all miserable because Sirius thought I was making you a Mold James and you didn't and everyone had their pride in a twist. It was only proper for Sirius and me to have a talk, and now it was your bloody turn to do the same!"

            James sighed. "Lily—"

            "No. Let me finish." Or else he'd probably start yelling. Eek. "I know it was a little underhanded and I should have told you the other night that Sirius and I had sorted things out, but _he_ was supposed to do that, so I didn't say anything—and it's all so _stupid_ , James, really it is! The two of you have been too bloody stubborn to have an honest conversation and who knows how long it would've gone on for if someone hadn't talked some sense into you? I had to do it. I _had_ to!"

            "I never—"

            "Oh, all right, _fine_." I winced, my body shriveling up slightly. "You can yell at me _a little_. But remember that this was all for your own good! You left me no other choice!"

            I hunched over, squeezing my eyes shut and preparing my ears for the onslaught of angry comments that were bound to follow. He could have his moment of frustration. I suppose I owed him that much. He _had_ told me a million times to stay out of it. It wouldn't be too awful. I could take it. For a little while.

            But as I waited in my huddled state, the onslaught of annoyance I was fretfully expecting never came. Several heavy moments passed, but either James was figuring out where to start his tirade, or something was wrong. I stilled when the silence only continued, popping an eye open and slowly twisting my head towards James. He stared down at me impassively.

            "Um." I lifted my head a bit more. "If you could get on with it, I'd be quite appreciative."

            "No."

            No.

            No?

            I pulled a face, popping the other eye open. "No? Seriously? What are you, manipulating the anticipation? That's not even fair! Just do it!"

            James only shook his head. "I'm not angry with you," he said. His hand lifted, brushing lightly through my hair. "I'm not going to yell at you."

            I froze at the motion, eyes widening. "Um...what?"

            His hand dropped as he rolled his eyes. "I'm not angry. I'm not going to yell," he told me again, sounding like he actually meant it. "I still think your meddling is going to get you into serious trouble someday, but I can't be angry with you. Not this time, anyway."

            Er.

            Um.

            All right. I don't get it. What's the catch?

            Well, not to shoot myself in the foot or anything, but… "Er. Can I ask why?"

            James smiled. I forced my lips to tilt upwards as well, however uncertainly. I mean, it wasn't as if I _wanted_ to be yelled at. Of course, I didn't! And it wasn't as if I didn't think my utterly logical arguments wouldn't sway him towards proper enlightenment eventually, either. I just thought…you know, that my brilliance would take a short while to settle in or something. A short while of yelling, then a sudden, "You know, now that I'm rational enough to actually listen to you...I reckon you're actually right, Lil! I'm actually very grateful! Sorry about that." 

            That was fine. I was ready for that. I might have even deserved it a little. But this…

            Something was up.

            Why wasn't he yelling?

            "Just answer something for me," James said, which seemed a bit unfair, answering my question with a question, but I nodded anyway, curious if equally uneasy. His voice got strangely quiet, his gaze bright. "You find out my best mate has a shite opinion of you, right?" he started, telling more than he was asking. "Not exactly flattering—Sirius never is—and you've every right to hate him for it. But instead of offing him like we both know you've grounds to do…you try to reason with him. _Reason_ with that stubborn, bitter arse. Try to be _mates_ with him even!" He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side as he regarded me with what I can only call a warmly arrogant smile. "For me?"

            Oh, bloody hell.

            I flushed instantly, the heat burning in my cheeks, then down my neck...oh, hell, _everywhere_. "Er. You know, that's probably…well, it's not—"

            "For me," James said again, more definitively this time, not a question anymore. He laughed. "I wouldn't wish Sirius on anyone, _especially_ when he's being a prick. And yet you somehow conned him into listening to you— into being _mates_ with you!"

            I ducked my head in embarrassment. "Well, in the name of full disclosure, he's still in a bit of denial about that."

            James laughed again, the arm still hanging about my neck pulling me to his side once more. For a few moments, he didn't do anything more than just hold me like that, resting his head atop mine. I could barely move for the feel of my burning skin, mortified to my very core. 

            I didn't know why I hadn't realised that James would see this that way. Perhaps more importantly, I didn't know why I was so uncomfortable that he did. It was the truth, wasn't it, at the end of the day? I'd probably admitted as much before. But James made it seem like some sort of grand gesture, which I certainly never intended it to be. I mean, it had just made sense. James and Sirius were practically brothers. Their fight was stupid, but even stupider would have been the belief that it wasn't temporary, that eventually something was going to have to be done about the fact that Sirius was less-than-pleased with my presence in James's life and I had difficulty even getting through a conversation with him. Yes, my cliff analogy was by far one of my dafter attempts at logic, but that didn't make it any less true. And whether I was giving Sirius a run for his money or not, that didn't change the fact that there was still a competition brewing. I had enough issues with this relationship already, I didn't need to be dealing with this sort of thing, too.

            Besides, once you got past all the puff and pomp, Sirius wasn't _so_ bad. He was a pill to swallow, but one that would go down easier as I got used to it. If nothing else, life would always be interesting.

            But I couldn't explain all that to James—at least not just then. I couldn't explain anything at _all_ really, not with the embarrassment still overpowering the better part of my bodily functions. And it certainly didn't help when he turned his head slightly and whispered into my ear, "Thank you." 

            Hell.

            Bloody, fucking, shitting _hell_.

            "For what?" I croaked.

            James pressed his lips against my temple. "For caring," he said.

            I turned my head towards him, tried to make a joke of it. "You've got it all wrong. This is a cunning plot, plain and simple. I figure if I can con all your mates into liking me more than you, whenever we fight, I can bribe them onto my side and have it won before it's even begun. I reckon I already have Remus. Sirius is a work-in-progress. I have a tea scheduled with Peter next week. Things are falling into place."

            James dropped his forehead onto mine. "Liar."

            "You'll see," I said, hating how obvious I was. "Just wait."

            But I don't think James was buying it (of course he wasn't buying it), and judging by the way he kissed me then, I think he may have embraced the whole grand gesture thing despite my other intentions. And while I don't mind being wonderfully snogged…I don't know. I still felt strange. Embarrassed. Hesitant. Overwhelmed. 

            Why was this all so difficult? Why was it so much easier for him than it was for me? It made me cross and a little disheartened. It didn't seem fair. Maybe the whole thing _was_ a grand gesture. Would that really be so bad? Merlin knew no one deserved one more than James did, putting up with me as he does. The idea still made me squirm, though. I may have been ready to go on a date, I may have even been able to bypass a "girlfriend" comment without instantly retorting in the negative, but grand gestures spoke of something a bit more…well, _grand_. I don't think I'm ready for _grand_. That wasn't wrong, was it? I mean, in the larger scheme of things, I'd made strides galore! I was allowed to still be nervous about _grand_ , wasn't I?

            I wasn't sure. And what's more, I wasn't sure if the reason I was so nervous about it was because it was too much too fast…or because it was simply more than I was willing to admit to.

            And wasn't that just the most terrifying part of it all?

            Well, I wasn't thinking about it then—or now, for that matter. I just want a few days of peace, a few days where I can be happy with the place I'm in. I'm going to Hogsmeade with James in two days. I'm going, and I'm very pleased with that. Afterwards there will undoubtedly be the inevitable reevaluation of the whole relationship and where exactly we're going, but I don't want to think about any of that until I have to. I don't think that's so much to ask. Don't I deserve just a bit of a break?

            Whether or not I did, I wasn't going to wait for permission. So I threw myself into the kiss as much as I could manage and tried to forget that something bigger than I'm presently willing to confront might be resting just behind it.

            And bless his little heart, James let me.

            (Though I suppose one could chalk it up to the fact that he was a bit distracted.)

            In any case, I got my moments (erm…several moments) of peace until an objection was handed down in the form of my good friend Mr. George Abbott when _Keeping Your Guard_ toppled out of James's lap and onto the ground amidst our other activities. The sudden sound jolted us apart. James groaned.

            "You're killing me here, George," he said.

            I sputtered with giggles, dropping my head onto James's shoulder as he stared petulantly at the fallen book. Poor George. Poor James. "Don't blame George," I said, though part of me wanted to have a stern talking with him, as well. "He's just trying to keep the order."

            "Can't he keep order somewhere else?" James complained.

            I shook my head, glad to find my embarrassment mostly gone, replaced by a healthy dose of good humour and pleasant endorphins. Snogging does that to a slag, I suppose.

            But enough was enough. I sighed, shifting a safe distance away from James. "Much as I hate to admit it, Mr. Abbott has a point." I tugged absently at my ruffled clothes. "We shouldn't be…causing trouble back here. And we've left Sirius all alone. He's probably feeling very abandoned."

            "Sirius already left," James replied quickly, grabbing my arm as I went to get up. He grinned. "And I like causing trouble back here."

            I jerked his grip off, alarmed. "What do you mean, 'Sirius already left'? He's gone? Why?"

            "Because he didn't want to tutor you anymore. Says he likes his nostrils."

            I waved his jokes aside impatiently. "But you patched things up, didn't you? I mean, he didn't leave in a huff or anything, right? Because I swear, if the pair of you botched up my intervention plans _again_ , I will not—"

            "Lily," James said flatly.

            "I'm not kidding!" I cried. When all that earned was another pointed look, I scowled. "Don't look at me like that. I care, remember? You should be happy. And grateful. And informative."

            James looked not the least bit of any of them. "Everything's fine," he said instead. "He didn't leave in a huff."

            Seriously? He thought _that_ informative?

            He's getting a dictionary for Christmas.

            "Well, how _did_ he leave then?" I crouched down again, bending until my face was level with James's. I rested my hands on his bent knees, stroking strategically. "James, please. I'm only trying to help. I just want to make sure you're all right."

            He snorted right in my face. "You do not. You just want to meddle. And gloat."

            And coal. He's getting a dictionary and _coal_.

            Psh.

            I made sure he saw how offended I was. There would be _no_ more strategic stroking for this ponce. "Fine. Be that way, you rotten git. Think so ill of me. But while you're at it, kindly remind yourself that your meddling and gloating more-potential-than-mate will undoubtedly not shut up until you've told her something useful. So _there_. I won't feel the least bit badly about making your life _miserable_ now!"

            James cocked his head to the side. "More-potential-than-mate?" he repeated.

            He _would_ get only that from my whole spiel.

            "It _was_ your new title," I muttered bitterly. "Now I'm rethinking it. How do you like more-arse-than-jerk?"

            "Sirius called you my girlfriend earlier," James said. "You didn't correct him."

            Uh.

            Um.

            Right. Back to red, it was.

            "Um. Well. It wasn't really...conversation priorities being what they were and all..." I couldn't get a coherent sentence out. I visibly writhed with discomfort. "I _would_ have said...I mean, not that I don't...er, except..."

            James rolled his eyes, not even flinching at my babbling bits of rejection. "Yeah, yeah, all right," he said, waving the whole thing off, just like that. "Reckoned it was a lapse. Just thought I'd bring it up, see how badly you squirmed."

            "You're not cross?" I asked hesitantly.

            James stood. "You haven't changed your mind about Tuesday, right?"

            "No."

            "Then I'm not cross." He shrugged it off, holding a hand out to me and hoisting upwards when I gave it. When we were both upright, he stopped, eyes narrowing. "But you have to think about it. Preferably a lot. Preferably seriously. I'd really like to ditch the hyphenations some time before the arthritis kicks in. Think you can manage that?"

            I nodded jerkily. 

            I could think about it. I really could.

            You know. In a few days or something. 

            Maybe a week. 

            Or two. 

            Ish.

            James gave a short, returning nod. "Good." He grabbed my hand again, started tugging me out of the aisle. Before we could get too far, I scurried back to swipe _Keep Your Guard_ from the floor. I couldn't abandon George. It was just for a little light reading...after the Transfiguration exam, of course.

            "All right. I'm a swot," I muttered when James looked back to see what I was doing and groaned. I clutched the book possessively against my chest. "I can't help it. George understands. Besides, you're a Quidditch loon. No judgments."

            "What's this loon business?" James asked, starting to walk again. "You can never be too mad about Quidditch."

            "I think you need another hobby. Like chess. Or knitting."

            " _Knitting_?" His outrage was so palpable, I grinned. "What self-respecting more-potential-than-mate _knits_?"

            "The kind that wants a girlfriend," I shot back impishly. Then, because when I'm not being snogged, I really do have a one-track mind, I somewhat pathetically turned the conversation back towards a properly meddling direction. "Sirius says my hyphenations sound like medical terms."

            James let out a short bark of laughter at that. "Will I get hexed if I say he might be on to something?" he asked. Before I could answer ( _yes_ ), he said, sounding legitimately perplexed by the whole thing, "I think he actually likes you."

            I stopped walking. "You don't have to sound so _surprised_ by it."

            James stopped as well, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it like _that_. It's just...you know how he is. I expected him to play at tolerating you for a while, too stubborn to concede anything else. But I think you've gotten to him already. I reckon he actually likes you. Genuinely. Reluctantly, but genuinely."

            Oh. Well, why hadn't he just _said_ that? Of course _,_ Sirius likes me. As if anyone wouldn't! "He said that sometimes he can see what you see in me," I confided, grinning broadly as I flounced smugly in place. Feeling light with victory, I prodded, "What else did he say about me?"

            "What else? Let's see." James began walking again. His tone was thoughtful. He tapped his chin."I think there was something along the lines of, 'Madder than Myrtle with a slightly less whiny disposition.' Oh, and then, 'Can't take bloody 'no' for an answer if you shoved it down her throat and had her choke on it.'"

            Oh. Look at that. A comic.

            Ha, ha, _ha_.

            (Except that those sounded _exactly_ like things Sirius would say. Wanker. I'd get him for that later.)

            We'd finally reached the end of the maze of shelves and were coming back upon the study tables. I took that as my cue to shove none-so-gently past James as I called softly over my shoulder, "You know, now that I think about it, Tuesday is a _terribly_ busy day for me. Perhaps—"

            "Not on your life." James gaited up next to me again quickly. His hand fell onto the small of my back as we ambled on towards the previously abandoned study table, my books and notes still scattered chaotically about the flat surface. At the blatant reminder of my failed attempt at scholarly pursuits, I sighed loudly. Stopping before either of us could sit, I crossed my arms over my chest and shot James a bitter scowl.

            "And look what you've done now—gone and scared away my tutor! Now what am I supposed to do?"

            "Do?" James stared at me incredulously. "What am I? A dancing flobberworm?"

            "You're a _distraction_ ," I said, but dropped into the chair I'd previously vacated in resignation. James followed suit, looking offended. "You're too nice," I explained. "Sirius is really brill at the whole 'tough love' thing. I think it was working."

            "I can do tough love!" James grabbed one of the paperclips I hadn't yet managed to mutilate and tossed it in my direction. "There. Lizard. Go," he ordered. I shot him a look, but dutifully lifted my wand. James instantly made a sound of protest. "Wrong. Rubbish. Go again."

            I started laughing because I thought he was kidding. "Wrong? I haven't even _done_ anything!"

            He wasn't.

            He pointed to my grip on the wand. "See your fingers? Your thumb's arched over your index finger. You were going to twist. You have to start the incantation before you do that. Wrong. Go again."

            Ruddy hell. Again with the bloody twists.

            This was just getting embarrassing.

            "Oh." I frowned, shifting my thumb back and trying not to feel too much like a failure. When Sirius had said similar things, it'd fired me up enough to get it done properly. But when it was James…um. "Right, then. So I'll just—"

            "Wait. Just…shite." His hand dropped onto my arm. I turned. His expression was pained. "You're right," he said quickly, a bit desperately. "I can't do tough love. Not with you. No more tough love. We'll get Sirius back, yeah? No worries."

            "Hey, wait. What do you mean—"

            But James was already shaking his head furiously. "You were staring down at the table like I'd just killed your _pet_ or something. And I'm supposed to keep _doing_ that? Are you daft?" He shuddered visibly, shaking his head again. "No. Sirius can be tough love. I'll be humane. Between the pair of us, I reckon you'll catch on somehow. Yeah?"

            "Yeah, all right," I said. I admit, I was probably smiling a bit foolishly as I said it. Poor bloke. He was such a soft touch sometimes. I think I may have nicked his pride with all my silly grinning, though. He got a bit cross and huffy afterwards.

            "What?" he asked, staring at me with all this obviously bashful outrage. "Do you _want_ me to enjoy seeing you miserable? Is that some new kick of yours?"

            "Of course not. I think it's very sweet, actually. You're a sweet bloke, James Potter."

            But calling a bloke sweet is probably the equivalent of calling a bloke a pansy or some other equally sexist, masculinity-driven insult, so James just continued to grumble and then tried to divert all his displeasure into some more humane tutoring methods.

            But now that I think about it…sweet _is_ a rather apt word for him, isn't it?

            I mean, honestly, how many blokes in this day and age would put up with my antics? How many of them would willingly hang about while I partake in all my lunacy—not even just with the hope that one day I will grow out of it and become a normally functioning member of society, but with the knowledge that I'll probably never change? Because the thing is, I don't think James even _wants_ that. I think he _likes_ my…well, let's go the flattering route and call them quirks, shall we? I think he genuinely likes them. And maybe that's simply because he has a few of his own and reckons relationships need that sort of balance, but either way…

            Sweet. That's really what he is. Very, very sweet.

            Because it takes a special sort of someone to be able to handle my hyphenations and medical terms. It takes a special sort of someone to not even blink when a girl skittishly ambles her way through obvious label issues at your expense, desperately clinging to her own (yes, I can admit it) rather foolish boundary lines. It takes a special sort of someone even just to sit with a painfully dim Head Girl for the better part of the afternoon, explaining the inner workings of a handful of Transfiguration spells that most people could probably do in their sleep.

            But James does it all, without even a moment's hesitation.

            And I'm not an idiot, all right? I realise that I'm a coward and that our friend Godric is probably cursing the day the poor Sorting Hat had an off moment and placed me in his house. I know normal witches would see a bloke like James and count their lucky stars—and I _do_. Really, I do. I mean, it's not like I wax lyrical about every damn suit of armour I pass on my merry way. But I just…

            Hell. Maybe I _am_ an idiot. I don't know.

            Because people who aren't idiots, they probably would have meant the whole Sirius thing as a grand gesture. And people who aren't idiots probably would have said something along the lines of, "Yes, of _course_ I care. I _more_ than care," and then completed that diatribe with some other rather poignant words. And I _know_ that people who aren't idiots wouldn't have gotten lost in a tizzy over something as simple—as _inevitable_ as—the word "girlfriend."

            To be or not to be an idiot. It seems that's the question.

            Many thanks, Bill. You cleared that _right_ up.

            Hmph.

__________________________

**Late, Dinner in the Great Hall**  
**Observant Lily: Day 41  
** **Total Observations: 284**

Observation #284) Get a Time-Turner. _Soon_.

            When I got down to dinner, the change in the table dynamic was so blatantly obvious, it was almost comical.

            Recent circumstances have provoked a bit of a shuffling to the normal seating and general order at the Gryffindor table. As usual, we older students keep to the far end of the Hall, but things have been a bit off as of late. Some epic melodrama between Janie Finch and Laura Darthern had torn the 6th-year girls into two battlegrounds since Hogsmeade, which resulted in half the dorm suddenly deciding they preferred the company of the 5th-years mid-table. When they did deign to visit our end of things, rows inevitably broke out, which Chris Lynch and Peter had taken a fancy to commentating. The pair of them had such a fab time doing so that when Laura and her dithering cluster of dolts quit coming round our end altogether, the pair of them began to commentate just about anything. It wasn't rare to suddenly hear a stately, "And now, with precise care and fastidious forethought, Remus makes his perilous decision between _turkey_ and _ham_. What _will_ he choose?" or "Holy Harpies, would you look at that? In a move no one could have predicted, Emmeline asks Patrick if he _could please scoot down_! What a hit! What a ruse!" They near cracked each other's ribs in their hilarity. 

            And ever since Grace has been letting her claustrophobia be known in the form of only sporadically sitting next to Chris and molesting him beneath the table, his bits of commentary have reached a sort of desperate frenzy for attention. Mostly that's been dead irritating, but we've tolerated it because they've pretty much been the only dead irritating things being said. This is because typically the only other perpetrators of the dead-irritating-mealtime-antics have always been James and Sirius, who, it should be noted, have probably spent more mealtimes being dead irritating than they have eating. However, relations being as they have been, I'm sure it's not hard to imagine why that particular duo hasn't been in the mood to be particularly irritating together. Sirius mostly sat moodily with his food and let out the occasional jab and jibe, and James…well, I suppose James was mostly concerned with me. Which, yes, was probably not the healthiest of things, but…I'm just a girl. If a dashing bloke wants to pay me attention, how am I supposed to resist?

            Anyway, this has been going on for nearly a week now and, truth be told, no one saw an end in sight. According to Marley (the only neutral player in the Finch-Darthern debacle), Janie and Laura had escalated to the point of not even being able to sit in the other's company, and the commentators had relished the continued hostilities. Gracie was still playing hot-cold with poor Chris's affections, and in the wake of Emma's sudden reunion with Mac and Remus's recent illness, two of our key sane players had abandoned the field. Obviously things with James and Sirius had yet to be settled, and things between James and _me_ had yet to be settled, so it was all looking pretty bleak for Gryffindor.

            Until tonight, that is.

            Because tonight, when Grace, Emma and I wandered on down to the Great Hall…well, it was a completely different kind of chaos. However, it was one that, at first, didn't seem very unusual, seeing as we'd just cleared the wide threshold into the hall when the sudden shrilly cry exploded.

            "But I _told_ her I fancied him! I told her and she just went and _snogged_ him anyway!"

            "Five knuts on Finch," Grace said immediately, grinning widely. "Any takers?"

            "I don't know," I said, sighing lightly as I squinted at the crowd of people that had formed around what I assumed was the latest public 6th-year squabble. I couldn't see a thing. "Laura's pretty feisty. And have you seen her Jelly Jinx? Fierce."

            "No bets," Emma chided, shaking her head in disapproval. "We shouldn't be encouraging them with the attention. It only makes it worse."

            Emma was right, of course. The silly ninnies did thrive on the attention. And though we should be grateful to her for simply putting a halt to our underage gambling, I found myself especially indebted when my proposed pick, Laura, spoke up next.

            Or perhaps 'spoke' isn't quite the right word. I think 'wailed' might be better suited.

            "I d-didn't k-know!" Laura cried, and it didn't take much time—or much of a hearing ability—to discover the girl was positively wreaked with sobs. _Merlin_ , she could howl. "A-and it j-just h-happened!"

            "That's no excuse! How can I—"

            "Now, now, pets. What happened to our truce?"

            "Well reminded, Mr. Black. No one ever got anywhere screeching, did they?"

            Even from our place outside of the large crowd, the two male voices could be distinctly heard over Laura's sobs and Janie's heavy breathing.

            Two male voices that I _knew_.

            Two male voices that I knew _well_.

            Emma's eyebrows lifted. "Is that…?"

            Grace began plowing through the crowd. "Excuse me! 'Cuse— _move_ , please. Bird with a baby coming through!"

            I grabbed hold of Grace's shirt and bumped my way through the crowd behind her. I could feel Emma shouldering through the pack on my heels. When we finally reached the middle of the pack, the scene that greeted us was most remarkable in its pure ludicrousness.

            Bloody hell. What madness have I reunited?

            The small patch of the Gryffindor table was clear on both sides save for a quartet of occupants that some part of me had known I would find, but the other part of me couldn't quite believe. Sitting on the opposite side of the table, James held a soothing arm on a red-faced Janie Finch's heaving shoulder. Directly across from them and sitting almost immediately to my right, Sirius had his arms wrapped around a still sobbing Laura, who was mopping her tears against his shoulder.

            Really, I was almost afraid to ask.

            Almost.

            My gaze flickered away from the tableau only long enough to glance to my right. Luckily, Remus was the person that Grace had plowed us towards. The boy looked exasperated and rolled his eyes when his gaze caught mine.

            "What's going on?" I asked.

            "Peace parley," Remus answered flatly, not looking too far from rolling his eyes again. His lips did quirk up a bit, though. "I'd thank you for straightening the two of them out, but now I'm not so certain that we weren't better off. Seems they're determined to make up for lost time."

            "Lost time?" I repeated. "Doing what? Mediating rows between lunatics?"

            Remus lifted his shoulders into a tired shrug. "It was either this or kidnapping Mrs. Norris and plastering ransom notes throughout the Entrance Hall. Consider it the lesser of two evils. They think it's funny. Let them have their fun."

            I didn't know how in the hell a peace parley constituted as fun, but even I, a recent arrival, could see that the pair of previously antagonistic mates were holding back grins of pure mirth. I eyed James most carefully, watching him play his part with enthusiasm. He patted Janie's arm quite dramatically, his antics clearly crossing the border between sympathetic and mocking.

            "Deep breaths, Janie," he advised, his voice heavy with pseudo-severity. "You just keep breathing. That's important."

            Janie did as James asked—loudly and with an equal (though probably not as deliberate) flair of drama. "Sorry," she said, visibly trying to pull herself together. Her face didn't lose its coloured hue, though. "She just makes me so _cross_ —"

            Laura let out another wail.

            Sirius jerked her closer to his side. "Foul!" he called in outrage. "Bad form! Can't you see what you're _doing_ to my poor client? She's _awash_ in pain— _drowning_ in pain!"

            Laura let out some muffled form of agreement.

            James cleared his throat loudly and resettled his glasses on his nose (though they weren't the least bit crooked in the first place). He removed his hand from Janie's arm in order to bridge his fingers together thoughtfully, lowering them onto the table and leaning forward. "Sympathetic as _my_ client and I are to _your_ client's pain," he started loftily, "there are still the facts to be dealt with. A great and terrible crime was committed against this _poor_ , innocent girl, and I for one will not stand for it!"

            James banged his fist hard against the table with that pronouncement. Janie quickly followed suit.

            "Yeah!" she mimicked, the second bang going off with less finesse. "We won't stand for it!"

            Sirius removed one arm away from Laura's shoulder in order to hold it up in objection. "Now, now, there's no need for this fist banging! My client and I have discussed it, and while we admit to some wrongdoing, it can't be forgotten that at the time of the supposed incident between Mr. Dave Sommers and my client, Miss Finch there _was_ thought to be significantly attached to one, Mr. Willie Rhodes!"

            Janie let out a gasp of outrage. "It was _one_ date! We didn't even snog!"

            Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "Be that as it may, the facts remain the facts. Our previous offer remains on the table. Do you accept?"

            Whatever this "previous offer" was, it apparently left much to be considered by the accepting side. James instantly leaned into Janie, muttering something into her ear. Janie looked a bit thoughtful, but then sharply shook her head and muttered something back at James. The conversation continued that way for a few more tense moments, but the pair finally seemed to reach a consensus (And none too soon, if you ask _my_ opinion. Honestly, did she have to practically _climb_ on him like that? He had perfectly normal hearing! There was no need to cuddle up so close!).

            Giving one last nod to Janie, James turned back to Sirius and Laura with a very fierce expression. That sternness paused only for a moment when, from out of the corner of his eye, James must have spotted me standing there. His eyes met my rolling ones for the briefest of seconds, breaking character only long enough to give me a wink before he was right back to playing diplomat. He cleared his throat again.

            "We have considered your offer." He stuck his hands-folded pose once more. "We accept the concession of the yellow dress and the package of Miss Flora's Hair Supplies, but would require the addition of…er…" James looked at Janie.

            "Her black, toeless pumps," she supplied.

            James nodded. "Er, right. Those. And as for the private apology…we would require it be made in public."

            "Hag!" Laura cried instantly, tears all but forgotten as she glared mutinously at Janie. "My _pumps_? You know how much I spent on them!"

            Janie remained obstinate, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking, somewhat evilly in my opinion. When Laura went to continue with what I'm sure was going to be a _highly_ flattering slew of nouns and adjectives, Sirius placed a restraining hand on her arm and murmured something in her ear. Laura instantly let out a sound of distress and a petty, "No!" but Sirius muffled her protests with another whispered suggestion. This one was met with less resistance and after a moment, Laura placed her hand in front of Sirius's ear and whispered something back. After a back-and-forth similar to James and Janie's, Sirius gave his final nod.

            "Right then," he said, and sat up a bit straighter. He eyed James sharply. "My client and I are willing to negotiate your new terms. The shoe wear in debate will be on _loan_ only, and the apology shall be made semi-publically, within the confines of the mighty Gryffindor common room. Do we have an agreement?"

            Sirius extended out his hand.

            For a moment, James eyed the hand critically, as if it were some sort of trick. Janie looked thoughtful, eyeing Laura with the same hard censure. After a moment, James leaned down towards Janie and muttered something. She seemed to be considering it very seriously, and then, slowly but surely, she gave her final nod.

            As James placed his hand in Sirius's, the crowd let out a roar of cheers.

            "We can sleep in peace again!" Marley cried in glee.

            "We can _eat_ in peace again!" one of the fifth-years returned.

            "You know, I'm sort of going to miss the entertainment," a Ravenclaw added somewhat remorsefully. Chris Lynch came up behind her and gave her shoulder a comforting pat.

            "No tears, there, Bex. I've no doubt some new debacle will erupt tomorrow. We shadn't be starved!"

            People started making their way back towards their tables, and the Gryffindors settled back into their seats as Janie and Laura reluctantly started up a conversation and James and Sirius continued to pump hands, grinning like a pair of damn fools.

            Honestly. I should have just left it alone. I'd feel safer.

            "Fine battle, old chap. Rapier returns!" James called.

            "You've been practicing," Sirius accused, his returning grin sharp. "You almost had me there."

            James reeled back, affronted. " _Almost_? You were lapping at my feet, you poor sod. I _pillaged_ you."

            "Can we _eat_ now?" Remus interrupted, seeming to realise, like I was starting to, that this back and forth could go on for hours. Merlin save us. "You've had your fun. I'm starved."

            "So _moody_ , isn't he?" James said, but he made quick work of climbing onto the bench, then stepping onto the Gryffindor table and over the patch of space that had been cleared of food for the peace parley. He hopped to the ground next to Remus and me, his grin positively rampant. "Hullo," he said.

            "Hullo, yourself," I returned, shaking my head. Sirius rose from his seat as well, joining the crew. I think it was the first time we'd ever come face-to-face when he wasn't initially scowling at me. I eyed the two of them with a sigh. "I suppose that answers the question of whether the pair of you actually patched things up, doesn't it?"

            "We've found a more productive use of our time," Sirius answered, slapping James on the back. "Bamming barmy bints. Brilliant fun. I'd tell you to join in, Evans, but all things considered…"

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_. "Yes, yes, I'm a barmy bint myself. Much thanks, Sirius. You've gotten your jibe in. You can sleep satisfied tonight."

            Sirius grinned. "That's all I ask." 

            And even though his grin was mostly friendly, I still wanted to thrash him a bit. Some things never change, I suppose. Grace asked Sirius then how the whole thing had started, and she and Emma walked off to the table as Sirius started to explain (loudly and with a flair I'm sure the actual events didn't warrant). James and I were left standing alone.

            "I'm not sure I'm too keen on you and Janie Finch," I said, cocking an eyebrow at him. "There are strict rules about attorney-client boundaries, yes?"

            "Of course," James returned instantly, his grin broadening. He leaned in all conspiring. "Which is why I'm afraid I won't be able to represent you in any future endeavors. Reputation is everything in these sorts of things, you know."

            I know he was probably expecting me to come back with some sort of witty jibe about special exceptions and personal favours, which I _could've_ done, of course, but it suddenly seemed inordinately more important to utilize the moment for something more than potential dirty flirting. I wanted something...well, genuine. There was no way I could just take the easy way out when he was standing there so vibrantly, practically radiating an aura of cheer and whimsy. And so instead of the typical raunchy return, I found myself tilting my head to the side and smiling softly as I said, "You're happy. And I'm happy you're happy."

            I think James was as surprised as I was that I didn't go for the easy reply. Of course, he had no idea that I had spent the better part of the afternoon cursing myself an idiot fool for similar lapses. And while I hadn't yet decided how much of an idiot I was, there was enough of a conflict there to make this comment almost as necessary as it was inevitable. I felt better after saying it. It was true, after all. I _was_ happy that he was happy.

            Maybe I didn't yet know how to be a girlfriend, but damn it, I knew how to be a girl who wanted to see him happy and that was going to have to be enough for now.

            From the look of things, it was plenty enough for James. For a moment, I worried that it wasn't—or maybe worse, was too much too soon, seemingly false or feigned—because James actually looked far too contemplative for the sort of elated response I'd expected, but that all made much more sense when he leaned in close and said, "You'd be pretty cross if I went ahead and snogged you in the middle of the Great Hall, wouldn't you?"

            Right, then.

            My face heated instantly. "Um. Yes."

            James leaned closer. "Even if it makes me even _happier_?"

            "Even then."

            From the way his eyes were flickering back and forth across my face, I'm rather certain he was considering it, anyway. But I suppose he must have caught sight of how positively red I was at that point and decided he'd rather not have me dead from mortification, because he just sighed very heavily and went, "Fine. Later, then."

            Which, you know, still sort of had me blushing like mad, but…well, it couldn't be helped.

            And really, I thought that after that, I had pretty much reached my embarrassment quota for the meal. I mean, it's not every day that a girl just pronounces things like "I'm glad you're happy" to her more-potential-than-mate, is it? I'd thought that meant something, but apparently absolutely nothing is sacred anymore because not a half-hour later, after I had finally cooled my initial mortification and was eating a pleasant meal between Grace and James...wouldn't you know it? Mortification number two struck.

            Because it was just as I was happily munching on my portion (all right, perhaps it was a second portion) of rice that Sirius, who was sitting right there across from us, suddenly went, "Hey, Prongs. I've a question for you."

            James glanced up from his own meal, thinking nothing of this. I didn't think anything of either, simply continued on with my rice-stuffing as James went, "Ask your question, Padfoot."

            And then—and _I kid you not_ , this actually occurred—Sirius went, casual as anything, "So listen. Say that Lily and I are both dangling off separate cliffs, right? Slipping finger grips, feet swinging—"

            I choked on my rice.

            Literally. _I_ _choked on my rice_.

            "—yelling and carrying on, the whole dramatic debacle. Well, if we're both hanging there, and you're the only person around to help...who are you saving first?"

             I couldn't stop sputtering, not even enough to yell or cry or go find an aforementioned cliff and go willingly dangle off it with the specific purpose of letting go. I simply sat there with my hand over my mouth, coughing and gasping like a right fool, my entire body turning a shade of red I'm certain has never before been seen on this good planet—and that wasn't simply just from the choking.

            I wanted to die.

            I actually, seriously, _wanted to die_.

            But I had to kill Sirius first.

            Of course, that sort of thing—homicide, I mean—can be quite difficult when one is still attempting to clear one's windpipe. So even though my true intention was to first quickly off Sirius, then dutifully do myself in as well, that was all tossed overboard in order to accommodate my incessant hacking.

            And really, even though I'd just sat through an entire supposedly hilarious peace treaty and had seven years of experience watching the pair of them together, I don't think I truly, fully understood just _how_ bloody attuned James and Sirius are until that moment when, absently patting my back as I continued to choke, James thought for a moment, then went, "Well, what are the weather conditions like?"

            The weather conditions.

            He asked about the _weather conditions_.

            Sirius was a traitorous git, I was hacking up a lung, and James was pondering precipitation and humidity.

            Yeah. I _know_.

            And cool as could be, Sirius went, "Partly cloudy. A bit of wind chill. Slight chance of rain."

            "And beneath the cliffs?" James quit patting my back. I think I'd stopped hacking, simply from shock. "Is there water? Or is it a ravine?"

            "Water," Sirius replied.

            James hummed thoughtfully. "Can she swim?" he asked. Then, to me, "Can you swim?"

            Can I swim?

            Can I _swim_?

            I didn't answer. I _couldn't_ answer. What the hell was I supposed to say?

            "Hm," James said, when I didn't answer. He eyed me critically, then turned back to Sirius. "You're a strong swimmer. And have dived off a cliff or two in your time. I'm going with her."

            Sirius slammed his hands against the table in victory. "Ha! Wrong!"

            James hissed out a sullen curse. "All right. Why you?"

            Sirius smirked smugly. "You didn't ask _how_ much water. Evans had an ocean. I had a puddle. You lose."

            James swore again. "All right, all right. Fair play. I've got one now—so, say Remus and I are hanging off separate cliffs—"

            And on they went, just like that.

            My mad analogy, my ever-so-persuasive, highly personal, never-meant-to-reach-anyone-else's-ears-besides-those-to-which-it-was-initally-directed metaphor?

            They turned it into a game.

            Right there in front of me, they turned it into a bloody _game_.

            The Cliff Game, they called it, and soon everyone was having a turn.

            "Do you want a go, Lil?" James asked after a multitude of minutes—and even more rounds—had passed. I opened my mouth to answer, not even entirely certain myself just what would come out. Luckily, I didn't have to find out.

            "Oh, Evans is an old hand at this one," Sirius interrupted, and the look he sent me then was, I am _quite_ certain, nothing short of the very same look that the Devil himself would wear. "She helped create it, you know."

            "Really?" James asked in surprise.

            I only glared— _could_ only glare. "I hate you," I finally told Sirius, quite earnestly. "I absolutely hate you."

            He raised his glass of pumpkin juice with a grin. "Cheers."

            And that's when I decided that I'm getting a Time-Turner. I'm getting a Time-Turner, and when I do, I'm going to use it to go back to Friday. And on Friday, I'm either going to a) let Evan do me in. It can't be any worse than this, or b) do Sirius in, say, "Thanks for the save!" then chuck him out the nearest high-storied window.            

            Someone get me the applications. I need them in _now_.

__________________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 41  
** **Total Observations: 284**

            It didn't take very long to grow entirely fed up with listening to the many rounds of the Cliff Game, even with the comforting thoughts of my forthcoming time traveling and subsequent murders to soften the humiliating blows. And to make matters worse, I seemed to be alone in my misery. Grace was too busy attempting to ignore Chris's many efforts at overly-loud wooing, Emma had gone to the Ravenclaw table to try to find Mac, and Hagrid had just come to fetch James for his detention, so things didn't seem like they'd be improving any time soon. I decided to leave before someone asked me about mountain diving again and I was rudely forced to move up my homicide plot.

            And you know how those sorts of things go without the proper planning. Messy.

            "Try not to get mutilated or otherwise permanently maimed," I told James before he left, rising out of my seat just after he had. Hagrid was already leaving the hall, obviously expecting James to follow. "The forest creatures don't deserve that sort of indigestion."

            "Your concern is humbling," James replied flatly, ruffling my hair. I swatted his hand away, but he just laughed. I glanced over, ready to pull a face at his inane grin, but he wasn't smiling, not even a little. Instead, his face was strangely passive. "Try not to get mutilated or otherwise permanently maimed, either," he said slowly, before I could ask about it. "I want to talk to you later."

            There was something about the way he said it—like, even though he was speaking the words, he wasn't certain he wanted them out—that had my eyebrows lifting. This wasn't your typical 'talk to you later/snog you later' request. I didn't know what it was, but it wasn't that. An uncomfortable pull tugged at my stomach, but I forcefully shoved that away. Still, it didn't take a genius to see something was off. He made the impending conversation sound so odious.

            "This isn't one of _those_ conversations, is it?" I asked suspiciously, only half-joking. "You know, 'Things have been really fab, Lil. It's not you, it's me?'"

            James's lips barely quirked. "Well, look at that. Reckon we don't have to talk later after all."

            I considered swiping at him, but decided a particularly sour look would work just as well. I'm not certain if that was the right choice, but the strange stolid look he was donning faded into chuckles, so I decided to count that as a sort of victory. When he didn't say anything more however, I prodded, "Will I like this talk?"

            The laughter dimmed into a sort of contemplative smile. "Honestly?" he said. "Dunno."

            There went the panic again. _Shite_. "What does that mean?"

            He still wasn't making a bit of sense, but his smile had yet to disappear completely. I clung desperately to that. Especially when he went, "It means it's been a good day and now I'm feeling a bit reckless. For better or worse."

            Oh. Right. Because _that_ just clears everything up. Many thanks.

            Psh.

            "That's not—"

            But James was already brushing off my interruption. "Hagrid's off. I better follow. We'll talk later."

            From the way he was watching me then, I knew that's all I'd be getting out of him and it didn't seem like he'd be staying around long enough for me to badger him about it. The mysteriousness of it all had me anxiously riled. I mean, how do you just _do_ that to a girl? And how do you not know whether she's going to like a conversation or not? Conversations generally have one of two tones: good or bad. Which was it, for Merlin's sake? 

            I crossed my arms over my chest, perhaps a bit petulantly, but I hate deliberately obtuse lead-ups. The tosser should know that by now. "Are you sure we're even going to be _having_ this conversation?" I grumbled, staring pointedly at him. "You have to admit, you have a pretty spotty track record concerning things you mean to tell me but never exactly get around to doing so."

            James smiled enigmatically at that. "Later," was all he said.

            And then he left, cool as a cucumber and casual as could be.

            Smarmy bastard.

            Smarmy, _secretive_ bastard.

            And seriously, what's with that? 'It means it's been a good day and now I'm feeling a bit reckless'? That was honestly all he was giving me? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, anyway? How can a conversation be reckless? And should James really be indulging in that particular character flaw of his? I don't think James and his reckless nature have always turned out positive results. Why risk it?

            I reasoned at first that it must have something to do with Sirius—after all, that was why it'd "been a good day," wasn't it? But then I got to thinking about bloody grand gestures and my dim comments about happiness. 

            Hell.

            Hell, hell, _hell_.

            But James had said I only had to _think_ about the boyfriend thing, hadn't he? Yes. Yes, he had. I'm certain of it. Was this 'recklessness' some sort of ultimatum, then? Was that his plan? If it was, I was in big trouble. I wasn't one for ultimatums in the first place, but if it was this "Make it official or make it nothing at all" challenge…bloody hell, what was I supposed to do? I didn't want either. Not just yet, in any case. And James _knows_ that. I _know_ he knows that. I can't say yes. Did he honestly want me to turn him down?

            But I'm not certain I could do _that_ , either.

            What was I supposed to do if I couldn't say yes, but I couldn't say no?

            The question grated on my conscience as I made my way back up to Gryffindor Tower alone—the same question that, I suppose, has been grating on my conscience for the better part of the past term.

            What the bloody hell was I going to do with James Potter?

            Asking it just depressed me, so I decided to shove it aside until later. What would come, would come. There was nothing I could do to stop the conversation from happening, but until it was here, there was no purpose agonizing over it. James would do or say exactly what his reckless little self decided he had to do or say, and I would listen and react as best I could. There was nothing else for it.

            I'm not certain how well the whole "let's-just-not-think-about-it" plan would have worked if it hadn't been for the miraculous distraction that captured my attention just as I reached the Fat Lady.

            Thank Merlin for small favours.

            Or, you know, best mate's boyfriends.

            "Er. Hullo, Lily."

            The sudden greeting startled me, and even though it was still prime corridor-crowding hours, the seventh floor was strangely empty, so Mac's voice echoed slightly in the barren hallway. He was standing innocently next to the Fat Lady, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, shuffling about from foot to foot. When I didn't immediately answer, he leaned slightly to his side, looking past me.

            "Emmeline's not with you?" he asked.

            I snapped myself out of my surprise, shaking my head. "Ah, no. No, she's not. I believe she's looking for you in the Great Hall, actually—or she was when I left her, in any case."

            Mac quit shuffling and frowned. "In the Hall? But I could have sworn…said to meet her here…"

            He was looking at me as if he expected me to nod along and say, "Yes, she did, didn't she? What's she doing down there?" But seeing as I was entirely uninformed as to the particulars of Emma's plans and/or thought processes, all I could really do was shrug with an uncertain, "Er, yeah. Sorry."

            Mac accepted that with a short nod, then motioned down the corridor. "Right," he said, starting to move. "Well, I'd better go meet her…yeah. Thanks, Lily—"

            "Mac. Wait."

            Mac turned at my call, already having moved past me. His eyes blinked questioningly, an obvious inquiry. I gave him an uncertain smile.

            And the thing is...I know I _probably_ shouldn't have done it. In fact, I probably should feel a whole hell of a lot worse about the fact that I _did_ do it than I do now. But I was in a strange mood and Mac was there and I was looking for a distraction, so what of it? Plus, I had been so caught up in the personal dramas of my everyday life that I had hardly even thought about Dumbledore's request. With Mac standing there by himself, however, that all came back, and conversations about the technicalities of who exactly should be talking to whom…

            Well, come on. At the end of the day, did you _really_ expect more from me?

            Besides, Dumbledore had asked James and me to help. He'd said to keep our eyes and ears pealed. He hadn't specifically mentioned pealed mouths, but I figure that was implied. You know, three senses for the price of two. So this was a duty. A duty that aided with the _very safety of the world_. It would have been selfish not to ask him. Wholly and completely selfish.

            You know, mostly.

            "Do you have a minute?" I found myself asking, even though part of me was perhaps not _entirely_ convinced of the whole 'safety of the world' reasoning. Whatever. I could deal with my conscious later. "I wanted to ask you about something."

            Mac hesitated for a second, which had me wondering whether or not Emma had already spoken with him. If she had, I wasn't _technically_ breaking my arrangement with her. She had said that it would probably be best if she were the one who asked him about the potionmaking business, but she had never _expressly_ said that I couldn't. You know, in so many words. So if she had spoken to him, but had obviously failed to garner the information that was so necessary to this investigation…well, what choice did I have? She had her turn, now it was mine. And she never specifically forbade that.

            I took it as a sign from above that someone agreed with me when, instead of making up some excuse or insisting that he had to go find Emma, Mac turned around fully and gave me a nod. "Er, all right," he said.

            My meddling bits were already doing a jolly jig.

            Right, then. Here we go.

            I figured I should probably ease into the precarious chat with some small talk. I gave Mac my best friendly smile. "First, I just wanted to say that I'm really glad you and Emma worked things out. She's really happy. I imagine you are, too."

            Mac's ears turned a telling red (flattery is a very strong offense), but he managed a jerky nod. "Yeah. And I meant to…I know we haven't been on the best of terms always, but you've helped. So thank you. For that."

            Huh.

            Imagine, someone actually _grateful_ for my meddling!

            I knew I liked this chap.

            I smiled brightly, encouraged by the unexpected (but highly deserved) praise. "I'm glad. Honestly, I really am. I mean, in the end, it was really all just a matter of some unfortunate misunderstandings—um, but you know, speaking of which…er. Has…has Emma by chance spoken with you?"

            "Spoken with me?" Mac repeated the words in confusion. His eyebrow furrowed for a moment, but his face cleared quickly. _Yes_. "Oh. You mean…yeah. Yeah, she told me about your run-in with Jack and Evan. Not all of it, but I take it it wasn't pleasant. You all right?"

            "Yes. Fine. Lovely." I quickly waved off his concern. This wasn't the time for earning consideration points. "They were just trying to pull some scare tactics, I think. But running into them had me wondering…and Emma had mentioned something about you helping them with some potionmaking previously, so I thought—"

            "I've stopped," Mac interrupted instantly, a look of sudden urgency crossing over his features. He took an earnest step towards me. "Really. Honest. The second Emmeline asked me to, I did. Even before we'd reconciled. I haven't helped them since. I'm not—"

            "No, no. I'm sure you haven't. That's not what I'm asking." Mac's face visibly eased at my hasty assurance. I sent him a small smile, wondering how exactly to go about this. I didn't want to insult him. I wonder if I already had? That wouldn't be good. "I was actually more curious about…well, what you were actually _doing_. What they're still doing. Emma said it was some potion for your dad?"

            Mac's head bobbled in agreement. I think the slight scare about him believing I thought he was still lying to Emma had actually worked to my advantage—he seemed entirely willing to chat now. "My father and Jack's work in the Ward of Magically Induced Maladies at St. Mungo's," he told me, with wonderful detail. "It's been a madhouse lately, with all the attacks and everything. They work mostly in research—vital stuff, really—but the hospital's still been cutting funds. The ward has a few private benefactors, but…"

            "But it's not enough. Makes sense. Sure." I nodded along as sympathetically as I could, subtly goading him on. "So…what? Your father asked you to start brewing here? Is that it?"

            Mac hesitated for a second, but then shrugged. "Not exactly. It was Mr. Avery's idea, his plan with Jack. The ward has been working on an antidote for Hotchkiss's disease. But the board—the benefactors—are pushing for a potion to ease the side effects of Unforgiveables—which is important! Don't get me wrong. I mean, especially now. But they've been working on this antidote for _years_ , and now they've been expected to just give it up."

            "So Mr. Avery asked Jack to keep up the research here?" I asked with genuine curiosity. "But Jack's shite at potions, so your dad asked you to step in and help?"

            "Hogwarts has the supplies the ward's no longer providing," Mac explained, warming slightly to the subject. "They sent us instructions—what we were brewing, what to change—then we packed it up and sent it off to the labs. It was only this one potion, a couple of brewing sessions. It's good practice. I plan on applying to Mungo's after graduation. The company's less than perfect, but it's what my father wanted, and I was just trying to help."

            I tried to take all that in, look at it critically. It made sense, what he was saying. The way he explained it, I couldn't blame him for going along with it. My father was a doctor. I understood the lack of funds, the boards, the benefactors. I'd heard Dad gripe about them more than once. This was a bit unconventional, but nothing too preposterous. But there were still bits missing from his story, still something that wasn't sitting right. It couldn't possibly be as innocent as that. Something just didn't add up. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what that was, but then I realised there was something very obvious missing, and figured we could start there.

            "And what about Evan?" I asked, trying to be casual about it. "And Wilkes was around, as well, wasn't he? Where do they come in?"

            "Sep's mother works in the ward, as well," Mac answered, shrugging again. "As for the Rosiers…I haven't a clue, really. I know their family is one of the hospital's benefactors, but Evan just showed up with Jack one day, and then Paul after him. Honestly, it was just easier not to complain about it. They wouldn't have listened, anyway."

            Mac said it earnestly, and I had a hard time doubting that he was telling the truth—or _thought_ he was telling the truth, in any case. I didn't know what was really going on, but "Oh, the Rosiers just felt like dropping in for a spot of potionmaking!" wasn't my cup of tea. There was something more there—something _big_ there—and though I might be just a _tad_ bit biased in favour of suspicion towards that family, I didn't think I was wrong. But how could I prove it? What else was there to ask? Mac was involved, however innocently. He _knew_ things, even if he didn't realise it yet. I had Mac now. I would get everything out of him I could. It seemed irresponsible not to.

            I mean, for Merlin's sake, I was a _spy_. This was my _job_.

            I needed to come at this from a different angle. But what angle was that?

            "What is this antidote exactly?" I asked, figuring that was as good a question as any. Mac's brow furrowed at my continued interrogation, and I wondered how long he'd put up with my questions. Hopefully just a little longer. I knew I was heading into precarious waters. "I mean, I know you told Emma that it wasn't anything…well, you _know_. But with those blokes—"

            I knew I was in trouble when Mac's look of mild concern abruptly dipped into a deep frown. _Shite_. "I wouldn't mess around with anything Dark," he told me coldly. "My father would never ask me to."

            Uh-oh.

            Backtrack, Evans. _Backtrack_.

            "Of course. Mac. Really, I never meant—it's just, you're not there anymore and I thought—"

            "The antidote isn't even caustic. It's mostly herbal."

            "I'm sure—"

            "And we've had to clear everything through Abbott. Do you think she'd just them mess around? You know how she is."

            _Ah._

            Abbott.

            They had to clear everything through _Abbott_.

            It wasn't an admission, or even something particularly incriminating, but at least it was another lead.

            And just in time, as well. Mac did not look particularly happy with me.

            "I'm sorry," I apologised quickly, deliberately putting on my most contrite expression. Mac didn't know me well enough to realise that I was never apologetic for my meddling. "I didn't mean to upset you. Honestly. Evan and Jack just startled me the other day and my mind always flies to the worst. I truly never meant to imply anything about your dad or what you were doing. I'm an overreacting clod. Forgive me?"

            It was sloppy work for certain. If a Head of Super Spydom had been around, I've little doubt that my license would have been immediately brought up for trial. My half-panicked apology wouldn't have been enough to fool an even minimally perceptive target, but Mac was a particular sort. Our relationship was tentative at best. Yes, I'd just insulted him, his family, his actions, his…well, you know. A partridge in a pear tree. But Mac is no simpleton. He knows he has quite a bit of ground to make up for in the Emma's Mates department. That pure stroke of luck might have been the only thing that allowed me to squirm out of this rather precarious debacle. And even then, it was by the skin of my teeth.

            Mac still looked less than pleased. His ears were red again, but this time, I reckon it wasn't from embarrassment. Still, he didn't throw my nonsense back in my face, which I was eternally grateful for. Instead, he just sort of shuffled about stiffly. 

            "S'alright," he finally said, clearly no longer open for information. "I suppose Jack and Evan could unnerve anyone. I'm just not sure what you're expecting."

            "Nothing," I said immediately, and meant it (now that I'd gotten all that I ever would). If I ever wanted to have a normal conversation with him after this, I had to get him to believe that. "Really. And sorry again. I'm rude and overdramatic. They're faults. I'm working on it."

            Mac nodded. He still seemed a bit annoyed with me, but I suppose he's like Emma that way—stifles all that negative energy down quickly, doesn't let it take over for long. In any case, I didn't have much time to contemplate the complexities of his feelings towards me. He wasn't willing to stick around much longer. He finally gave the excuse that I'd been expecting from the very beginning ("Well, I'd better be off. Emma, you know."), then didn't really dawdle around for prolonged goodbyes.

            So now it seems that I have reached the conclusion of my evening with three worries:

            1) Whether or not Mac tells Emma that I grilled him for information, and what Emma will do to me if he does.  
            2) How exactly one can confront a lead like Professor Abbott.  
            3) My chat with James.

            Honestly, I don't know if Mac will tell Emma. Part of me thinks of course he will—lying is what had botched up their relationship in the first place, hadn't it?—but an equal part of me thinks Mac realised this was an interaction to be kept between just the two of us. He might keep mum simply to avoid trouble, thinking he'd risk embarrassing me because of all of my impertinent questions. I hoped that was the case. I mean, Emma probably half expected me not to leave the whole thing alone, but all the same, I didn't want to disappoint her. I know she wouldn't throw a fit or anything, but sometimes it's the quiet disapprovals that hurt the most.

            As for Abbott...well, that was certainly going to be a challenge. I mean, I know that I'm a superspy and everything, but some things are just a tad bit mad to take on. It's not like I could just stroll on up to her and be all, "Hey there, Professor. So I'm rather certain that some shady business is going down under your watch. Want to chat about it?" 

            She'd probably hex me. Or get me expelled. Or perhaps even skip over all those petty responses and go straight for the _Avada Kedavra_. I mean, it's one thing to have backbone, it's something entirely different to deliberately sass a professor with little to no tact—and about her own negligence no less! Because if Mac was right and Abbott _did_ have full knowledge of this outside brewing...what the hell was she thinking? When someone wound up dead, it was going to be on _her_ shoulders.

            I'd have to think long and hard about this one. The Abbott problem was not one I was going to solve tonight. Perhaps I'd even ask James about it. He was supposed to be superspying with me, after all. And while I'm rather certain that _I_ have been the only one taking that job seriously, he is perhaps the one who has the most experience with such subterfuge.

            Which brings us to, of course, the problem of James himself.

            I suppose that might be part of the issue right there—my considering James a problem, I mean. I know I don't _really_ think of him that way, but there is this sort of expectation for trouble that seems to be permanently attached to him in my mind. That can't be healthy. But now it's not James himself that I'm fretting over, but whatever Reckless Conversation he's got it in his head to have with me. I don't want to be a coward, but at the same time...

            Merlin, I _really_ don't want to have this conversation. I really, really don't.

            Why can't he just leave things the way they are? Why can't we be content with the place we're at? I think it's a lovely place. Truly. And when has rushing things ever worked for anyone? There's just no merit to it. He knows I'm not ready for certain things, so why would he put both of us through the ugly process of hashing that out? Where was the logic in that?

            Of course, I could just be jumping to conclusions. James could simply want to talk about something entirely stupid. Or maybe he really was just looking for a snog. That didn't exactly seem likely, judging by the way he was looking earlier, but perhaps I was just reading too much into all that. It wouldn't be the first time, right?

            So it really could be nothing. I shouldn't panic over nothing. This time tomorrow, I'll probably be laughing over how outrageous I was being. It will all seem like such a laugh then.

            Hm.

            Right.

            A laugh.

__________________________

**A Bit Later, Still in the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 41  
** **Total Observations: 285**

            Oh, bloody hell, who am I kidding? No one's going to be _laughing_. In all likelihood, I'll be sobbing my eyes out when James decides I'm a shite Gryffindor and an even worse more-potential-than-mate and just entirely _not worth it_.

            Damn it.

            Damn it, damn it, _damn it_. Why would he do this to me? What does he think he's going to get out of it, besides my prolonged misery? How would he like it if I were all, "Hm. Let's chat later, yeah? But I'm not going to tell you a damn thing about it and am going to be behaving all queerly and you're just going to have to stay put until I decide it's time for us to talk. Thanks muchly. Have a good night?"

            _I don't think he'd like it one bit_!

            _Ugh_. Now he's got me all _riled_ and irritated and I absolutely refuse to just sit here and panic about it for the next however long! No. _No_. It's not fair! I won't do it!

            So I'm just going to tuck myself into bed and snuggle on down with my friend, Mr. Abbott! Ha! Take that! Thought he had me, didn't he? But he _doesn't_. I am my own free, unworried person and I will not stand for abuse! Hmph!

            Yes. Yes, this is actually _quite_ comfortable. Exceptionally comfortable, even. And I'll just flip on ever to...ah! Perfect! Defensive Charms. Who wouldn't want to read about defensive charms?

            Hm. So I'll just...yes, start reading...the chat will come when the chat comes...hm...            

__________________________

**Monday, October 27th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 285**

Shit!

            _Shit!!_

            ShitShitShitShitShit _Shit_!!

            How did I fall asleep last night? _How_?

            Oh, good God, James is going to positively _murder_ me.

            Observation #285) SHIT!!

__________________________

**Later, Back in the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 285**

I thought it was off.

            Honestly. Truthfully. I thought the entire thing was off and James was going to be so cross with me for missing our important talk that whether I cried, begged, bribed, or offered sexual favours, a rescheduled date wasn't even a mild possibility. I had fucked up. Horrifically fucked up. I don't know how I managed to fall asleep—literally, I had been only _vaguely_ tired, slightly knackered at best!—but somehow I was awake one moment, contemplating my Mac-Abbott-Slytherin-Crew-Potion problem and my impending Very Serious Talk, reading up on the newest defensive charms, and the next…oh, hullo, sun. So nice to see you. What are you doing there in the sky?

            Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _shit_.

            I don't think I've ever dressed so quickly. In fact, what I did might not even have the dignity to be called getting dressed because what I really did was simply jam my limbs into whatever near-enough clothing hole it belonged to, button only what kept me decent, and stumble out of the dormitory without washing my face, brushing my teeth, righting my hair, or grabbing anything even remotely relevant to my day. My bloody _shoes_ weren't even on properly. 

            But I didn't care. I really didn't. I needed to find James.

            He was going to kill me. I _knew_ he was going to kill me. Because even though he'd been all irritatingly mysterious about the whole thing and had given me a headache thinking about what the hell he meant by the piss-poor information he _had_ given me…it was important to him. I could see straight from the start that it was something important to him. I think perhaps that's what had me so frazzled—if it had been anything mundane or even minimally controversial, he would have told me then, or at least not danced around it so madly. But he had, so it wasn't, and now I had gone and bloody _slept through_ the damn thing.

            And do you know what the worse part about it was?

            I felt mostly relieved.

            Even through the panic, the guilt, the more-prevalent-than-I-cared-for haziness from my abrupt departure from sleep, I still felt predominately relieved.

            I'd put it off. Whatever the dreaded conversation was, I'd put it off. Maybe for only a night, maybe forever, but whatever the time increment, it hadn't happened then. I was still ultimatum-free. I couldn't be certain for how long that would last, but while it did, I was hanging on to the liberation it brought for dear life.

            A liberation that was, entertainingly enough, accompanied by a _literal_ fleeing, seeing as I was very near sprinting through the corridors in order to get to James. Funny how that turns out, isn't it?

            I made it down to the Great Hall in record time, not even certain myself how I'd managed it. But the thing was, now that I had the momentum, there really wasn't an easy way to turn it off. So even though I _knew_ I was entering the Hall, could even vaguely recognise that someone was standing there in the entryway, right in the path of the projected route of my aforementioned momentum…

            Well, there was really nothing I could do to stop it.

            I would have tried—really, I would've—but the brain-movement connect was still feeling a bit woozy, and the whole thing was quite unfortunately out of my hands.

            So that's how I ended up ramming straight and true into some poor soul's back. Arms flailed, legs locked painfully, and my nose ended up smashed brutally against someone's hard back…

            …and particularly comfortable shirt.

            Oh.

            _Oh_.

            I very nearly sobbed. My flailing arms clung in a steel-grip around James's torso.

            I think he recovered quite nicely from nearly being abruptly plowed to the ground. Must be those fine Quidditch reflexes.

            He also seemed to know it was me. Lucky guess?

            "Lil?" he sputtered.

            "I'm s-sorry!" I wailed, burying my face against his back. I was wheezing very attractively. I'm not even certain how I got any of the words out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm…oh, b-bugger it...c-can't _breathe_. But I'm s-still… _very_ sorry that…f-fell asleep—"

            James's hands covered mine over his chest, prying the iron grips finger by finger off his person. At first I thought he was doing it because he was so cross that he couldn't even bare to have me touching him, but after he'd finally maneuvered out of my death grip enough to turn about, he certainly didn't _look_ inexplicably cross. In fact, he was just sort of staring at me as he usually does—like I'm completely and utterly round the twist.

            "Ow," was all he said at first, giving me a particularly exasperated shake of the head. "That hurt."

            "I'm…a horrid… _person_ ," I panted, really wanting nothing more than to burrow myself back into his comfortable shirt and wait the few eons until his anger cooled. " _Wretched_ …awful…r-really _rotten_ —"

            "Infallible. _Breathe_ ," James said at the same time someone stepped out behind him and went, "Well, that's certainly an interesting look for you, Evans. A bit 'morning after,' though, don't you think?"

            James continued to stare at me with equal parts amusement and disbelief, but Sirius was overtly grinning, giving me and my done-all-for-the-sake-of-his-best-mate- _thank-you-very-much_ ensemble a lewd once-over. I quit puffing and gasping long enough to scowl at him and cross my arms protectively over my chest, but he seemed wholly unaffected. This was hardly a surprise, but entirely irritating nonetheless.

            "Go away," I ordered once my breath wasn't rattling in my chest. I shooed him off with several flicks of my hand, then quickly returned it to my chest. "I have to speak with James. _Alone_. Go…eat or something."

            "We're not staying," Sirius replied, his tone lofty and smug and far more pleased with himself than any person should ever really be. "Just stopped in to see if you were alive."

            My gaze flashed instantly over to James, hoping to hear his quick objection to his mate's dismissal, but all I found instead was a guilty sort of shrug.

            Seriously? That was it? He was _ditching_ me. But what about our chat? What about the ultimatum? What about the STUPID, LIFE-THREATENING SPRINT I'D JUST DONE TO GET HERE?

            I thought maybe he was waiting for an explanation, like he was cross that I'd blown him off and needed some sort of proper balm to soothe his ego before he admitted that he actually had no intention of leaving the Great Hall, he'd just bribed Sirius into saying that in order to teach me a lesson. Normally I would not be one to care about soothed egos, but this time I _was_ in the wrong, so I suppose exceptions must be made.

            "I fell asleep," I told him, bobbing my head about earnestly, waiting for the forthcoming change of heart. "I suppose I was a lot more knackered than I thought. I was reading, but then I guess my eyes got a bit droopy, and then suddenly it was light out—"

            "It's fine, Infallible," James interrupted, waving my explanations off carelessly. He looked like he was hardly even _bothered_ by my abandoning him. "When I couldn't find you last night, I asked Grace and she told me you'd nodded off. Before curfew. And probably shouldn't be woken up."

            He'd meant for it to come out casually—I could tell by the way he was keeping his tone that he'd meant for the whole thing to come off casually—but those last two fragments told me all I needed to know about how James was really feeling. He'd tried to muffle it, but the dubiousness had filtered through. Maybe if I hadn't been so in tune with James Potter's every move and whim, I would have missed that subtle shift, but I knew better now. 

            Despite what he was saying, how he was acting, James _was_ bothered by our failed conversation. And I'm pretty certain he thought I'd avoided it on purpose.

            And the pathetic part was, that was so closely in line with something I _would_ have done, I hardly knew how to defend it.

            _Bugger_ it. Stupid, knackered _body_.

            But I had to try. I _hadn't_ done it on purpose. For once, I actually hadn't!

            "It wasn't a ruse, I swear!" I said, taking a step closer to him. "I really just drifted off. You should have told Grace to kick me awake or something! I would have come—I'll come _now_ , for Merlin's sake. Come on. We'll just head off right now and—"

            James was already shaking his head. "I can't. I promised the lads we'd dash to the kitchens. Remus and Peter are already waiting. Don't fret over it, all right? No harm done."

            But there so obviously _was_ harm done and now _I_ was getting cross because it really wasn't my bloody fault that my body can't handle any more strain than a ruddy three-year-old child or else it nods off into the city of slumber. I looked at James, then looked at Sirius, and surprisingly enough, it was the latter who was giving me the signals. Slightly but surely, Sirius gazed at me with a barely noticeable shake of his head. His eyes clearly stated, "Let it alone," but I wanted to whine and stop my foot at that. I didn't know if he meant, "Let it alone because he's telling the truth. It's really not that big a deal," or "Let it alone. He's not fit to discuss this with you right now, let him go off and do ego-boosting male bonding things with me and harp on about it later."

            Or maybe I _did_ know which one it was, I just didn't want to accept it.

            Shit.

            Double bloody fucking shit.

            I tried to swallow down my discomfort. Yes, I'd been relieved that I'd dodged the bullet of the dreaded Reckless Conversation, but not at James's expense! I knew he'd be cross, but I hadn't expected him to be…I don't know. Disillusioned? Disappointed in me? It seemed like he was both and more, and worst of all, he was trying to pretend like he wasn't. I didn't know what that was about, but it couldn't be good. I felt like I had no choice but to play along, though. If he wasn't going to talk about it, he wasn't going to talk about it. I'd have to bide my time.

            "Oh. Um. Right. The kitchens. Got it. Sounds fab." I self-consciously fiddled with my wrecked hair, trying to smile but wondering whether it was coming out properly. Something tells me it wasn't. "I suppose we can always talk later, right?"

            James just shrugged. "It really wasn't that important. It can keep."

            Brilliant. Now he doesn't want to talk to me at _all_.

            How do I get myself into these messes?  

            I probably would have said something then, something bordering on groveling and entirely opposite of Sirius's tacit "Let it be" request, but James didn't really give me the chance. Without so much as a by your leave, he gave me another not-truly-genuine (did he think I couldn't tell the difference?) smile, said, "Well, good to know you haven't been maimed or otherwise permanently damaged." Then looked back at Sirius and went, "Ready to eat, mate?"

            "Born ready," Sirius replied, then motioned James forward. "After you."

            James gave me a final parting wave, then glanced briefly back at Sirius before moving out of the hall. When Sirius followed, I grabbed hold of his arm before he could leave. He didn't object. He had words for me, too.

            " _Idiot_ ," he hissed.

            Oh, _thanks_. Like I don't already feel rotten enough.

            "I honestly fell asleep!" I whispered back, desperate and urgent. I knew I didn't have him long. James would notice. "Shit. _Shit_. He hates me. He hates me, right?"

            Sirius pulled a face. "I'll talk to him. But for fuck's sake, Evans, you're supposed to be _trying_."

            "I _am_ trying!"

            Sirius didn't look like he was entirely confident in that insistence, but I suppose it counted for something that he did seem somewhat willing to talk to James on my behalf. I couldn't be certain whether that 'talking' would be something along the lines of, "Really, mate, I'm sure she _did_ just conk out," or "Really, mate, _chuck_ her already," but it was really out of my control at this point.

            The Old Cross Sirius most certainly would have gone for the ladder, but I reckon New Mate Sirius might reluctantly be supporting the former.

            Or at least, I _hope_ he's reluctantly supporting the former.

            A witch can hope.

            I think that's all I really have left at this point.

            Bloody hell. I _knew_ nothing good would come of this stupid talk. From the very second James mentioned it, I knew it. But what the hell am I supposed to do now? I feel triple times as wretched because…well, I _hadn't_ been feeling particularly wretched until I realised that James actually cared about this idiotic chat of his. A little panicked, yes, reluctant to be hollered at, certainly, but at the end of the day, I hadn't regretted passing out. I didn't _want_ to talk. I didn't want to be handed down whatever ultimatum James had had in mind. I already had enough to deal with. I didn't need that, too.

            But now…oh, now I wish I'd just ruddy gone out to the forest with James last night and just had our bloody stupid talk then. At least now it would've been done and he wouldn't be…whatever he is. I think it bothers me the most that he was trying to brush the whole thing off when it was so obviously not all right. If he'd just've let me explain, let me tell him that I hadn't been playing games, that I had actually fallen asleep by accident, maybe I wouldn't be feeling so dreadful. But he didn't, and so I was, and it was all just a damned giant _mess_.

            I should have known I could never have my simple date lead-up. What's my life without twelve additional complications?

            Thanks, karma. _Thanks_.

__________________________

**Later, Ancient Runes**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 285**

            _Dearest Professor Lundi_ ,

            _I know you're looking just a jolly old man who is far too enthused by horrifically old magical symbols than is probably healthy and can't possible understand why anyone else wouldn't feel as enthused about these aforementioned horrifically old magical symbol as you do, but I have to tell you, Professor…Mily-va-Lily is just not up for Runes this morning.  
_ _And I know you might be thinking that this could be from the fact that Arse Amos and Jezebel Julie are in this class, but I'm actually quite over them and their traitorous dramatics. Or maybe you're thinking that it's because it's just hit me that McGonagall's Transfiguration exam is exactly one week from today and I still know about 10 percent of what I need to, but that's actually the least of my worries right now. Or maybe you're thinking that my job as a superspy has reached a roadblock in the form of one Professor Abbott, seeing as even though she is glad that I have some backbone, she is still a generally miserable woman and would probably not appreciate my interrogating her about possible dark calamities occurring under her watch, but you'd be wrong about that, too.  
_ _You'd be wrong about all of it, Lundi. So terribly wrong.  
_ _For while these things_ are _certainly grating on my mind—what kind of world would it be, after all, if I didn't have several catastrophes on my hands at any given point in time—but none of them even remotely compares to the mess I've made of my personal life.  
_ _Because I'm rather certain I've fucked up, Professor. Really, royally fucked up.  
_ _I know I've probably shocked you with my use of such crude profanity, but honestly, Professor, no other word is as apt as that one. I have completely and possibly irrevocably fucked up, and I don't know how to fix it.  
_ _You see, my more-potential-than-mate, the very person that I possibly…well, I mean, I don't know if I_ really _…but I care about him more than most, certainly…well, in any case, him. James. He's the one I've royally fucked up with because I fell asleep and didn't have our talk and even though most people would be all, "Really? That's it? That's your epic dilemma?" they don't realise that this isn't really about a missed chat. It's one of those deeper-issues-hidden-behind-a-smaller-issue dilemmas that James is trying to brush off, but is not succeeding with. I mean, did he honestly think that I didn't sense that coolness he was attempting to conceal when I accidentally-on-purpose took a turn by the Arithmancy classroom on my way to Runes? Did he think I couldn't see the force, the brittle smile? What am I, blind?  
_ _So now I have to find a way to fix it, Professor. Really, I do. And I know that's not going to be easy, even if I_ do _have Sirius reluctantly playing on my side, but I'm going to have to do it, anyway. There is no other choice. I have to fix this, or it's over._ Really _over.  
_ _So that's why you're just going to have to stop asking me questions, Professor. Seriously. Please just stop. I know I am one of the few members of this class who doesn't still have trouble reading English, much less ancient runes, but you're just going to have to actually attempt to teach today, mate. I'm sorry. I can't always be here as your crutch. I just don't have time today. Maybe next lesson, all right?_

_Yours Slightly Miserably,  
_ _Lily Evans_

__________________________

**Later Later, Charms**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 286**

            **All right. I've figured out why you look so bloody awful, Lil, and I just want to let you know—don't worry. I have it. –GR**

What? –LE

            _You do look a bit pale, Lil. –EV_

**Of course, she does. But like I said, this is no time to panic. I have the answer.**

You do?            

            **Yes. Say it with me now: EMMA'S SUEDE SKIRT.**

Um.

            _My what?_

            **Suede skirt. The tan one that we bought in Diagon Alley that time that you wore on that bloody appalling date with Mosby Buckett. What a waste of a skirt that was.**

_Oh, Mosby wasn't so awful. A bit handsy, yes, but it could have been worse._

Bloody hell. I haven't even thought about what I'm going to wear tomorrow. Shit.

            **And then I thought—wait, what? Haven't even thought of it?**

No! Damn, damn, damn.

            **So you're trying to tell me this wasn't a fashion panic attack? Truly?**

_Since when does Lily ever have fashion panic attacks?_

**Well, perhaps not full attacks, but this is a James Date. The first James Date. If there were ever a time…**

If there even is a James Date.

            **WHAT?**

_Lily, no._

Oy! Could you quit bloody hitting me, Gracie? Merlin.

**You are not backing out of this, Lily Evans! I will drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to!**

Thank you for that brilliant vote of confidence, but for your information, it's not me I'm worried about. It's James. I've fucked up.

            **Oh, Merlin help us.**

_What happened?_

He said he had to speak to me last night, but he was being all strange and stupid about it and I suppose it got me a bit nervous and spazzy because I accidently dozed off and missed the whole damn thing and now he's acting even stranger because I reckon he thinks I'd done it on purpose, but I hadn't and now everything's all buggered up and _why the bloody hell didn't either of you wake me when James asked last night??_

_Oh, dear._

            **He didn't say it was for some important chat! He just asked me where you were, and I told him passed out in your bed and that it probably wasn't the best idea to wake you on account of what a grouch you become when you don't get the proper amount of sleep!**

And you didn't think that sounded the least bit like the poorest attempt at an excuse ever?

            **I didn't know it was an occasion for excuses! But now that you mention it, he did seem a bit strange afterwards. I thought it was just because you weren't around to snog.**

            Well, what am I supposed to do now? It was some important chat and now he'll hardly look at me!

            _I'm sure it's not as bad as that, Lily_.

            No, it really is.

            **It couldn't possibly be. And James wouldn't toss you aside for anything, you nitwit. Maybe he's just having a bit of a snit because you ruined his romantic evening plans, but it's nothing to fret so ferociously over—even though I know fretting ferociously is one of your very favourite pastimes.**

_Grace, now is not the time_.

            Yes, so not the time, Grace.

            **Pft. Fine. Not the time. But do you know what it is the time for? Fashion. Nothing says, "I'm sorry for botching up your important chat" like a particularly slaggish date ensemble.**

Grace.

            **What? It's true! And like I said, I've already thought of something wonderfully slaggish. Picture this: Emma's suede skirt, that white lacy top you have, my adorably fit brown jacket, and to finish it all off, the Slaggy Boots.**

_Didn't Lily banish the Slag Boots back to the dark recesses of the closet after the Amos Date? I thought they were never going to get the chance to torture her feet again?_

            **She has to wear the Slag Boots.**

_No, she doesn't. She can wear those nice black low heels she has. They'd go just as well_.

            **No.**

_For Merlin's sake, Gracie_ —

            No, Em, I think she might be right. Much as it quite literally pains me to admit it, I think I have to wear them. James deserves the Slaggy Boots. It's one sacrifice I'm just going to have to make.

            **That's the way of it, Evans! Beauty over pain!**

            _I think James would rather you less slaggy than hobbling all day._

I won't hobble-walk. I'll put Cushioning Charms on them. Besides, after an hour or two, my feet will just go numb, anyway.

            **Excellent point, luv.**

_Lily, you really don't have to do this. James will realise you meant no harm and you'll set things right without the Slag Boots_.

            I sincerely hope you're right, Em.

            **But in the meantime…hullo, Slaggy Boots!**

Psh.

__________________________

**Much Later, Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 286**

It's funny. When one thing is so tragically falling apart, it seems another sometimes falls right in place, even without the slightest bit of provocation.

            Not that I really want to _admit_ that things are tragically falling apart between James and me, but they're certainly not looking like the light-grand-gesture-happy-good-day feelings of only yesterday. James hasn't been blatantly ignoring me or anything, but he certainly didn't even attempt to sit next to me in Charms, and he spent most of the lunch hour playing the Cliff Game with a group of stupid, rowdy fifth-years.

            I was never once mentioned as one of the hypothetical cliffhangers throughout the lunch game, but I certainly _felt_ like I was losing my grip on a rocky ledge with no one left to pull me back over.

            Which is about as rotten as it can get, in case you were wondering.

            Emma kept insisting that the whole thing would just blow over and Grace wouldn't quit her speeches about the persuasive and miraculous powers of slaggy footwear, but I don't think either of them really understands what I'm feeling. They don't understand that I feel…I don't know. Like I've let James down or something. Like I was so terribly wretched, I might never shake it off. As awful as someone being cross with you is, having them disappointed in you is about a million times worse. Especially when you know that same someone would move heaven and Earth to keep you from feeling the same of them.

            So I felt desolate. Truly and completely desolate.

            By the time I got to Double Potions after lunch, I felt a little bit like crying.

            "You know, there _is_ a silver lining in all of this," Grace said as we walked into the Potions classroom, trying I think to perk me up, even though I'm not certain that was possible. James hadn't bothered walking down from lunch with us.

            "What's that?" I asked morosely, hoping she didn't mention something about Slaggy Boots again. I was getting mighty sick of hearing about Slaggy Boots.

            Grace thankfully had another topic in mind. "Well, at least now you've had a bit of a soul-searching moment about the whole thing, haven't you? So now you know for certain that you truly want to go tomorrow and don't have to be panicking about flaking. Otherwise you wouldn't be so pitiful about all this, right?"

            Somehow, I couldn't take reassurance out of that particular patch of luck.

            I mean, honestly? _That_ was her silver lining? Oh, how fabulous! I finally get the proof I need to know that I made the right choice in saying yes to James all those days ago… _after_ it looks like he's going to end the whole thing!

            Oh, yeah. Silver lining. _Right_.

            Kill me _now_.

            I glared at Grace as fiercely as my miserable body could muster. "Forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm," I muttered, dropping moodily onto my stool behind our usual workstation. Being the proper mate that she is, Emma had ditched Mac (who I hadn't even _thought_ of yet this morning. Did he still hate me? Had he mentioned our…er, conversation, to Emma? Something told me I would have heard about it if he had. Apparently, he was keeping mum) in order to provide moral support. She set her cauldron up adjacent to Grace's.

            "I really don't think it's as bad as you're making it out to be, Lily," was what she said, probably for the thousandth or so time. I know she was trying to be sympathetic, but she was rather shite at it. "Maybe he seemed a bit distant at lunch, but it's not the end of things. He'll move past it. You'll talk."

            I was as dubious about Emma's claims as she was about mine. I'd attempted a few times to bring the Reckless Talk up to James throughout the morning, but each time, I was soundly rebuffed. Finally, Sirius gave me the "Quit-it-you're-making-it-worse!" shake of his head and I'd given up.

            "I hope you're right, Emmeline," I said with a sigh, trying not to look too resolutely rejected. I'm not certain how I was fairing with that, slumped miserably across our worktable as I was. Part of me hoped James walked in soon and saw the sad state he'd made of me. At least then he'd know how genuinely miserable I was.

            But the other part of me hoped that he didn't, because it was afraid to find out if he'd even care.

            Grace gave my head an affectionate pat. "Chin up, my love. Remember, if all else fails, you always have the power of the Slaggy—"

            "Oh, bloody hell, Gracie. Enough with the boots!"

            Grace just grinned like the right, barmy loon she is, but I couldn't personally share in her amusement. As the rest of the class began to filter in and Abbott finally made her own entrance, I could only continue to feel mostly dejected.

            There were many things I imagined feeling on the day before I finally went on a date with James Potter, but miserably waiting to see whether or not he decided to toss me aside was not one of them. I realised then just how awful I must have been making James feel all this time. Imagine having to spend _weeks_ in this depressing sort of limbo! How did he stand it? Why didn't he just throw his hands up in defeat and be done with it? It had been mere hours for me, and already I was ready to curl up in bed for a week and have a good cry. I figured that probably says something entirely frightening about just how deep I am in all of this, but thinking about that only depressed me more, so I stopped.

            Luckily, Abbott provided the proper distraction from dwelling too much on any of my problems by cleverly beginning class.

             "Settle down! Settle—Rook. _Down_." Abbott stood fiercely at the front of the room, scowling as Phil Rook bashfully jumped down from the stool he'd just been balancing on one foot upon. The crowd around him dispersed and took their seats, as well. The mindless before-class chatter died down. Abbott started just as soon as her voice was louder than everyone else's. "Page 483. Now. _Quickly_."

            There were a few gripes and groans, but the sound of turning pages was the most predominant as we all flipped on through our textbooks to the aforementioned page. The section read "Fever Suppressant Potions" and there was a list of about fifteen. Some of them I recognised, others were utterly foreign, and they ranged from simple to wholly complicated.

            "We haven't time for dallying today," Abbott stated, scanning the room with her narrow-eyed stare. "Each of you is to pick a potion on this page and complete it by the end of the lesson. I want a liter-full bottled and capped to be turned in. I'll be making the rounds. Ingredients are in the back cupboards. Go."

            Abbott has never been one for extensive directions, and it seemed that this brief spiel would be all we were getting for this lesson. I glanced quickly at the page of potions, but misery must affect your eyesight because everything went a bit hazy. I really didn't care to try to fix it.

            "Come on, Gloomy Glenda," Grace said, tugging at the collar of my shirt. "Let's pillage the cupboards before all the good stuff is snatched."

            Grace had a point. Much as it pained me, I had work to do. I forced myself out of my seat and headed towards the back of the classroom with Grace and Emma. We passed by James's desk on the way back, but he and Remus were still bent over their textbooks, partaking in a particularly heated discussion about which potion they could manage while still coming the closest to blowing up their cauldrons.

            As I passed, he didn't even look up once.

            I decided to work on Pepperup Potion, something I knew and something that was also relatively simple. The potion was made up of mostly salamander parts and the queue by that particular cabinet was already quite substantial. I loitered by the back, patiently waiting my turn. If they ran out, I'd have to ask Abbott for more. There was no way I was handling something more complicated than Pepperup in my present state.

            I had only just managed to make my way to the front of the pack when suddenly, from over my shoulder, someone thrust a cold, covered container against my chest.

            "Don't touch those," Professor Abbott ordered, pushing the container—beetle eggs—at me when I turned around in surprise. She deftly steered me away from the salamander parts cupboard. "Theltax Serum requires beetle eggs."

            She didn't say anything more, merely made certain I had the beetle eggs secure in hand, then strode off to bother some other poor soul. Penny O'Jene had left her textbook open on the back table, and I scanned through it quickly, searching for the potion Abbott had mentioned. Theltax Serum was listed towards the bottom of the page—the father down, the more difficult the potion—and had one of the more complicated set of instructions that I'd skimmed.

            Bloody hell, was this woman mad?

            I can't brew this! I can't even _begin_ to brew this! Did Abbott not realise that I was about a hop, skip and a jump away from dousing myself in a vat of acid and being done with it? Was this supposed to _help_? I wanted to laugh or cry or shout, but I was too miserable to do any of the three and it wasn't like I could argue with Abbott about it. Instead, I had to settle on glaring very, _very_ fiercely at her retreating back, hoping Theltax Serum was highly flammable and that it came in sudden contact with the fiery end of my wand sometime within the next hour.

            But maybe the whole silver lining thing isn't always as mad as when Grace utilized it, because there _did_ seem to be an upside to this potion Shanghai. Because while I was so focused being cross at Abbott for foisting this nonsense on me, then so focused on simply not blowing up the castle, I had rather forgotten that I was supposed to be moping and depressed. The Theltax Serum left no time to sulk, lest I wanted to end up in the Hospital Wing again.

            "Is it supposed to look like that?" Emma asked, leaning over my cauldron and regarding the yellow clumpy concoction somewhat dubiously about halfway into class. I wiped the sweat from my head with the back of my hand, trying not to scowl as Emma's own Mercury Medication spawned a pleasant aroma.

            Stupid potions. I hate bloody _potions_.

            Grace leaned over my cauldron as well, then glanced down at my open textbook. "The book says it should be about that colour." She shot a look behind us where Kiki Molter was also attempting to master Theltax. Hers was creamy as soup. "Er, but I'm not sure about the consistency."

            "It's a salve," I defended lamely. I was almost positive those were supposed to be thick. "Besides, it's not finished yet."

            But even when it _was_ finished ten minutes and eleven counter-clockwise turns later, it still looked nothing like Kiki's. I was seething, staring at my potion with as much disdain as I could muster, hating Abbott with a fierceness I really couldn't articulate. Why did she have to go and change my potion like that? I could've made Pepperup. In fact, I could have made a ruddy _brilliant_ Pepperup. Doesn't she know I have an inferiority complex? Is she _trying_ to drive me to drink?

            I was seriously considering it when Abbott was making her rounds, glancing into each of our cauldrons and making her standard scathing remarks. She'd reached Kiki first—pompous puss Kiki who was standing there in front of her soupy, sun-coloured concoction with her shoulders thrust back and her nose up in the air. Abbott had a batch of empty beakers floating behind her. She gave them out to the students whose potions she wanted to save more of. When she handed one of the spares to Kiki, I very nearly gave up then and there.

            "Cork a vial of your potion, Miss Molter," Abbott said, her voice light and unaffected. Then, so quickly I almost missed it, "Then please go visit Miss Evans's station and pack a beaker of _her_ Theltax. Perhaps while you're over there, she can teach you to make a proper salve."

Did she just…?

            Holy _hell._

            And sure enough, Abbott twisted around and sent not one, but _two_ beakers towards my workstation, where they hovered just in front of me while I stared at her in a stunned stupor.

            "Thank you for not providing more fodder for our sinks, Evans," she said briskly, but nothing more than that. She shot me a slightly pointed look, then moved onto the next person, just like that.

            Huh.

            _Well_.

            Lily Evans, Potions Master. How could I forget I was brilliant?

            "You make me sick," Grace muttered after Abbott merely sighed at her Bithorn's Brew. She looked as disgusted as she claimed, but I couldn't stop grinning. Ha! Take _that_ , bloody stupid thick, clumpy, Theltax Salve! Consider yourself _conquered_.

            It was the first time I'd felt properly pleased all day. And much as I hated to admit it, I had Abbott to thank for that. I even felt good enough to briefly glance back at James again—the first time I'd bothered to do so all lesson—and sure enough, he was giving me a small "Oh-you-professor's-pet-but-I-like-you-anyway" smile.

            It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

            And then suddenly, there was something else, too. Not regarding James, because I had pretty much already accepted that that was entirely out of my hands, but there _was_ another problem I was tackling at the moment, wasn't there? The Abbott problem. My superspy slump. I hadn't know how to get in before, couldn't figure out how I was supposed to get anything out of Abbott without her tossing me out on my arse while she laughed, but now…

            The plan came quickly. No, maybe it wasn't the most foolproof, but a witch had to do what a witch had to do. And in this case, I had to get on Abbott's good side. Now I think I knew how.

            The remainder of the lesson passed by quickly, with only a few other fortunate souls being gifted with the special accolade of the second beaker. As Abbott called class to an end, warning everyone to make certain their workspaces were spotless (Willie Rhodes had exploded his cauldron earlier in the class and was still scrubbing at an interesting looking stain on his wood desk), I dawdled back, even as Grace moaned and groaned.

            "Get me out of here," she said, tossing her textbook into her bag and shuddering visibly. She didn't seem keen on hanging about the dungeons any longer than she had to.

            "Don't forget your cauldron," Emma warned, grabbing her own to store in the back of the room. She glanced over at me. "Coming, Lil?"

            I shook my head, sorting out my own things slowly. "I have to ask Abbott about something, actually. I'll be along."

            "She's bonding with her new best mate," Grace snarled. "Traitor."

            I rolled my eyes, but didn't correct her. If I wanted this to work at all, Abbott and I _had_ to become great chums. Otherwise, she wouldn't tell me a thing.

            Abbott was presently having some words with Willie about the perils of fire, but it looked as if the lecture was coming to a close. The remaining stragglers eventually made their way out of the dungeons, but I stayed where I was, still packing up as slowly as I dared. When Abbott finally turned Willie away, I grabbed my bag and started to make my way towards her desk. At the sound of my footsteps, she glanced up.

            "Evans," she said.

            I gave her a small smile, opening with friendliness. "Professor. I was just...well, I was wondering. Why didn't you let me brew the Pepperup?"

            "Because I already had enough fools brewing Pepperup and I didn't need one more," Abbott replied, cocking an eyebrow at me, daring me to object. I didn't, but I wasn't going to leave it at that, either.

            "I wasn't certain I'd gotten the salve right," I said, taking another step closer. "I was surprised by how well it went, actually. And it had me thinking..." I paused here, wondering how to get this plan going. I had to be careful. If I didn't word it right, I might not get the information I needed. She could easily call my bluff. "Well, I've never really given myself a chance to test my skills," I said quickly, keeping my face impassive. "I'd like to. Today sort of reaffirmed that for me. But I'm not certain class practicals are really the time to do that. So I was wondering...would it be possible to use a classroom some time? And some ingredients?"

            Abbott seemed only to stare at me for a few moments, and I started to wonder whether or not she was on to me. It was a request that I'm assuming Jack and Evan had had to put forth at some point if Mac's claim that they'd had to clear everything through her was correct. If I could find out the process, see how simple or complicated the whole thing was, perhaps I could find the loophole. It wasn't much, but it was the only plan I had. If I could only get Abbott to go along with it.

            At first, I wasn't certain she was going to. Between her generally unpleasant disposition and the way she was staring so shrewdly at me, it wasn't hard to see why I'd doubt it. But it's truly bizarre how wrong you could be about someone, because while I was expecting rejection, instead Abbott floored me by saying, "I was wondering if you were going to look into this." She gave me a short, pleased nod. "You're applying to the Auror Academy, yes?"

            I think my mouth dropped open a little bit, but I somehow managed a sputtering, "Er, yes..."

            "Filius seems to think the Charms division has you, but you'd be surprised by how much the Potion division has to offer."

            And then—and I kid you not, she _actually_ did this—like she'd just had it set aside just for me, she pulled a drawer of her desk open, shuffled through a few papers, then handed over a thick brochure.

 

_Auror Force: Potions Division_   
_Brewing As Protection_

            Was she serious?

            I took the brochure with what I could only describe as shock. I stared dumbly at the cover, then darted my gaze back up to Abbott. I couldn't hide my bemusement. "You really think I'm good enough for this?" I asked.

            I couldn't imagine getting an overt compliment from her, and I suppose I didn't. Still, it was pretty damn close.

            "With some work and a high enough N.E.W.T mark, it's a possibility," she said, and I think she actually _meant_ it! "There are dungeons open in the afternoon and evenings. You can schedule time with me each week."

            I was still so baffled by the surprise turn of events, I'd almost forgotten that this was exactly where I'd wanted the conversation to go. I mean, I knew that I occasionally had a good brewing session, but Abbott honestly thought I could do this as a _job_? Like, for _life_? That potions division is nothing to scoff your nose at. There are some serious brewers on that team. McGonagall had told me about them in one of our career meeting.

            But I hadn't even considered...how could I've... _really_?

            Huh. Fancy that.

            But I could contemplate my future as a Potions Master some other time. Right now, I still had to complete my work for my first job, that of superspy, and nothing could deter me from that for long.

            "Um, so I've only to clear it with you?" I asked, steering the conversation back on track, wondering if I'd just gotten my answer. "And can just use the ingredients from the cabinets?"

            Abbott shook her head. "There is a reserve book in my office. Any time you need to use a classroom, come sign it out in the book and I'll have Mr. Filch let you in. Any ingredients are open to you, but you must tally what you use and make note of it in the book, as well. If you need ingredients ordered, you'll have to speak with me."

            I nodded along, taking it all in. It didn't sound too foolproof. Clearly there was no supervision once you signed out a classroom, and I couldn't be certain how strict a tally they kept on all the ingredients. How would they know if they were using what they were writing down? Mac was honest, but what about the rest of them? I mean, I know any of the particularly dangerous ingredients are locked up, but that doesn't mean that they couldn't somehow get their hands on them.

            All I knew for certain at that point was that I somehow needed to get my hands on that book.

            Having acquired what I needed, I decided to get out of there fast. If I continued my line of questioning, Abbott would grow suspicious, and if I hung about for much longer, I think she would have me conned into something foolish simply because I was so tickled that she thought me so obviously talented. Considering Abbott was probably equally as uncomfortable dolling out compliments as I was receiving them, I suppose it wasn't so surprising that she let me make my excuses, promising to contact her about any future need for a brewing space, and off I went.

            So yes, my more-potential-than-mate might still be seriously considering chucking me before our date tomorrow, and no, I'm not entirely certain what exactly I can do about that just yet. But I _am_ starting to live up to my superspy name, and I'm a superspy with brilliant potionmaking skills to boot!

            But how the hell am I supposed to get my hands on that book? I mean, I hardly think Abbott is just going to let me flip on through it as I sign up for some faux session. What if those gits really are as asinine as to write down what they're using, though? That could be golden—it could be _more_ than golden. It could be imperative!

            Hmph.

            Hmph. Hmph. Hmph.

            Something to think about.

__________________________

**Later Later, Gryffindor Common Room**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 287**

            So the way I see it, I can handle all of this in one of two ways:

            1) I could continue to sit here all broody, sobbing and sulking about how everything is in shambles and my more-potential-than-mate isn't even behaving mately, much less potentially, and resign myself to living in a world of lonely misery.

            Or

            2) I can stop being such a passive henwit, get up out of this corner of depression, and ride the momentum train of my recent superspy victory and fix things before they get any worse. He doesn't want to talk? Fine. I'd stalk him until he does! I can't just sit here and do nothing. What will that accomplish? Clinical depression, that's what!

            So which sounds like the better plan, hm?

            Looks like I have a stubborn arse to find.

__________________________

**A Bit Later, Outside the Greenhouses**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 287**

            Well, I found a stubborn arse—two, even—but they weren't the ones I was looking for.

            "Oy, Evans! Over here!"

            I'd walked into the Great Hall expecting a sort of showdown—in most ways, I think I was set on one, so ready to let James know as loudly as necessary that I would not be tossed aside without a fight. Was he angry? Disappointed? Fine. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe he had a right. But I'd be _damned_ if I wasn't going to get to say my piece about it before he had his way with things. He didn't get to ruin my date without at least giving me the chance to try to fix it. I wouldn't allow it!

            But I could've been as ready and roaring for a fight as I wanted, I wasn't getting anywhere if James wasn't about. And his absence became glaringly obvious when I got to dinner and our end of the table was clearly James-less.

            Grace and Sirius, however, were quite in residence. It was the former who had hollered at me.

            "Where's James?" I asked immediately, hardly even paying them any mind as I strode up to the table with intensive purpose. I let my eyes wander about, searching the hall in the off chance that James was simply wandering. I wasn't very surprised not to find him.

            "Paying for your crimes," Sirius answered in between bites of food, shooting me a look. I had to hold back a groan. Damn it. I'd entirely forgotten about detention. Now what was I going to do? Sirius shoved another forkful in, then waved the fork in a downward motion. "Sid'dow," he said.

            Ew. Manners, much?

            "I can't sit down. I have to find James. Where's his detention?"

            In response, Sirius took another forkful. Grace tilted her head to the side, regarded me critically and went, "Sirius, how do you reckon Lily should wear her hair for her date?"

            Seriously. And then they wonder why I'd rather live in Guam.

            I sighed. "Can we focus please? James?"

            "Perhaps just down," Grace said, narrowing her eyes on me. "Or maybe that twist bun Emma does. Would James like the twist bun?"

            "James would like your mate there to quit changing her bloody mind," Sirius said, sticking me with a frown. At least he'd bothered to swallow this time. Still, it didn't make his comment or expression any more pleasant.

            "I fell _asleep_!" I cried, very nearly stomping in petulant outrage. "Have a bit of ruddy _faith_ , why don't you?"

            "Quit yelling at me about it," Sirius said. "Go yell at him!"

            " _I don't know where he is_!"

            "Greenhouses," Grace answered casually, as if I wasn't standing there howling like a damn banshee, as if I hadn't just asked the bloody question three times with no suitable answer. Then, "Yes, I think the twisty bun. We'll have Emma do the twisty bun."

            "I don't know what a twisty bun is," Sirius said, "but no. He likes when she does that braid thing over her shoulder."

            I paused in my outrage. 

            "Braid thing?" I asked. The only braid thing I knew was the one I haphazardly threaded when I'd just rolled out of bed.

            And sure enough: "Yeah." Sirius's grin was shameless. "It looks like you've just gotten out of bed."

            Oh, for Merlin's _sake_.

            (Though, if I'm being honest, it wasn't a wholly bad idea.)

            For the sake of appearances, I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Lovely. Thank you for the suggestion. Any idea which greenhouse?"

            "One of them," Grace offered.

            "Try two," Sirius said.

            Hm. Something useful. Who knew?

            I wasn't hanging about long enough to see if a miracle could strike twice. Instead, I just gave them both a slightly lackluster, "Thanks!" and bolted out of the hall—which, in retrospect, might have been a bit foolish because it's slightly chilly and starting to rain and even though Sirius was right and James was clipping dead seedlings in Greenhouse 2, he was doing so under the strict supervision of Professor Sprout. So now I'm stuck skulking under the hangings of Greenhouse 1 until Sprout thinks James has learned his lesson and I don't have a cloak or a scarf or even a shirt that isn't white, which I have every intention of informing James about just so he knows that I mean business.

            But other than that, I'm not exactly sure _what_ I'm going to say to him.

            I mean, should I apologise? Or not apologise? Yell? Cry? A little of both? What would make my case best? And what if…

            What if this really _was_ an irrevocable fuck-up? What if he was truly that upset about all this? What would I do if—

            Oh, bugger it.

            Guess this is going to be one of those spur-of-the-moment plans!

            Ah! Merlin, how does he _walk_ so fast?

__________________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 287**

            "James! _James!_ "

            There was only twenty meters between us, but the way the wind and drizzle was going, I suppose the outside acoustics weren't in prime form because it took a couple of hollers to get him to turn around. When he finally did, it was a jerky twist of his head and a swirl of his cloak before, squinting at me, he went, "Lil?"

            I scurried on over, trying not to slip on the moistened grass in my poor traction-ed penny loafers or stumble over the any number of various obstacles littered around the Hogwarts grounds. James met me halfway, which I decided to take as a good sign. I mean, he didn't hightail it in the opposite direction, right? That had to be something.

            He did look mighty baffled to see me, though.

            "What are you doing out here?" he asked, placing a hand on my bare arm. He immediately went for the clasp of his cloak, shucking it off and tossing it about my shoulders. He was so much taller, the ends pooled in the wet grass. "Fancy pneumonia or something?"

            "I had to talk to you," I explained as he pushed back my hair and pulled the cloak hood over my head. I swatted his hands away, trying to get him to pay attention. "But I didn't realise you were out here and I didn't think to go back and grab a cloak by the time I did, and then I got out here and it was already drizzling and I just figured you'd be along soon enough so—"

            "So you reckoned you'd get pneumonia," James finished again, shooting me a look.

            I pulled a face, as well. "Oh, hogwash. I wasn't out here very long. I'm fine—unlike _you_ , who's now going to get drenched. Here, take this back—"

            "Leave that alone. Look, I'll just…" He went digging in his pocket, returning a few moments later with two—wouldn't you know it?—paperclips, one of which he quickly transfigured into another (albeit obviously less sturdy) cloak, while the other was transformed into a wide black umbrella, large enough to fit both of us beneath. "There," he said, handing the umbrella over while he tossed the transfigured cloak about his shoulders. He took the umbrella back once it was clasped and then tugged me underneath. "It's starting to come down harder. Come on. The castle's not far."

            "Wait!" I grabbed hold of his arm, knowing he was right, but also knowing that I didn't want to go back to the castle just yet. He glanced down at me in confusion, not understanding my resistance. I nibbled absently at my lip. "Um. Could we…couldn't we just take a walk or something? Please?"

            "In the _rain_?" James asked, staring at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was suggesting such a thing. I didn't know whether that was because it certainly wasn't the sort of whimsical thing I usually took a fancy to, or simply because he didn't want to be alone with me for even that long. I prayed it was the former, worried it might be the latter. Either way, I pushed on, determined.

            "Why not? We've cloaks and an umbrella now, don't we?" When that didn't seem to convince him, I coddled a little. "Please. Just for a little while. I really need to speak with you and there's too much going on in the castle. _Please_?"

            I wasn't above begging if that's what this came down to. For a moment there, it seemed like it just might. I didn't yet know the reasoning, but there was definitely reluctance playing across James's face as he mulled over my request. And considering the boy positively thrives on such childish mischief as waltzing through the rain, I was hard-pressed to believe that the aforementioned reluctance was due to the unique setting over the particular company. That stung, but was not exactly less than I expected. Unfortunately.

            In the end, I decided simply not to give him a choice. It seemed the surest option. 

            "Come on," I said, grabbing his arm and tugging him towards the left, away from the castle. Luckily, his feet didn't prove nearly as reluctant as his brain. He plodded along without objection. He wasn't wrong, though. It really _was_ starting to come down out there. But I thought it made for a nice ambience…as well as a good safety net in case he tried to make a run for it. Besides, James and I had some nice memories in the rain. It might set a proper tone.

            "Do you remember the last time we got stuck in the rain?" I asked, glancing up at him with a small smile. "We were over by the tree, and it just starting _pouring_ , and I slipped and botched up by ankle and—"

            "—I carried you into the castle," James finished, smiling himself for the first time. He shot me an amused glance. "Yelling and swearing like a foul-mouthed banshee, I might add."

            Jokes! Jokes were good, right?

            "I wasn't _that_ bad," I muttered (though honestly, I probably was), unable to do anything but smile wider when James laughed. _Really_ laughed. "Oh, come on," I said. "It _hurt_. And I was muddy. And then rudely ignored while you and Arse Amos went a round of, 'Who's More Manly?' Who wouldn’t get a bit ornery?"

            James cocked an eyebrow. "'Arse Amos'?" he repeated.

            I smirked. "That's what I call him now. Apt, isn't it?"

            "'Aptly Assigned Arse Amos,'" James said, seeming mighty pleased by his altered appellation. He gave the umbrella a little twirl. "That was only a few weeks ago," he said, sounding rather bemused by the fact. "Feels like ages though, doesn't it?"

            Merlin, didn't it. Ages _upon_ ages. I could hardly believe it.

            I had just been trying to ease into conversation, not trying to break into the bigger issue before either of us was ready, but we'd somehow gotten around to it anyway, and it wasn't even me who brought it up. I knew something was different when James voluntary turned left again, heading even farther on the grounds. As the rain clattered heavier atop the umbrella, he sighed a little. I watched him carefully, trying not to worry.

            "Sometimes I forget that, you know?" he said, squinting a bit into the distance, pausing as he silently examined the grounds. He turned his head to stare me. "I've been involved too long not to be impatient. But that's not your fault."

            "I really am excessively sorry about yesterday," I told him, pressing my lips together nervously as I shuffled a bit closer to his side. "I know I'm a wretch and no one would think you mad if you thought I'd done it on purpose, but I swear I didn't. I may run away all the time, but I'm trying not to do that anymore. I promised you the other night I'd try to be honest, and I am. I never meant to fall asleep. It was entirely accidental. So can we just…talk now? Whatever it was. We're more alone now then we would have been last night, anyway, right?"

            There was the smallest shoots of panic that sprouted back up in my stomach at the thought of finally having this Reckless Conversation, but I suppressed that away as much as possible. I couldn't keep _doing_ this, for Merlin's sake. I don't care how many pep talks it takes, I have to get over this innate panic button. Yes, it's gotten easier over the past week or so, but there should've been no reason to feel so frenzied and claustrophobic by James's request last night— _or_ now. 

            So man _up_ , Evans. Have it out. Talk it through. No more hiding.

            I was ready. Really, I think I actually was. The pep talk had worked, at least momentarily. But while I waited with anticipation for James to say whatever it was he'd been intending to say last night, instead, all I got was a slow shake of the head.

            "No," he said, his voice quiet, but firm.

            Er, what?

            _No_?

            "Um…'no' what?" I asked, thinking I'd misunderstood. But James's face was hard, giving me pause.

            "No, we don't need to have some prat talk I thought we needed to," he answered, the words coming out a bit harsher than I think he'd intended. I realised then that he wasn't chastising me, but himself. I'd sort of started to realise the conversation wouldn't be happening by then, but hearing James actually say it, I couldn't help but feel surprised. He obviously saw it on my face and smiled a bit. "The fact that you're looking at me like I'm barmy just proves what I've just spent the last hour sorting out in my head. Actually, Sirius said something this morning…" He trailed off for a second, and I wondered just what it was that Sirius had said to him after we'd parted ways in the Great Hall. He'd said he'd talk to him, but obviously whatever he'd said had made quite an impact. Interesting. "I have to quit forgetting that you haven’t been having an imaginary relationship with me for the better part of the last two years," James went on, shrugging lightly. "But I'm a greedy git who jumps at things too quickly. Can't help it. We've all got our vices, right? Your meddling, my jumping?"

            "It's not a vice," I said, slightly dazed by the turn of events. I wondered what sort of imaginary relationship James had been having with me for the better part of two years. The thought of it made me blush. "Normal people can jump. It's me. I'm not just a meddler, I'm also a…a…" I couldn't think of a word for it. Then, suddenly, _stupidly_ , "I'm a perpetual Cliff Game."

            Oh, dear _Merlin_.

            I don't deserve the right to talk. Really, I don't.

            Even in the midst of our serious conversation, James snorted. I don't blame him.

            "A what?" he asked.

            I blushed even deeper. "Er...oh, bloody hell, why do I even bother? I really _am_. I'm the bint dangling off the edge of the cliff, too afraid to let go and see what's beneath, but not willing to trust the one idiot offering to help me up over the ledge. I'm the perpetual Cliff Game that no one wins. And you're the poor soul I've sucked into playing. So don't apologise for wanting to have a perfectly logical conversation. You're not jumping, you're walking. _I'm_ the prat who's constantly running in the opposite direction."

            It was embarrassing to admit aloud, stuck there next to him in such a small space with nowhere to go to recover from the mortifying declaration. James was laughing—of _course_ , he was laughing. What else was he supposed to do _but_ laugh?—but I couldn't join in on his amusement. It was the truth. I'd said as much a million times to a million different people, but somehow this time seemed different. Maybe it was because I really _was_ trying to change. Maybe it was because whether or not I was trying, things were changing anyway. Either way, I hoped this was the last time I'd be saying something like this to him. I mean, most witches would be thrilled to the core about a bloke who wanted to jump. They _ache_ , would _kill_ , for a bloke like that. But me…

            No.

            No, _not_ me.

            It wasn't going to be me, not anymore. I was so _sick_ of it being me.

            And James had to know that.

            "Lily—" he tried to start.

            "Wait." I stopped him with a tight grip on his arm, turning him about to face me and looking up at him with what I hope was as much sincerity as I felt. His hand was still holding the umbrella above us, the other shoved into the pocket of his transfigured cloak. His hands were full, and mine soon were, too—one cupping each one of his cheeks, then dragging his face down until his lips touched mine. I made the kiss quick, but potent. I had a point to make. "If you don't want to have your talk, we don't have your talk," I said softly, "but I want to say something to _you_."

            I took a deep breath, surprising even myself with how much the words wanted to come out, how easily they did. I don't know whether my traitor-of-a-mouth was taking a break from its troublesome ways, or if it was simply still recovering from its very favourite pastime (snogging James), but whatever the case, it didn't interfere. I can't tell you how inordinately grateful I was for that.

            "I'm really— _really_ —glad to be going to Hogsmeade with you tomorrow," I started, staring directly at James. There were a few spots of absent raindrops dotting his glasses. His eyes were still bright behind the lenses, though. That kept me going. "You keep asking me if I'm going to change my mind, but I'm not. Not tonight, not tomorrow. So unless you decide I'm not worth the trouble—which, let's be honest, no one would blame you—you're stuck with me. Sorrowfully and truly stuck with me." I gave him a smile, growing more confident as his eyes began to twinkle. "I may be slow," I muttered ruefully, "but I know what I want. And unfortunately, right now that's you. Sorry."

            I kissed him again before he could say anything to all that, not certain if I was exactly ready for a response right about then. James didn't seem to mind. He took over the kiss quickly, wrapping his spare arm around my waist and pulling me closer. That was all well and fine for a while, until he decided that he'd like to do so with _both_ arms and promptly dropped the umbrella down to his side. 

            I jumped away with a screech as the rain pummeled down on us.

            " _James_!" I grabbed his arm, trying to jerk the umbrella back up. "What are you _doing_? Put it back up! _Up_!"

            James laughed, loud and free. "Oh, come on." He hooked his arms back around my waist, tugged me closer. After only a few moments, his hair was already plastered down to his head. "Snogging in the rain! It's romantic!"

            "It's _wet_ ," I complained, burying my face in his shirtfront—but that was wet, too, of course. Still, it was better than nothing. I could feel his laughter still vibrating in his chest, a happy humming. Despite the fact that this is exactly what I'd come out here to get, I somehow couldn't find exact contentment that I obviously had my James back. 

            A typhoon can sometimes do that to a girl.

            James chucked the umbrella to the side ( _idiot_ ), then caught my chin with his finger and lifted my mouth to his once more. And though maybe— _maybe_ —it was the _tiniest_ bit romantic, it was mostly wet, and generally just sort of comical, so we really ended up laughing more than we did snogging, anyway.

            Not that I'm complaining, I suppose. There are worst things in life. 

            Eventually I put my foot down and told him there'd be no more snogging or anything else in the rain. He still balked at fetching the umbrella back, though.

            "Feel it, Infallible!" he cried instead, lifting his face towards the sky and spreading his arms wide. He glanced back down at me and then shook his hair like a shaggy dog. If it wasn't already pouring, I probably could've been soaked simply from that. "Rain's healthy."

            "I thought we were all getting pneumonia?" I returned dryly, but was secretly enjoying watching him so carefree. If nothing else, I could certainly tell Sirius that we might have a bit more balanced of a James Line than previously believed. He'd like that.

            James grinned like a right loon. "It'd be worth it," he said.

            Unfortunately, I was not feeling much like testing out that hypothesis. I moaned and groaned until we finally compromised that we'd go inside where it wouldn't be pouring, but we had to make it back to the castle without the umbrella. To ensure that, James transfigured it back into a paperclip.

            "Are you suggesting something about my Transfiguration skills that you don't think I could just transfigure one back?" I asked, narrowing my eyes on him. James shoved the paperclip back into his pocket.

            "Never," he said, but a bit too quickly for my tastes.

            (Though…eh. I suppose we can't really _blame_ him, can we?)

            Before I could go on about unsupportive dates and the cruelty of the world, James pushed his glasses—now entirely raindrop laden—up on his forehead and thrust his hand out towards me.

            "I'm blind and disorderly," he claimed, though there must have been some sort of large red blur that resembled me because he kept walking towards it. "Lead me back."

            I grabbed his hand with a dramatic sigh and started walking. "You know, if I didn't think that you could navigate these grounds blind, deaf, and riding backwards on a unicycle, I might very well be feeling quite high with power right now."

            James laughed, but I think there was something to be said about power. Because even though I'm relatively certain it wasn't power I was feeling quite high with right then, there _was_ something else—something I'm not honestly certain I could put a name to. It was a whole jumble full of relief and nerves and giddiness and a million other equally tangled emotions that were brewing up inside of me and making me feel like I could ran a triathlon. Whatever it was, it felt brilliant. It felt _free_. And much as James probably would have argued otherwise, I don't think it was because of our jaunt in the rain.

            We finally made it into the castle looking like a pair of drowned cats, dripping and dribbling all over the Entrance Hall floor. I only thank Merlin that Filch wasn't about or else the pair of us would've had our ears boxed and our hides kicked all the way to Dumbledore's office where I'm sure he'd've surely attempted to have us expelled. Luckily, it didn't come down to that, though we did get a few queer looks and slight chuckles as we came slip slidin' inside, laughing like a pair of uncontrollable Hyena Boys. It's funny how you can feel so wretched on the outside but so good on the inside.

            Can _still_ feel so good on the inside.

            Possibly permanently. _Hopefully_ permanently.

            Of course, I suppose that optimism is easy to hold on to now that I've had a proper hot shower and am all burrowed happily in bed. James had wanted to meet later—not to talk, he'd insisted, but I figured 'meet' was probably still codeword for 'snog'—but I was a very strong-willed Head Girl and informed him that if I was going to be rebelliously ditching classes tomorrow, there was no way I was losing a night of prime studies time. I mean, not that I'm actually doing any of my schoolwork now—I'm writing this, and contemplating an evening snack—but I'll get to it eventually. I can snog James another time—like tomorrow.

            Tomorrow.

            _Tomorrow_.

            My date with James tomorrow.

            Ha.

            Hm.

            Just…hm.

__________________________

**Really the Latest, Still in the 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
**Observant Lily: Day 42  
** **Total Observations: 288**

** A Final Overview of the Date Ensemble with One, James Potter **

1) Top: Simple, white lace under Gracie's short, brown coat.  
2) Bottom: Emma's suede skirt.  
3) Accessories: Scarf  
4) Footwear: (As much as it pains me) Slaggy Boots  
5) Hair: Messy side braid (with set loose option)  
6) Disposition: Positive. Happy. Non-panicking.  
7) Location: Preferably still in the country. 


	24. October 28th: Getting to Know You

**Author's Notes:** Talk about a long time coming. I just break records with these updates, eh? But it's finally here and that's what's important. I have to give all my thanks to all of you for being so wonderfully patient. I know I don't deserve it most of the time. Very big thanks go to Clara and Olivia for their almost un-human speed and skill at beta-ing. I am entirely grateful and will replay the favours in smut. You know, eventually. 

**Brief Recap:** Lily and James are finally going on their date. Lily is excited, but is rather waiting for the world (or her bad karma) to come crashing down. Some of these precarious issues at hand include: James's many secrets, relayed in part to Lily by Sirius, all of which surround the mysteriously ominous events of James's 6th-year; Elisabeth Saunders, James's ex-girlfriend and a participant in these ominous events; and MJ Rosier, Lily's beloved tutoree who she is desperate to pull out of his reclusive shell but for whom James holds nothing but pure disdain.

**

“If I had a mine shaft, I don't think I would just abandon it. There's got to be a better way.”�

-Jack Handy

**

 

Chapter Twenty-Four: **  
October 28th: Getting to Know You**  


**_________________________________**

**Tuesday, October 28th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 289

 

  
** From the Mad Mind of Lily Evans ** **:  
(A Dream Recorded Circa 5 a.m. After Finally Dozing Off for a Truly Pitiful Amount of Time)**   


                James and I are browsing for mattresses, ambling through a large white shop filled with nothing but them. It's all a bit blinding, actually. I ask to leave, preferring my mattresses situated in a gloomier atmosphere. James laughs, then falls back on the mattress nearest us. He spreads his arms wide and says, "Come along." I forget why I wanted to leave. Before I can sit down, Professor Flitwick turns up. He asks me what I think about Growth Charms. Just as the debate begins to heat up, Mum appears. She's brought fudge and a fishing pole with her. "Hullo, darling!" she calls, but I'm rather certain she's speaking to Flitwick. She hands me the fishing pole, which I thank her profusely for. James asks Mum if she perchance has any spare quills. She shakes her head regretfully, but offers the fudge in compensation. Flitwick joins James and Mum on the mattress. They all sit munching on their fudge, discussing the politics of Bolivia. Left to my own devices, I begin to dance happily about the shop with my fishing pole.

Observation #289) I suppose one really shouldn't expect more than pure insanity when working on a half-hour's worth of sleep.

Observation #290) I really must learn to dance properly.

**_________________________________**

**A Bit Later, Hospital Wing**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 290

 

 

 

                If there's one thing I've learned from my Uncle Davy, it's this–it's always better to be safe than sorry.

                Wise words, don't you think? A bit clichéd perhaps, but nonetheless worthy. And even though he may have a tendency to offer this particular bit of advice only just before declaring it rude to refuse vodka from a Soviet and beginning to call himself Stalin, I reckon that shouldn't really be held against him. Davy just fancies red, is all–well, er, and vodka. But his point is still a fine one, slurring his words or not. It really _is_ better to be safe than sorry. It really, truly is.

                So that's what I'm doing now–being safe, I mean. It's the proper thing to do, after all, and I can't afford _not_ to do the proper thing today. And honestly, isn't it _much_ better to make certain that you are in prime shape before engaging in what will undoubtedly be an _extremely_ emotionally trying day rather than being _much_ sorrier when you, say, collapse in your fish and chips due to inclement health? Of course it is. So no one can fault me for this. No one at all.

                And I _am_ aware that had some opinionative personages been glancing in on my morning thus far, they might frown skeptically at this claim. They might say, "Er, Evans? Yeah, I'm all for safety and health and the like, but I'm _relatively_ certain that that was a look of slight panic you arose with. And I'm _relatively_ certain that that look hasn't much faded, regardless of the firm chat you had with yourself in the loo mirror just before (very clever of you, by the by, to remind yourself that you _want_ to go on your date today. Looked like you needed it!). So I can't help but question the slight desperation with which you came to your recent decision to visit Madam Pomfrey. Are you _quite_ certain you're just being cautious?"

                And my answer?

                _Shove_ it, opinionated personages. You know nothing.

                Because obviously they _don't_. They _so_ don't. I mean, it was not a 'look of slight panic' I arose with, but a mildly alarming frown of bemusement over the fact that my dreams have reached such a fantastically ludicrous degree that they're almost diagnosable in their absurdity. And yes, maybe it took a bit longer than usual to be rid of that mild alarm, but what's a witch to do? It was a particularly alarming dream. And I haven't slept much.

                Plus, that chat I was having in the loo mirror? Not at all what it seemed! Clearly my shower was just _so_ fantastic that I'd momentarily _forgotten_ I was even going on a date today. It was a happy reminder, an "Oh! Lucky me! Lunch!" not an, "Oh, bugger it. _Lunch_."

                And in case anyone has forgotten, I am _an acid burn victim_. My health is perilous at best– _usually_ worse. All one has to do is glance down at my still-ravaged wrist to realise that I have every right to be _living_ in the Hospital Wing if I were so inclined. As it is, I only choose to visit from time to time, but no one should question my being there. And while some might claim that I left the dormitory in _far_ too much of a frenzied and desperate rush to ever be casually regarded, that's just plain nonsense. I _very calmly_ and with _great poise and dignity_ walked down to see Madam Pomfrey. I might as well've been strutting down a catwalk, I was so cool and composed.

                (Those one or two stumbles down the stairs obviously don't count. I mean, they're _magical_ stairs. Hardly dependable.)

                Madam Pomfrey understood my visit. The woman didn't even speak when I moseyed on through the door. She just turned her head, sighed in a way that I'm _quite_ certain signified her discontent with the fact that the Fates of the World are cruel enough to perpetually injure a girl as fine as me, then pointed a finger towards the nearest cot.

                I know, Poppy, I know. _Such_ an unjust world, isn't it?

                Tragic.

                "I trust this morning's visit will prove less boisterous than your last?" is what she greeted me with, always the charmer. Clearly her sadness at the state of my unfortunate luck was affecting her bedside manner because she couldn't even muster a smile for me. Poor Pomfrey.

                "We can only hope," I replied, giving her my most optimistic lip quirk. "Though you know what they say. Best laid plans and such."

                Pomfrey _hmph_ -ed something terse. She started towards me, all business. "Let's be done with this, then. Unwrap that wrist and we'll have a look. It should be nearly healed over by now–"

                " _Actually_ –" I whipped my arm immediately against my chest. Pomfrey's eyebrows lifted, her hand half-extended towards me. I gave her my biggest grin and casually cleared my throat. "Eh-hem. What I mean to say is...I was thinking it might be necessary for something a bit more _thorough_ this morning."

                Pomfrey stared at me as if I were speaking Mermish. "Pardon?"

                "Isn't there some kind of full physical you could do?" I suggested, still holding my wrist hostage against my front. "You know, just to make sure _everything_ 's in order? Working properly? No malfunctions?"

                "Are you feeling ill, Miss Evans?"

                "Er..." Is insanity an illness? "Perhaps?"

                That didn't seem to be the answer Pomfrey was looking for. Her face tightened rather dubiously as she eyed me with what I can only call suspicious irritation. Lack of sleep must have been affecting the potency of my amiable smile because it didn't seem to be softening her resolve any. That was all right, though. I reckoned this just might be a matter of quantity over quality. I kept my beaming at full force.

                But I did have a plan B, just in case Pomfrey proved particularly crotchety about going along with my 'better safe than sorry' plot. If I couldn't sway her with potential illnesses, I was just going to have to utilise the ones I _did_ have. Fortunately, there were always a few at hand.

                It was quite easy to make hasty work of unravelling the stream of bandages still clamped tightly about my wrist. The long length was quickly pooled in a heap upon my lap and I lifted my wrist up for inspection, unleashing its full hideousness on Pomfrey in a surprise attack.

                "Look!" I waved the carnage about victoriously. "Nearly healed over, you say? _Ha_! It's not even _close_. I think there's something wrong with my body, Madam Pomfrey. Really, I think there is. Perhaps I'm dying. In fact, I probably am. It's entirely possible. I'd like to have it checked out, please."

                There was a moment of silence wherein Pomfrey didn't immediately burst into tears over the possibility of my potentially fatal ailments, but I suppose she was just locking it inside for the sake of professionalism. I'm sure she'll have herself a good cry about it later. In the meantime, she decided to show her concern by grabbing hold of my arm and pulling it closer to her face. She examined the red and still grossly charred skin with a narrowed gaze.

                "What _are_ you doing to this, girl?" she muttered, but I don't think she was _really_ blaming me (she must know that it's not _my_ fault that my body doesn't want to heal) because a second later, she pulled out her wand and began running it along my arm. A wispy set of diagrams materialised in the air between us. "Hm," was all she said at first, scanning through them quickly and then waving her arm through the results. They disappeared in a stream of smoky-looking particles. "Stay here," she ordered.

                I bit back my grin.

                Thank you, Unhealing Body!

                "Yes, ma'am." I gave her my most sincere salute as she disappeared into the supplies closet.

                She came back a few moments later with a whole slew of unfortunate-tasting potions for me to drink, then waved her wand a few more times and had diagrams sprouting up every which way. She jotted various things down on her Official Pomfrey Clipboard, frowning and humming and looking _quite_ serious about the whole affair. While she waited for some of the results to appear, she took a few moments to rewrap my wrist and make certain no one else would have to deal with its ugliness. Now she's back in the supplies closet and I am perfectly aware that this can really only mean one thing:

                I am obviously _exceptionally_ ill. 

                Perhaps even fatally so.

                I have little doubt that Pomfrey will come out here in a few moments, look at me with much helpless tragedy shining in her eyes, and say, "Miss Evans, I am so _terribly_ sorry to inform you, but yes, that's right, you've somehow managed to catch a fatal plague. If you'd meant to do anything particularly taxing today–you know, run any marathons, defeat any dragons, set out on any important mealtime romantic adventures–I would strongly advise against proceeding. For your _health_."

                There will be fuss, undoubtedly a few tears, but in the end, I will have no choice but to acquiesce. What are my other options, after all? It's for my _health_.

                Though before the illness brutally strikes me down, it would probably be best to ask Pomfrey to jot down a quick note. James would appreciate that, I think.

                _Dear Mr Potter,_

 

_Please excuse Miss Evans from your date this afternoon. She's dying from a plague._

 

_Yours,_  
                P. Pomfrey

 

Yes, that'll do. That'll do _quite_ nicely. And I think–

                Oh, look, here she comes! That clipboard has spare parchment on it, doesn't it?

**_________________________________**

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 290

 

 

 

"Miss Evans, have you been sleeping lately?"

                All right, I'll admit it–I wasn't particularly stunned when Pomfrey didn't immediately emerge from her closet all wet-eyed and devastated over my quickly-approaching demise. Truth is, unless some berk has had the nerve to send a raging boy-boar rampaging through her precious Wing, the mediwitch has never seemed the sort for such dramatics. Perhaps that's why we're friends–opposites attract and everything. I'm sure she was desperately desolate on the inside, but outwardly, it was all professionalism for Poppy.

                But even taking that bit of character development into consideration, I was rather shocked by how cavalierly the woman chose to go about introducing my deadly disease. I mean, truly? "Miss Evans, have you been sleeping lately?" That was it? No, "Miss Evans, I regret to inform you..." or a "Miss Evans, I fear you've only _days_ before..." or even a, "Miss Evans, looking at your tests..."

                Just: "Miss Evans, have you been sleeping lately?"

                Pft.

                She obviously doesn't do this often.

                "Sleeping?" I echoed the word blankly, understandably thrown. REM cycles seemed a bit insignificant in light of the forthcoming medical apocalypse. I reckon it was my genuine befuddlement over this that prompted me to answer rather honestly, "I'm a seventeen-year-old witch dealing with endless trials and tribulations, Madam Pomfrey. Of _course_ I'm not sleeping."

                 Pomfrey took that bit of information in with a decisive sort of nod, suddenly looking quite satisfied. What's that about? Was not sleeping a symptom of plague? Had I just confirmed her worst fears? Did I have months? Weeks? _Days_?

                If that was the case, she certainly didn't seem to be taking it too hard–that, or she was just quite a bit more serious about this professionalism thing than previously expected. Because instead of her features dropping into a sob of utter depression and closing her arms around herself in a vain attempt to gain comfort in this time of great heartbreak, Pomfrey simply plopped her hands on her hips, stuck me with as stern a glower as I've ever seen and went, "Have you no _care,_ Miss Evans? You are _exhausting_ your body! You can't expect any sort of healing to be done when it has to work so hard merely to keep you standing upright! In all my days–treating yourself _so_ _poorly_ –"

                Then she kept on with quite a number of thinly-veiled criticisms about my rotten actions and my complete disregard for my own health/happiness/etc, but I wasn't really listening.

                So I _didn't_ have a plague? 

                Not even a little?

                "So I'm not ill?" My question broke through Pomfrey's tirade, cutting her off just as she'd _really_ gotten started on bemoaning the audacity of Us Children Today. I was feeling a bit light-headed. My hands were sweaty. I fisted the cot sheets on either side of my lap. "Not ill at all?"

                "Certainly not from lack of _trying_ ," Pomfrey retorted irritably, still all glowers. "If you don't take the time to give your body a decent amount of rest– _immediately_ , Miss Evans!–I can't promise that will remain the case!"

                "Immediately?" Well, _that_ had potential. "So you're saying I should go straight to bed? Like, now? Forfeit all lessons and otherwise planned activities for the day? For my health? You're putting me on bed rest?"

                "I am saying," Pomfrey replied slowly, her voice clipped and precise as if she were speaking to a small child, "that you should leave here and proceed to breakfast. Eat. Go to your lessons. Don't skip meals. And tonight, get to bed at a decent time. Sleep a full eight hours. Do this every day, and we shan't have a problem!"

                "So...no bed rest?"

                "No, Miss Evans. No bed rest."

                Oh.

                So…right.

                No bed rest. No plague.

                I expected tears–Pomfrey's, mine, it really didn't matter. I just expected them–but at that moment, the very moment when I'd just heard my non-diagnosis and assumed I would start my hyperventilating, keeling over in panic and despair, breathing sharp, heart pounding, causing Pomfrey to instantly reconsider her diagnosis of my mental and physical stability, _something_....well, something rather strange happened.

                Slowly, my fingers released their death grip on the sheets. 

                My pulse pounded steady in my ears. 

                A long, winded breath escaped my lips.

                But it wasn't a breath of dread or disappointment. And my heart, it wasn't beating in time with my shallow, panicked breaths. In fact, there _were_ no shallow, panicked breaths. No despair. No hyperventilation. Not even a _little_ angina. My body sank, drooped, _sighed_. 

                I was...relieved.

                _Relieved_.

                Double bloody effing _hell_ , was I _relieved!_ My whole body fairly quaked with it. The feeling filtered through me like a sudden gust of wind, refreshing but depleting. I sat there upon my cot, limbs made mush from the unexpected peace of mind, ignoring Pomfrey's suspicious stares in lieu of simply sagging there with a hand pressed against my still humming chest, attempting to understand my rather curious reaction to this recent clean bill of health.

                Except...well, except there wasn't really much _to_ understand, was there? Why _shouldn't_ I be relieved? I _wanted_ to go on my date with James. I knew that. Hadn't I spent the better part of the last weekend sorting that out? Hadn't that hippogriff been thoroughly beaten dead? What I'd said to James yesterday on the grounds...no, I hadn't entirely thought them through or had them perfectly planned out, but I'd still _meant_ them. Every word. So why was I so surprised? Why should that have changed?

                A voice in my head that sounded irritatingly like Sirius blathered on about flightiness and the fact that such things have certainly never stopped me from changing my mind _before_ , but I squashed that ( _him_ ) quickly. Because this _wasn't_ before– _I_ wasn't before. This wasn't Lily-of-the-mates-with-potential. This was Lily...Lily-of-the-potentially-considering-girlfriend. And while Lily-of-the-mates-with-potential might not have had a problem with abruptly changing her mind this morning, Lily-of-the-potentially-considering-girlfriend certainly did. Turns out, Lily-of-the-potentially-considering-girlfriend is not too keen on that. _Really_ not too keen on it. It was most definitely not her thing.

                But I was so used to...well, let's just call it a rather-perpetual-proclivity-towards-serious-sometimes-seemingly-flighty- _esque_ discernment, that when I couldn't sleep last night and then had that _mad_ dream this morning and then woke up with all those butterflies in my stomach...I just reacted the way I always had. I threw myself into a panic and didn't think to question the validity of it.  But what I _ought've_ realised then (and can sadly only recognise now, in retrospect) is that, those butterflies? Yeah, not the flighty sort. I mean, yes, they _fly_ , but not in a let's-flutter-our-wings-until-we've-fluttered-to-Guam-and-oh-look-we're-here-what-fun-coconut-clothing-let's-have-a-holiday-for-a-few-decades-yeah? sort of way. It was more of a let's-flutter-our-wings-until-we're-drifting-somewhere-slightly-above-ground-and-proceed-to-float-along-that-way-in-a-blissful-oblivion-until-we're-in-Hogsmeade- _yes_ sort of way.

                They weren't _panic_ butterflies. They were girlish _jitter_ butterflies.

                But how was I to know that? I mean, which one _seems_ like the more Lily reaction?

                Coconut clothing, that's always been the answer for me. 

                But apparently not anymore.

                And sitting there in the Hospital Wing, not really paying much mind to Pomfrey but knowing that she was still staring me down like I was a complete and utter headcase (and not really blaming her, because I was pretty much thinking the same thing), all I could really do was blink rapidly, remind myself to breathe, and come to one, definitive conclusion:

                I think it was time to go find James.

                Yes.

                Yes, definitely.

                My hop off the cot was so abrupt, Pomfrey startled at the sudden movement. She recoiled slightly as I bent to grab my rucksack from the ground and snapped back upright, the happy grin practically splitting my face.

                "Well." I beamed blindingly at her. "Better start down that road to recovery, hm? Breakfast, you say? Best make it a balanced one. Many thanks, Madam Pomfrey!"

                "Miss _Evans_ –"

                "Cheers!"

                I sidestepped the befuddled nurse as I waved erratically over my shoulder, bolting quickly for the door. I didn't want to dawdle in case she decided it might be a good idea to make certain my mental health was as tip-top as my physical, because Merlin knew I'd _never_ be out of there then. Luckily, Pomfrey didn't seem so inclined. I could feel her suspicion practically radiating off my back, but she didn't stop me from popping out of the Wing and into the corridor. I closed the wooden door with a victorious snap. My floating feet were already aching to be on their way. Who was I to deny them? Breakfast was calling and I was only–

                The loud and uncensored grumbling echoing from down the corridor put a slight delay on my plans.

                "–do all _his_ dirty work. 'You're the tactful one, Moony. _You_ talk to her.' _Pah_. Next time, _I'll_ watch James and he can–"

                "Who's watching James?"

                From his spot still a good ways down the corridor, Remus skidded to a halt, his shaggy head immediately snapping upright. I took him in with a clarity that can only come in blissful relief, noting his unusually dishevelled appearance–the slightly wrinkled uniform, the almost haggard expression–but the typically unflappable Remus recovered from his surprise admirably quickly. Our eyes met and I lifted a questioning eyebrow. The shock on his face hastily morphed into a close-lipped smile.

                "You're out," he said, stepping closer. "See? I _told_ him you'd be out."

                "Er..." I hoped I wasn't supposed to understand any of that. "Told who? Out of where?"

                Remus didn't answer immediately, just sighed rather loudly and continued towards me with unhurried steps. I followed his lead, meeting him halfway. His gaze fell casually down to my wrapped wrist.

                "Arm all right, then?" he asked.

                I lifted the mangled limb obligingly and gave a sweeping wave, thinking to prove its good health with a show of dexterity. "Hasn't been amputated yet. But the day is still young. You never know."

                Remus smiled kindly, that easy, thin curve of his. He seemed to have lost most of his initial irritation, his face eased as it hadn't been before. It was really too bad that I suddenly wasn't feeling as breezy. That's what happened when your suspicious side becomes irrevocably piqued. 

                He had been muttering something about James before–something about someone watching James and doing 'his' dirty work–and it didn't take a genius to discern that something was afloat. What was this 'dirty work,' then? And what exactly was Remus about? I wasn't exactly displeased to see him, but it seemed increasingly unlikely that he had just been going for an early morning stroll about the first floor. He had come here with a purpose, an intention. His only surprise at running into me seemed to be about the timing of it, not the actual occurrence.

                I had the distinct impression that the 'her' Remus was meant to be tactfully talking to was me. And I'm not quite certain I liked that.

                "I've got to be honest–much as I'm always keen on a run-in with you, this one seems a bit pre-planned," I started, keeping my tone light, even as my eyes narrowed. "It's early. And you're obviously not here for a visit with Pomfrey. There's nothing else of interest around here, so what exactly is this 'dirty work' you've been sent to do and whose dirty work might it be? And what's it to do with me?"

                Remus didn't seem particularly astounded by my blunt questions, nor by the fact that I'd obviously overheard his earlier mutterings. He didn't look overly _pleased_ about it, mind you–in fact, he looked a bit put out again, the frown pulling at his recently lightened expression–but not thrown. Before answering, he jerked his head in the direction he'd just come.

                "Heading to breakfast?" he asked. At my tentative nod, he turned. "Let's head that way, then. The rest of them should be down there already."

                "The rest of who?" I asked, but dutifully followed along next to him. "And you haven't answered my questions!"

                "James has had the lot of us up since the crack of dawn," Remus informed me, a telling if not direct answer. My face began to heat as he offhandedly continued, "The incoherent stream of blabber about Hogsmeade was only broken up by the half-hourly updates we were getting as to your whereabouts. And while we were all quite glad to hear that you were still in the country, I think you'll understand why we thought it best to confiscate the Map and lock him in the loo for a while. Best for everyone, really," he added conspiringly. 

                 Oh, that _twit._ That stupid, sweet, adorable _twit_. 

                I burned red from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. "Um, sorry."

                Remus gave a good-natured chuckle.

                "Don't be," he said, waving off the apology. "Once the sleep deprivation fades, I'm sure it will all be quite amusing."

                I hummed some kind of agreeing noise, but was still mostly just trying to gain some control over my rampant mortification. I mean, don't get me wrong, the idea of James acting the part of flustered wreck _did_ whip my girlish jitters back into a happy frenzy. It was nice to know that I wasn't the _only_ one who still had some remnant anxieties about this afternoon. James always seemed so steady and sure about all this relationship business. It was a bit of a relief to realise that he was equally as susceptible to the foibles of us struggling, potentially-considering-girlfriends.

                I glanced up at Remus, eyeing him with slight curiosity as we rounded the first corner. The morning anecdote explained his tousled state, at least. He wasn't the sort to walk about all untidy, but I suppose being rudely awakened by your mate at regular intervals throughout the early morning might push neatness down the list of daily priorities. I wondered what sort of condition that left the others in. Peter seemed the type to find the humour in the situation more quickly, if only because it gave him a chance to revel in the usually cool and collected James's nerve-ridden downfall. Sirius, on the other hand, was probably happily plotting my assassination. All things considered, I had probably lucked out meeting Remus first.

                Not that any of them were off the hook, of course. Remus's mutterings suddenly started making a bit more sense. A flash of exasperation finally quelled my embarrassment.

                "So that's who sent you, then?" I asked, just barely holding back my scowl. "James? He saw me on the Map when you lot finally let him out of the loo and sent you off to make sure I wasn't trying to balk off with the help of Pomfrey? Oh, that _prat_. I'm _injured_ , for Merlin's sake!"

                "Er, wrong prat, actually." I glanced at Remus in surprise. He was wincing. "James never got the Map back. But...er, I suppose Peter and I made a bit of a mistake by letting Sirius keep hold of it instead. He really wasn't any better than James. He was the one who saw you head for the Wing and sounded the alarm. I tried to tell him that you were probably just going for your arm, but he just kept hollering some nonsense about you letting go of the cliff before the game had even begun–I suppose you've played that daft game with him?"

                I nodded slowly, a bit of a lie, but it was better than confessing that I had actually unintentionally and unwillingly _invented_ the bloody thing. I wanted to keep Remus's respect if I could.

                "Reckoned as much," he said, nodding to himself. "Anyway, last I'd seen, James wasn't even aware you'd left your dormitory yet. It was _decided_ "–and the way he said it, there was little question about _who_ exactly was at the helm of this particular decision (his name rhymed with _whack_ and I was going to do just that when I saw him)–"that Sirius would be the one to keep him distracted while I came to find you. Keep you from doing yourself in or otherwise sober you up, I think it was."

                Oh, that stupid, paranoid, cynical _wanker_. But why was I the least bit shocked? We were talking about Sirius. How could I have expected anything less?

                "You know, someone ought to give you a medal, Remus," I muttered grimly, seriously considering drudging up one for him myself. A shiny one. With extra snazz. "How have you put up with the lot of them for seven years? Or better yet, _why_? It must be blackmail. Extortion?"

                "A little bit of both, I think," Remus replied drily, but I suppose it just goes to show how completely and maddeningly manipulating Sirius Black and James Potter are that even as he said it, Remus's words were laced with an underlying layer of affection. An affection that, to be perfectly honest, probably tainted my own words, as well. 

                It's disgusting, really. And degrading. And…other things. Other very, very bad things.

                "I can’t believe that prat actually sent you after me," I went on, shaking my head in bemusement. "Obstinate tosser. I've told him a hundred times that I'm not playing at this."

                "He's testing you," Remus said. "He does that."

                "Well, tell him to go test someone else! I've enough to deal with without Sirius stirring up trouble."

                There was a slight, almost unnoticeable pause before Remus responded next. I might not have even noticed it if it weren't for what he said–the words _and_ the deceptively light tone with which he delivered them. 

                "You know, if you hadn't fought so hard to sort the two of them out, you might not have _had_ to deal with him," he murmured, slowly turning his head to glance at me. His eyes met mine. "Regretting it?"

                "What?" I blurted out, skidding to a halt. 

                Remus stopped walking, as well. He gripped the stair railing with one hand and continued to scan my face with searching eyes. I realised then that this hadn't just been an offhand question, that he'd in fact been considering this for more than just that second.

                Which was a bit jolting, actually. _Really_ jolting.

                "I don't mean that you shouldn't have done," he assured me quickly, shaking his head. "Just the opposite, actually. The pair of them needed to have their heads slapped together and Pete and I weren't making any impact. But I suppose I just wonder why you bothered. Your life would've been far less complicated without Sirius in it."

                "Undoubtedly," I agreed immediately, because that was an unarguable fact–an unarguable but utterly _moot_ fact. "But I'm not an idiot, Remus. And neither are you. You know as well as I do that a life without Sirius is a life without James. You don't get one without the other. Asking James to choose would have been suicide–and not something I'd even want in the first place."

                "So you did it for him? For James?" Remus's brow puckered in confusion. "Oh. Just seemed to me that you were still trying to figure this thing with James out. I hadn't realised..."

                Oh, for Merlin's– _that_ one got my temper up.

                "Why does everyone always assume that I'm so casual about this?" I fumed, so bloody _sick_ of going through this same song-and-dance with every stranger I met on the street. " _Merlin_."

                "So you're not?" Remus asked.

                " _No_!"

                I hadn't meant to sound so hostile about it. Perhaps that wasn't fair, but I knew where this was going. I was anticipating the continued bemusement at my vehement proclamation, some further, "Didn't seem like it," or even a simple, "Hmm. Really?" I wouldn't have been _happy_ to receive either, of course, but regardless, that seemed the general path these kinds of conversations take. Merlin knows I've had enough of them over the past few weeks to know. 

                I suppose my surprise was understandable, then, when instead of continuing on with some rubbish along those lines, Remus merely gave a contented nod, smiled a bit wryly and went, "Right, then. Onward, shall we?"

                Then he turned right around and went waltzing down the staircase.

                Um...what?

                I sputtered stupidly on my step.

                "That's it?" I blurted, still frozen in place. "'Onward, shall we?' Seriously? That's the end?"

                Remus didn't even bother turning around. "Yes." 

                I continued to stare at him in pure bafflement, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. My better logic screamed in protest. How could that be it? It couldn't. That was never _it_. He was supposed to keep going! He was supposed to pile the accusations atop my head until they buried me whole! He was supposed to question me until I screamed in frustration! That's what everyone _else_ did. For Merlin's sake, it's even what _I_ did. So why would he just... _how_ could he just...

                Unless...

                Oh.

                _Oh_.

                Psh.

                I almost laughed. Really, I was _this close_. As it was, I gave off this indelicate sounding half-snort before starting off quickly down the steps after him. When we were once again walking side-by-side, I glanced up, decidedly not shocked to see that Remus had a bit of a smirk about him.

                Remus Lupin, the Tactful One.

                "Seems Sirius isn't the only one who cares to test me, is he?" I mused.

                "Who, me?" Remus played at being shocked to hear this, holding an offended hand to his chest. "Decidedly not. I've always been firmly pro-Lily." 

                "Yes, I think you have been, and I'm inordinately grateful for that. However"–I stuck him with a pointed stare–"I think you can be firmly _pro_ -Lily and also be firmly pro- _testing_ -Lily. Isn't that so?"

                Remus hesitated, but only for a moment. We both knew the ruse was up. 

                "Well," he finally said, glancing down at me with a bit of contrition, "I suppose you might be on to something. I _have_ always been keen on knowing the lay of the land. For informative purposes only, of course."

                "Of course," I repeated with sham gravity.

                "I reckoned you weren't, by the way," he added, looking quite sincere now. When I glanced at him questioningly, he clarified, "Casual about it. James, I mean. And it's not that you couldn't have sorted those two nodcocks out simply because you're the sort of girl to want to put things like that right, either. You are. It's just..." He paused for a moment, seemed to consider something, then shrugged. "Dunno. From the way James sometimes tells it, you're constantly on the verge of calling the whole thing off. So I just figured I'd ask. See if he was just being sensitive about the whole thing." His eyes flickered over mine in question. "Angry?"

                I only took a second to think about it. I shook my head. "No."

                And honestly, I wasn't even lying about that. I _wasn't_ angry. Not really, anyway. I mean, part of me might have briefly contemplated exasperation, but mostly it was just an, "Oh. Right. Of course," state of mind. Because of _course_ Remus would want to question me, get 'the lay of the land' as he called it. Of _course_ he'd want to scope out a relationship that–yes, I admit it–at times might seem like a bit of a forthcoming train wreck for his best mate. What half-decent mate wouldn't? And Remus is far more than a half-decent mate. Truthfully, now that it'd happened, I wondered how we'd gone so long without having this conversation before. Sirius was undoubtedly the neediest of James's mates, but that didn't mean he was the only one. Remus and Peter were strapped right up there with the handful of people who came firmly tagging along on James Potter's back when he ambled on into your life, as well. With Sirius demanding most of the attention, I suppose I'd forgotten that.

                But I certainly wouldn't be forgetting it again. And truly, I think I actually respected Remus more for prodding. Not even accounting for the kindred meddling instinct it spoke of, it simply showed that he cared. Probably less about me and decidedly more about James, but that was still a good thing. I couldn't possibly fault him for that.

                I tell you, it's moments like this that cause one to reconsider the whole mate-rock thing. I mean, I don't imagine stonery would have the easiest of times properly meddling on your behalf, now would they?

                I think Remus saw that I'd meant what I said, even if it might've seemed a bit strange. But just in case he was still questioning it, I decided to make certain he couldn't misconstrue my acceptance. I flashed him my very best grin.

                "You know, that Sirius might be a rotten pill to swallow, but he's not stupid, is he?" I threaded an arm amicably through Remus's and kept my voice light and teasing. "You really _are_ the tactful one."

                Remus gave a sudden laugh, a pleasant chuckle that shook his shoulders. "Someone's got to do it."

                "Especially in the lot you run with."

                "Yes, especially with them."

                The pair of us grinned foolishly at one another, the balance obviously restored. But as we finally made it to the top of the marble staircase, ambling downwards and into the Entrance Hall, I think Remus felt he needed to give some kind of further peace offering because abruptly he went (quite faux-casually, even), "James was awake past midnight yesterday looking up steaming spells in an attempt to iron his trousers properly. You might want to comment on their lack of wrinkles when you see them later."

                Oh, Remus Lupin, I do _adore_ you.

                "And I suppose the lot of you just watched and laughed?" I asked.

                "I laughed. Peter, too. I think Sirius may have cried a little."

                The pair of us hooted and jabbered on like a couple of gossipy grandmothers as we quickly crossed through the doors and into the Great Hall. I forced myself not to immediately look away from Remus, overriding the powerful impulse to scan the Gryffindor table for a familiar mop of sooty hair. I mean, couldn't I manage _some_ semblance of restraint? What am I, a witch or a puddle of hormonal mush? I should be able to keep up a normal conversation while still in the presence of my mate-with–no. With my _potentially-considering-boyfriend_.

                Control. That's all I needed. A bit of self-control.

                (It's really too bad that I don't have any.)

                I actually made it quite far, all things considered. We moved closer–two tables away; one; just down the opposite end–and I made it all the way to the middle of the Gryffindor table before the urge became too strong and I inevitably succumbed. But it wasn't until we'd moved within hearing range and Remus went, "Look who I found," that _he_ turned around.

                Oh, hullo, girlish butterflies. So nice to have you back.

                "You're here." James's grin was so wide and blinding, I rather considered squinting. "In the Hall. In the _country_."

                Why was everyone so bloody _surprised_ by that?

                "In the Hall, in the country," I repeated flatly, rolling my eyes. It was getting a bit difficult to look at him–the girlish butterflies were having a ruddy _rager_ down there–so I took a moment to greet the rest of our more-full-than-normal end of the table. "Morning, fellow country dwellers."

                "Morning," Peter returned tiredly.

                "Hello, there," Marley said, poking her head out from behind her _Prophet_. "Seems we're a few extra this morning."

                "Nice work, Moony," was Sirius's addition, muttered just before he took a hefty sip from the steaming mug he was holding, followed by nothing further. 

                I'm not certain if James heard him–distracted as he was with grinning like a mad loon and setting me all aflame and such–but he _did_ pause in his regularly scheduled hormone-wrangling to give Sirius a forceful shove in the side.

                "Budge over," he ordered. "Let her sit."

                Remus left my side to move around the table and take a seat next to Peter and Sirius _did_ shuffle his bum along the bench far enough to open a patch of space large enough for me to wiggle my way into. But I didn't sit yet. Instead, I stared critically at the back of Sirius's stupid, shiny head, eyes narrowing.

                'Nice work, Moony'? 

                Oh, I'd give him, 'Nice work, Moony'.

                As everyone shuffled about, I let my gaze flicker from the back of Sirius's head over towards Marley, who had diligently returned to her reading. "Hey, Marls. Mind if I see your _Prophet_ for a moment?"

                "Er, sure." Her eyebrows furrowed, but Marley closed the paper and offered it over to me. 

                I smiled thankfully at her, taking the thick newspaper and gripping it briefly in my hands. As James placed a hand at my hip and nudged me forward with a light order to sit, I quickly rolled the newspaper into a tight scroll.

                He never saw it coming.

                " _Oy_!" The newspaper made a loud clapping sound as I swung it swiftly upside Sirius's head, taking great pleasure from his cry of protest and the sputtered hisses he made when some of whatever steaming liquid he was holding sloshed over the mug rim and onto his fingers. He dropped the mug onto the tabletop and swung his head around in outrage, grey eyes blazing. "Bloody fucking _hell_ , Evans!"

                From across the table, Remus snorted. 

                "Nice work, Lily," he called.

                "Thank you," I replied.

                James groaned loudly. "Buggering hell. What'd I miss?"

                Sirius was still glowering, one hand rubbing idly at the back of his head, the other motioning furiously towards Remus. "Why doesn't _he_ get hit? He _went_!"

                "Just so you know," I told Sirius calmly, absently unrolling Marley's newspaper before promptly returning it back to her, "if you and Remus were both dangling off separate cliffs–slipping finger grips, feet swinging, yelling and carrying on, the whole dramatic debacle–and I was the only one about to help, I don't care if he has an ocean and you have a puddle, there's a typhoon approaching from the northwest or a rampaging elephant is heading full-speed straight in the direction of your quickly crumbling mountainside...I'm _still_ saving him first."

                There was a brief moment of silence after I'd finished my pronouncement as I casually began to climb over the table bench and slipped into my spot between James and Sirius. Then, almost immediately:

                "Tactful," from Remus.

                "Brownnoser," Sirius sneered at him.

                "Rampaging elephant heading towards the quickly crumbling mountainside?" Peter repeated, intrigued. "That's a new one."

                "Someone pass this girl a waffle," James ordered, tossing his arm about my shoulders. "Besting Sirius is famishing, isn't it?"

                "Exceptionally," I agreed.

                "I wasn't _bested_ ," Sirius grumbled.

                "Oh, go whine about it," I returned.

                He tried to hide it, but Sirius's lips quirked reluctantly upwards, impressed.

                What can I say? I'm just a very impressive girl.

DATE UPDATE: 7:33 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound.

**_________________________________**

**Even Later, Still at Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 290

 

 

 

                Do you reckon James might let me borrow his mates for a time? I mean, not Sirius–he's not properly trained yet–but Remus and Peter? Just for a little while, until I find some better ones of my own. Because honestly, mine just aren't going to cut it anymore. And I truly don't think Remus or Peter would have ever showed up abruptly to breakfast, glanced at me quite curiously and gone:

                "Oh. You're still here. Lovely." (Emma)

                or

                "I hear Guam is terribly overcrowded this time of year. Tourist season." (Grace)

Observation #290) One _really_ shouldn't keep discounting the mate rocks.

DATE UPDATE: 8:07 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound.

**_________________________________**

**Later, Potions**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 291

 

 

 

                Even though we sat next to one another throughout the whole of breakfast, I didn't really get the chance to have any sort of proper conversation with James amidst all the usual tomfoolery taking place at the Gryffindor table–a fact that grew more and more irritating as breakfast dwindled on. Fortunately, when I stood up and announced my desire to leave early for Potions (not, as I'm sure can be discerned, out of any strong urge to get a jumpstart on brewing, but rather due to a particularly strong urge to get James alone), my quite bright potentially-considering-boyfriend caught on straightaway. Springing up from his seat, James grabbed his rucksack from the ground, hiked it up his shoulder and loudly declared that the same swottish urge had suddenly taken hold of him, as well. Fancy that.

                Really, it's quite lovely having such a quick-witted male counterpart. Convenient.

                Sirius was the only one who found it necessary to accompany our exit with some overly-loud groaning, though I think Grace may have copped on and added a bit of polite applause towards the end. In any case, I didn't intend on dawdling about to shoot them nasty looks. James and I left the Hall quickly, and though I certainly had no inclination of actually giving Abbott an early morning pop-in, when we'd moved into the Entrance Hall and it was time to pick a destination, I reckoned it still made the most sense to head down towards the dungeons, if only for convenience's sake. Before I could even think to start that way, though, James had already grabbed my hand and was leading us off in the complete opposite direction.

                "Where are we going?" I asked, trailing along behind him as he headed for a wooden door tucked just to the right of the main staircase. James's only response was a quick glance over his shoulder and a flashing grin.

                Right, then. A surprise, it is.

                The door opened into a corridor that I believe runs parallel to the staff room, though I can't be certain. We strode quickly down the empty hallway, one of us more purposefully than the other (though seeing as one of us didn't know where we were going and the other did, I suppose that's to be expected). I was about to inquire again just where the bloody hell we were off to when James finally stopped. Startled by the abrupt halt, I collided into him from behind. The hand that he didn't have still tucked into mine lifted to steady me, but shifted rather quickly as he turned to face the large landscape painting that was hanging on the wall just to our left. That same steadying hand reached out and I watched in confusion as he carefully ran three fingers along the left side of the picture frame.

                "Er, James? What are you–"

                The landscape swung open with a loud creak.

                Hm.

                Sometimes I forget I've attached myself to a deviant.

                "Oh." I tried to act as if I witnessed this sort of thing all the time. Random opening landscapes. Right. Obviously. "A door. Of course."

                I didn't look at James as I quickly quit gawking and dutifully crossed into the small room, but I don't think it would be too presumptuous to say that he was grinning. I dropped his hand to wander further inside and he turned to close the painting behind us. The space was tiny, tight, not taking more than four or so steps to cross from entrance to back wall. It was dim inside as well, the only light coming from a rather modest and dirt-tinted window resting high up one wall. It looked like some kind of long-forgotten study space–the room's only furniture was a rickety-looking wooden desk and an accompanying desk chair, and there were empty wooden planks lining the walls that I reckon probably ought've been holding books.

                But it had charm, in that dusty, secluded cupboard sort of way.

                "Homey," I offered, ambling slowly about the cramped space. "How did you– _ah_!"

                I can't be blamed for the initial shriek. I mean, I _can_ , but wouldn't you? The surprised cry _did_ fade rather quickly into laughter, though, once I realised that it was just James's arms snaking about my stomach and tugging me back against him. My feet skimmed off the floor and my hands instantly covered his as his mouth nipped playfully at the crook of my neck. I squirmed about in protest, but– _shockingly_ –James didn't seem of a mind to let go. I did manage to fidget enough to twist around in his arms, but I think he might've just allowed that because it provided better positioning for what he had in mind. That became rather obvious when his face lowered just as soon as it was able.

                Honestly, wasn't there enough milk at breakfast?

                "James Potter, you fiend." I turned my head so that his lips caught my cheek instead of my mouth, but he didn't seem to mind that. "Did you lead me in here to take advantage?"

                "Absolutely," he answered, but that's all he could manage with his exceptionally busy schedule of cheek-lavishing and such. Pah. Who has control enough for this?

                Well, me, apparently, though it _did_ take much willpower to prod his determined lips away from my person. And even then, he just turned his head and started scattering my fingers with kisses. I gave him a very stern look.

                "A little self-control, if you please," I requested, ignoring the wolfish grin that was taking up most of his face. His glasses sat a bit crookedly atop his nose, obviously jostled amidst his nefarious activities. I set them straight, thinking that might serve symbolically as a reminder for him to set his hormones straight, but then I remembered that oftentimes these things are best not left as simply symbols, so I stated it frankly, as well. "I did not whisk you away to snog. I wanted to talk."

                "About what?" James asked.

                "Oh, I don't know. How about the fact that you seemed pretty damn surprised that I showed up this morning?" I stared pointedly at him. "We can start there."

                "I wouldn't call it surprised," James replied slowly, carefully. "More...pleasantly reassured. World of a difference, that."

                "'World of a difference', my _arse_." I shoved lightly at his shoulder, but all he seemed able to do was grin. Randy twit. "You don't think I meant any of it, do you? Yesterday. Outside. You didn't take me the least bit seriously. You still think I'm going to bolt."

                It was something that had been grating on my mind since Remus had let it slip about James and his early morning half-hourly updates. Initially, I'd been merely girlishly flustered about his rather sweet excitement, but after mulling it over during breakfast...well, there was obviously something more than simple excitement prompting James's constant need to monitor my whereabouts. And while I was hardly looking to start an argument over it, I didn't want to brush by it, either. I hadn't said what I'd said lightly. And in my desperately-awaiting-something-to-go-terribly-wrong, pre-date state, I didn't want this to be what came back to somehow ruin everything.

                Luckily, I think James sensed that I wasn't trying to make a big to-do about the whole thing. And thankfully, he was able to ignore his greater snog inclinations long enough to contemplate it somewhat seriously.

                "I know that you meant it," he told me slowly, considering his words carefully. "But there was always the possibility that you might've... _forgotten_ that you meant it. Just for a moment, of course. But a proper more-potential-than-mate considers these things. So I did. Just in case."

                Well, that... _that_...

                Shut up, James Potter. You don't know me.

                "There might have been...slightly such a forgetful moment this morning," I felt it necessary to admit, comforted when James only laughed at this. I might have blushed a tad. Or more. "But it was a very quick moment and it really was for the best! Over and done with early on, see? Now no one has to worry about it!"

                "And there's no possibility for a second moment?"

                Of course there was, but I wasn't about to tell _him_ that. I shook my head instead. "Terribly sorry, but no. I _did_ warn you. You're stuck with me."

                "Right devastating, that," James said, but rather ruined the effect of his sham gravity by grinning again. Then he _really_ ruined it by snogging me.

                Not very good at the whole 'playing-at-not-wanting-to-go-to-Hogsmeade-with-you' bit, is he?

                Oh, well. We've all our faults.

                Mine is clearly that I don't know how to refuse the dairy that is so consistently being thrust my way because even though I _really_ hadn't intended our leave-early-for-lessons ploy to end in a quick calcium injection, that's the direction it went, anyway. But that's not really my fault. I mean, it was all James. He's an addict. An addict that drags other people down with him. 'Other people' meaning me. So really, this can all be blamed on him. I am merely a victim in this sick, twisted world of dairy, depravity, and dependence.

                And I'm sure I would have been the one to quickly pull away if James hadn't felt the need to do so first. I do have self-control. I _do_.

                (Or if I didn't then, I certainly would've after hearing what he said next.)

                "Forget lunch."

                I literally jolted. If James's hands hadn't still been cradling my face, I'm not certain that I wouldn't have jolted straight away from him and onto my bum. But cradling as they were, I merely jerked away slightly and croaked out a short, "What?"

                "Forget lunch," he said again, but the way he was grinning at me so widely, even my quite-easily-led-to-jumping-to-conclusions brain had to question where exactly this was going.

                "Once more," I prodded dubiously.

                "You didn't eat much earlier, yeah?" he asked quickly, still not giving any answers. I didn't even have time to nod or shake my head before he was already ploughing on. "No. No, I don't think you did. So let's do it proper. Can't have you missing meals, can we? And who needs to wait for lunch? We can leave now. Rosmerta serves breakfast. We can be in Hogsmeade in fifteen minutes–less, even, if we hurry. Let's just–"

                "Now? You want us to leave _now_?"

                James's answer was a quick kiss and an even quicker, " _Yes_."

                My head was still spinning when he abruptly pulled away and started backing up towards the painting. I think it was the movement that finally snapped me out of my shock. I dug my feet into the floor.

                "Wait! No! No, we can't–no one goes to Hogsmeade for _breakfast_ , for Merlin's sake! And lessons! We have lessons! Do you want to be murdered by Abbott? Or _McGonagall_? We can't! Transfiguration–"

                "–will still be there tomorrow, Infallible," James finished, though at least he'd stopped trying to lug me off towards the exit. His voice had gone all patronising, which was irritating _and_ unnecessary. "What's a few more missed classes? As if either of us would even be paying any attention. Come on. It'll be brill–"

                "No. _No_. You can't just–no."

                James quit looking condescending long enough to start looking suspicious. 

                "Second moment?" he asked flatly.

                I could have hit him. Really, I could have done.

                "No, it's not a _second moment_ , you _tosser_. I just have a bit more consideration for plans than you do!" I gave him my most annoyed glare, but he really didn't seem to get it. I crossed my arms over my chest and stood my ground, hardly believing his mindless whimsy. James wasn't budging either, though. I decided to break him down with an angry tirade. "I know you really couldn't care less about skiving off lessons for weeks on end, but I do! We set this time specifically so we wouldn't miss anything important! And...and I had this all planned out and concrete in my head and you know I don't like abrupt changes so you can't just– _especially_ when it's something so– _Merlin_ –"

                It _wasn't_ a second moment. Really, it wasn't. But excited to go to Hogsmeade or not, I was still not even remotely keen on spontaneous shifts to my already set plans. I mean, I hadn't even had the chance to get into my date mindset! And I hadn't written my 'Sorry for abandoning you in class!' note to Robbo-Rhymo! Or had a mini-though-not-remotely-close-to-a-second-moment freak out with Grace and Emma! I couldn't just _go_. There were steps! _Stages_. And since when did anyone go on a _breakfast_ date, anyway? That was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. It wasn't a proper date. It was...it was a _dake_. A _fake_ date. We were not going on a _dake_!

                This is what I told James–loudly.

                The part about the dake, I mean. Not everything else. He'd read too much into the rest, the wanker.

                "That's not even a _word_ ," he complained, clearly put out at having been thwarted so thoroughly. He grappled for a suitable return. "Besides, you're looking at it the wrong way. It wouldn't be a _dake_. It would be a...a _date-ra_! A date with _extra_ , see? Eh?"

                Oh, brother.

                He really has been spending too much time with me, hasn't he?

                Poor sod.

                I know I was supposed to be being all tough and firm and obstinate and everything, but...well, come _on_. I couldn't help it. Date-ra? _Date-ra_? The giggles were out before I could stop them. I tried to cover them with coughs, but I'm not certain that worked too well.

                "Date-ra. Right. Got it," I hack-giggled the words out, trying to muffle them with my hand. My farce was revealed for the sham it was when James rolled his eyes, tried to look all put out and grumbled, "Shut it, you."

                Which really just made things worse.

                "No, no, I'm sure you're quite right! Date-ra. That's exactly what it'd be." I stepped closer so that I could pat at his arm all placatingly, still biting back my laughter. James shot me a look, but I could only smile. I strategically morphed my arm-pats into some artful arm-strokes. He eyed me suspiciously, but I wasn't stupid. I kept talking. "But be that as it may–whether dake or date-ra–I'd really still rather neither. I just want a plain, ordinary date. One that starts at a suitable time. And doesn't require me to go in my ugly school uniform."

                "You could've _changed_ ," James grumbled, but I could see that he was easing off his date-ra plan, thank Merlin. I kept up the arm-stoking, though, just in case.

                "Truth is, we've probably blotched it up enough already," I added offhand.

                James lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

                I shrugged. "How unclassy is snogging someone _before_ your date? Which was _your_ fault, by the by. And half the fun of a date is always the anticipation beforehand. You know, the not-seeing-each-other-until-that-moment build-up? But we've blotched that up, as well. It's quite unfortunate. Though, actually..."

                The idea came suddenly, but caught on quickly. I looked up at James, considering, then excited. I stopped my stroking and squeezed his arm instead. "That really shouldn't be sacrificed," I declared hurriedly, firmly. "The anticipation, I mean. What fun would that be? And we can still fix it. We just won't talk to one other before lunch! Or look at one another. Or anything-one-another. It'll be just like the real thing! Or close enough, anyway."

                James looked entirely confused. "Not talk? What are you–and how exactly am I not supposed to look at you?"

                "You just don't," I answered, not really understanding the objections here. The excitement was building. I can't believe I hadn't considered this earlier! _Anticipation_. "Keep off. Sit away. If we just continue on as normal, the whole magic of the date disappears! You'll be sick of me by the time lunch rolls around and then where will we be? Do you _want_ to ruin it?"

                "If I were going to get sick of you, I think I would have done by now, don't you?" James asked.

                I scowled. "Are you willing to _risk_ that?"

                James didn't answer, but I really wasn't expecting one. And despite the fact that I think he was still of the mind that he was somehow getting out of this, I went ahead and proved him very wrong by grinning brightly and taking three deliberate steps backwards. My back brushed the landscape. James's eyes narrowed.

                "What are you doing?"

                "Leaving."

                He did not seem to like that. Did not seem to like that at all. Probably mostly because he was expecting a bit more of a snogfest in here, the randy idiot, but still.

                "Lily, this is the _stupidest_ –"

                "Do what you will, but _I_ want the fun anticipation and the only way I'm going to get it is by pretending you're not constantly a stone's throw away from me. So"–I grasped slowly for the portrait frame–"I'm going. And I will not be speaking with you for the rest of the morning. Or looking at you. Or even remaining in your near vicinity. Not until lunch."

                "But you'll still be _thinking_ about me!" James declared victoriously, obviously counting this as some sort of win for his side. "You won't be able to just quit that!"

                "Well, of course not," I scoffed, pulling a face. "Thinking about you is absolutely allowed. In fact, it's rather the point. It builds up the hype. You should think about me, as well–though only in the most flattering and romantic of lights, of course. I would be quite happy if you could make this a rose-coloured glasses sort of morning, all right?"

                "You can't stop me from talking to you," James threatened, folding his arms over his chest in an obstinate sulk. "Or standing in your vicinity. Or looking at you. And I can make you look at me, too."

                "You can try," I said, shrugging.

                "You're being _ridic_ –"

                I spun, glad to find that there wasn't any secret password or bizarre voodoo song-and-dance necessary to get the landscape open from the inside–a nice, firm shove did the trick. Still not turning back around–this plan was beginning _immediately_ –I waved blindly to James over my shoulder and called a farewell as I stepped into the corridor. "Ta!"

                "Ta? _Ta_? Infallible–"

                That's when–rather inelegantly, I admit–I slammed the landscape in his face.

                Then I ran.

                Very, very quickly.

                The shouts rang out before I'd even made it halfway down the corridor.

                "You'll be sorry, Lily Evans!"

                Psh. That's what _he_ thinks.

                And as it turns out, I've managed to remain quite definitively _un_ sorry thus far. I knew I couldn't risk going back to the Great Hall because James could have easily accosted me there, probably even expected me to head that way thinking I'd find safety in numbers. He didn't have the Map, but he might reclaim it from Sirius, so wherever I _did_ go, I knew it needed to be a place where he couldn't come after me even if he wanted to. And there's only one place I know like that.

                So that's why I spent the remainder of breakfast tucked away inside the girls' lavatory. 

                Not my finest moment, I admit, but a witch's got to do what a witch's got to do. And whether James sees the logic of it now or not, _I_ know my plan has great merit. He'll be thanking me later when he realises just how brilliantly separation will serve us. It'll make our date all the better!

                Clearly this realisation has yet to sink in, though, judging from the stunt he just attempted to pull. I bet he thought he was being _so_ clever by switching seats like that. He knew I'd try to sneak in just before Potions began–I hadn't really another option if I wanted to keep him from dogging at my heels–and the blighter sought to use that to his advantage. Truth be told, I _was_ a bit taken aback when I walked into the dungeon and realised that he had (probably quite easily) conned Gracie into switching seats with him so that she was now plopped down at the back of the class with Remus and James sat at my usual workstation with the only empty seat in the classroom next to him. 

                I did _not_ look at him, but I knew the smarmy bastard was smirking.

                Too bad I was too suave and determined to fall into his trap.

                "Evans." Abbott stood at the front of the classroom, eyeing me with little amusement. "Would you kindly take your seat?"

                I gave her a close-lipped smile. "Yes, Professor."

                But instead of making my way to the front of the room and plopping myself all resigned down in the seat between James and Emma, I headed straight for my alternative option–the one I reckon James didn't even know I had.

                Really, he should know me better by now.

                Remus was already watching me when I sidled quickly up next to him. I think that maybe he was even expecting me to stop beside him.

                "You owe me from this morning," I hissed, already dropping my things beside the desk. "And you can tell your mate that he's going to have to do a bit better than _this_ to crack me."

                Remus gave a long sigh, lifting his eyes towards the ceiling but dutifully grabbing his books off the desk. "How do I get myself in the middle of these things?"

                "Evans. Lupin." Abbott was out and out glaring at us now. " _Seats_."

                Remus openly trudged, but willingly or not, got to the front of the classroom. I slid quickly into the seat next to Grace.

                "Why are we playing musical chairs?" she asked with a slightly worried tone, but Abbott wasn't playing about with her intentions to begin class, so I could only give her a, "Tell you later," look before Potions took over.

                And now here we are. And despite the fact that James has attempted _twice_ to pass me back notes saying Merlin-only-knows-what, I have soundly ignored them, instantly shoving them at Grace to do with as she pleases just as soon as Katie Frost passes them back to me.

                I am getting my proper anticipation, even if it kills me.

                And no one–not even my date himself–is going to stop me.

DATE UPDATE: 9:13 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (with added anticipation!).

**_________________________________**

**Later Later, Charms**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 291

 

 

**All right. Someone had betterexplain to me why the bloody hell James Potter was just standing atop our desk in a desperate bid for attention I haven't seen since the dark days of fourth year. -GR**

 

_I think the better question is why Flitwick let him. He was up there for a good two minutes at least. -EV_

 

**And _someone_ was sitting there with her nose buried in her book, going on as if his feet _weren't_ trampling the pages!**

 

The wanker got his stupid footprints all over the place. Pince is going to have a cow. -LE

                **Really, Evans? _That's_ your issue right now? Pince?**

                Among other things.

                _Lily..._

 

For goodness sake, will both of you quit giving me those looks? And I swear to Merlin, Grace Reynolds, if you pinch me _one_ _more time_...

                **Well, if you would just ruddy _answer the question_!**

                I was _going_ to! And it's not even remotely close to what you henwits are thinking, so stop fretting. I've simply found a way to make our date better that James has taken some exception to it. That's all.

                _What kind of way?_

                The kind of way that entails me ignoring him all morning. I'm trying to trick myself into a false sense of anticipation, see? I mean, everyone knows that half the fun of a date is the anticipation beforehand. And how am I supposed to achieve that if James is constantly about, hm? So we're having a bit of a separation period. That way, when our date _does_ start, we won't be sick of one another.

 

_Lily, that is the silliest_–

                **Brilliant. It's brilliant.**

 

Gracie, my heart, your pinches are forgiven.

                _Since when is Grace's approval ever a positive sign?_

 

_Ow! That hurt, Grace!_

                **Good. And really, Emmeline, someone as bright as you ought to be able to see the genius in this plan. It's positively inspired!**

                _It's positively moronic. And not even working! He was standing on our desk, for Merlin's sake!_

 

Yes, but I wasn't _looking_ at him as he did it. Just his feet. And those could have been anyone's feet.

                **Exactly. Anyone's feet.**

                _Are you even listening to yourselves?_

                **Look, the way I see it, this is better than her packing up her meagre belongings and hightailing it off to the mountains, isn't it? And we're still not entirely out of the woods with that one yet.**

 

Oh, come _on_.

                **Shut it, Evans. You know it's true. And actually, she's right, Em. How is she supposed to get her giddy-date feeling if she's been staring at James's highly fit form all morning? The fitness will wane. And _then_ what's he got going for him?**

 

_A brain?_

 

A tongue?

**Cripes, McSlaggerson. Contain yourself.**

                _I honestly don't know what to do with you two anymore_.

                **Well, I like the plan. And for all his standing-atop-desks, James is obviously enjoying it, as well. You know these two. The flighting. It's foreplay.**

 

_Call it whatever you want, but this nonsense is still not getting my approval. James nearly crushed my inkwell!_

 

There are casualties in any war, Emmeline. I'm sorry your inkwell got in the middle.

                **Speaking of.**

                _Inkwells_?

                War?

                **No. Foreplay.**

 

_Of course._

 

It's really too early to be hearing about Chris Lynch and his skilled mouth, Gracie.

                **Firstly, it is never too early for discussions of skilled mouths. But that isn't what I meant. I was actually speaking of you. I realised this morning that we'd left out a vital factor in the Perfect Date Ensemble**.

                I've already remembered tights. Problem solved.

                **I was talking about _under_ the tights, actually.**

                _Sweet Merlin, Grace._

 

Under?

                **Do you still have that black lacy set we got at Madam Dumont's?**

 

We got that set as a _gag_ , Grace!

                **Yes. And I'm sure James will find it very funny.**

                _Lily, please quit hitting her. Flitwick is starting to look over here_!

                This is a  first date! A FIRST DATE! No one is getting anywhere near–as if _I would_ –

                **No one's asking you to take them _off,_ Lil. I was just under the impression that they might...make an appearance. You know, from past button experiences.**

 

That's _not_...I mean, just because...

                _Lil?_

                I'm fine. _Fine_. 

                _Maybe you should put your head down or something_...

                It's just...first dates are supposed to be about _little_ things. Small steps. Getting to _know_ one another!

                **But not in the biblical sense.**

 

_Grace!_

                **What? I _said_ not!**

_Don't pay attention to her, Lily. You know James doesn't expect anything like that. He'll be happy simply to have you there._

                Right. You're right. Of course, you're right. 

                _Yes, I am._

 

                Even though I lured him into a dusty study room and let him snog me a bit this morning. But that was mostly his fault. Actually, entirely his fault. And I put a stop to it. Sort of.

                _Exactly. See? No problems._

                Right. No problems.

                **Um. But seriously. Madam Dumont's. You didn't return it, right?**

 

**All right. I suppose I deserved that.**

 

_Flitwick does not look happy._

**_________________________________**

**Still Later, Still in Charms**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

 

 

Observation #292) Regardless of how impressed he may be by the skill it takes to cast a Multicolour Charm on human skin, Professor Flitwick nonetheless cannot condone such disregard for school rules. He _is_ willing to forgo detention when he sees how quickly and efficiently you can reverse it, though.

Observation #293) If there are certain spots of your victim's skin that _haven't_ been changed back, but which are presently unnoticeable by the naked eye...well, no one's the wiser, are they? (Besides, Flitwick would probably be even more impressed.)

Observation #294) Grace Reynolds deserves every discoloured patch of skin she gets.

Observation #295) ...doesn't she?

DATE UPDATE: 10:44 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (now with completely and utterly inappropriate worries/expectations).

**_________________________________**

**Later Later, Transfiguration**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

                I agreed to change Grace's unseen-with-a-shirt-present bits back to their natural hue in exchange for her agreement to run blockage for me against James as we left Charms. She was all-too-willing to agree, partially in vanity, partially because she was still firmly behind Plan Anticipation and gained much amusement from refusing to let James pass as Emma and I dashed off to Transfiguration. I'm not certain how she managed it, but judging from the way the pair of them strolled into the classroom without any ostentatious drama, she must have not only effectively detained him, but conned him into seeing the wisdom of my plan, as well.

                Which is nice. Lovely, even. And quite a load off my mind.

                And the thing is...I know I should be paying attention to McGonagall right now. The exam is officially in less than a week and I know about half-a-Knut more now than I did in September. There is not a moment of Transfiguration review to be spared.

                Except...

                Look, this isn't a second moment or anything, all right? I have no intention of hightailing it to Guam or up a mountain or into the nearest broom cupboard or anywhere that isn't Hogsmeade with James. And regardless of the _slight_ , half-a-moment of panic that may or may not have flared up when Grace posed her mad, randy, utterly-inappropriate-and-not-even- _remotely_ -her-business question...I'm not going to let _that_ spoil things, either. Because when everything is said and done, I'm a slag, but I'm a slag who knows when and how to say no. And while James might also be a slag, he's a slag who listens. So there's no need to...well, to panic.

                Right.

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:04 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (for now).

**_________________________________**

**Later Later, Transfiguration**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

                But maybe I _should_ consider...

                No.

                _No._

DATE UPDATE: 11:06 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound ( _without_ Madam Dumont's help!).

**_________________________________**

**Later Later, Still Transfiguration**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:15 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (...maybe with some help?).

**_________________________________**

**Same, Same**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:18 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound ( _partially_ with some help?).

**_________________________________**

**Same, Same**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:21 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (in for a Knut, in for Galleon).

**_________________________________**

**Same, Same**  
Etc.  
Etc.

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:24 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (some things are... _too expensive_ to contemplate, though).

**_________________________________**

**Same, Same**  
Etc.  
Etc.

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:29 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (oh, bloody hell).

**_________________________________**

**Still Later, Still Transfiguration**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

 

_Dearest Rob,_

 

_I am truly sorry, my rhyming mate,_  
                for abandoning you to this terrible fate  
                of working alone during class.                

_I would be there if I could,_  
                Be cross–I know I would–  
                Cry, "What a rude and deplorable lass!"

 

_In my absence, have a care_  
                not to drive Freeman spare,  
                (we all know she loves you best)

 

_I'll be back come next lesson,_  
                (I know the prospect's depressin')  
                and look forward to our next rhyme-fest.

 

_Lily_

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:41 a.m. and still Hogsmeade bound (since awful poetry is strangely calming).

**_________________________________**

**Etc, Etc Transfig.**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 295

 

 

DATE UPDATE: 11:45 a.m **.** and still Hogsmeade bound ( _ShitShitShitDoubleBloodyFuckingShit_!!).                

**_________________________________**

**Much Much Later, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 296

 

 

Time: 6:28 p.m.  
Emotional Barometer: Depleted.  
Bodily Status: Dishevelled.  
Feet Check-Up: Never the same again.  
Mental State: As usual.

DATE UPDATE: Complete.

 

**_________________________________**

**Much Later, Still 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 296

 

                Ever since I was little, I’ve always had this tendency to...well, overdramatise. 

                It's not intentional. Honestly, it's not. An unfortunate consequence of a childhood so horrifically banal that even an entirely ordinary soul like myself couldn’t stand the triviality of it all, it was undoubtedly an internal defence mechanism developed in my youth as a guard against the debilitating evils of dullness. By the time I got to Hogwarts and possibilities for actual excitement opened up, it was already too late. My penchant for flair was too ingrained. 

                So blame my parents. Or blame Surrey. Or even blame society in general, if you’re so inclined. But whosever or whatever's burden this inevitably is to bear, the fact remains the same–I am physically/emotionally/spiritually/etc. unable to live my life without my very best mates, Drama and Hyperbole.

                In the long run of things, I reckon I probably got off rather easily. I haven't a deadly disease or a devastating handicap, after all, just an occasionally inconveniencing character quirk. Before today, I honestly couldn't say that it's ever _truly_ bothered me. I mean, with a life like mine, who _wouldn’t_ want to take comfort in their own extravagant delusions, right?

                But right now–for _this_ –I am going to try my damnedest to defy my poorer nature. Possibly for the first time, I don’t _want_ to overdramatise. I really, truly don’t.

                And maybe I’ll be able to do this because the day doesn’t _need_ any dramatising. Or perhaps I'll be able to do it because it’s been a few hours now and I’ve had time to process it all. Or perhaps I'll simply do it because where there’s a will, there’s a way, and right now, I feel as if I might have will enough to topple a mountain. But whatever the case, I am determined to go about retelling this as objectively as possible. That way, when I decide during some future afternoon that I want to go flipping back through my old journals–reliving the glory days and recapturing my misbegotten youth and such–and I go to revisit my very first date with James Potter, the record and the reality will be as closely linked as possible.

                Because...well, because I reckon today is the sort of day a girl is going to want to revisit. 

                Perhaps with the grandchildren. Or the _great_ -grandchildren.

                Or, you know, the cats, as the case may end up being.

                So here it goes. _Objectively_.

                I don’t think I’d even be starting off on the wrong Strictly Objective foot if I said that I can’t remember a single Transfiguration class ever going more slowly–and that's saying something, considering my long and tumultuous relationship with Transfiguration. I never did get around to actually listening to McGonagall’s lecture, but who could blame me? Only someone who’s never had to sit through an entire lesson in the last hour before their very first date with their potentially-considering-boyfriend, I think. It was torture. Absolute and complete _torture._ And it certainly didn’t help matters that I was too stubborn to renege upon my Anticipation Plan and just stare fixedly at the back of James’s head as I might’ve done on other occasions to pass the time. How could I, so close to the finish line? Victory was within my grasp and I didn't want to toss in the towel on the last sprint. But I won't say it wasn't tempting. Especially when staring critically at the idiot might have also assisted with…er, other troubling issues.

                Somehow, I’d always imagined that any sort of _trouble_ Madam Dumont might get me into would be a bit more fun.

                Stupid bloody _hormones_. Stupid bloody _virtue_. Who has time for these kinds of dilemmas?

                What the bloody hell had I been thinking letting Grace talk me into buying the stupid set last summer, anyway? I mean, granted, we’d just run into Michael Davies and his posh new girlfriend and I may have been _slightly_ more susceptible to such things than your average Saturday shopper, but that still doesn’t justify it! I hadn’t even wanted to go _in_ , but Grace had been plotting some dirty weekend for Simon Langley’s birthday and needed to pop by for underwire assistance, so we’d just meant to browse _really_ quickly, but then she'd practically _shoved_ me into the dressing room with the stupid things and…well...

                 But they were always meant to be a lark! No one was actually supposed to _see_ them. Well, I mean, they _were_ , but not _today_. Someday. Someday in the far future. Someday not in the _first-date_ -far-future.

                Except…

                Well, James and I probably _would_...I mean, nothing _mad_ or anything! But probably a bit of…er…

                Oh, _hell_. That doesn’t make me a complete harlot, does it? Because it's a first date and I was rather expecting…well, _something_? But not _The_ Something. Good God, no. _Certainly_ not. And _James_ wasn’t expecting that either, right? Because if he was, let me tell you, the boy was in for a _rude_ awakening!

                But I don't suppose Madam Dumont much screams ‘rude awakening,’ does she? 

                At least, not the kind of screaming and awakening I was talking about.

                Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

                What’s a selectively moral slag to _do_?

                I still hadn’t really sorted it all out by the time McGonagall finally– _finally!_ –ended class. That wasn't good. Not good at all. Because it was _just_ this kind of indecision that could be the very catalyst to send me spiralling straight from Transfiguration's Barely-Half-a-Moment-Nervous-Contemplating into Full-Fledged-Second-Moment Panic Status. Because shockingly enough, even with The Great Harlot Debate up and running, I still hadn't managed to have a proper Second Moment. As the minutes plodded on, I _was_ feeling a bit jitterier and certainly more anxious, but it was nothing Second Moment worthy. Not even close. Which was quite worrying, actually. Quite worrying, indeed.

Because I _had_ to have some kind of Second Moment, didn't I? And possibly even a Third? At some point, the other proverbial shoe was going to drop and all hell would break loose. There was no way I could actually go on this date in a normal state of mind. Not with my karma. 

But I suppose even Great Karmic Powers have to take a day off every now and again–and wouldn’t you know it? Mine had apparently chosen today to start their hols! Heads would undoubtedly roll once they discovered what prime opportunities they'd missed to ruin my life, but there was nothing for it. When Transfiguration finally ended a hundred thousand eons after it had started, it did so without a single hint of a true Second Moment. I rose from my seat with Emma eyeing me curiously all the while, but all I could feel were those blasted giddy butterflies from this morning, fluttering up a frenzied girlish storm in my otherwise settled stomach. 

                Emma's hand fell hesitantly onto my arm.

                "Lil?" Her tone was light, tentative. "All right?"

                "I'm going on a date with James," I answered a bit breathlessly, a lifetime of emotions contained in the seven simple words. "I'm going on a _date_ with _James Potter_ , Emmeline. Right now."

                "Well, yes. I suppose you are," she laughed, giving my arm a squeeze. "That all right?"

                Apparently, it was.

                Apparently, it really _really_ was.

                Hmph. Who knew?

                I think I alarmed her a bit with the pure luminosity of my returning grin, but after a moment, she grinned back, all teeth and shine. We beamed foolishly at one another like a pair of right loons.

                Then a third fool joined the bunch. 

                “What the bloody hell are the two of you ogling each other for? Move, move!”� Grace clapped her hands in time with her orders, giving us each a forceful shove towards the door when we didn’t budge quickly enough for her tastes. Ahh, something familiar! “The longest James would give us was twenty minutes–and even _that_ took finagling. You have to meet him outside the portrait hole at quarter past.”� 

                “My _date_ at quarter past,”� I garbled like a lovesick parrot, the nerves and giddiness melding together to make a rather sad state of me. I couldn’t believe the rubbish spewing out of my mouth. If I weren't so out of control, I might have been embarrassed. “My date with _James_ , Gracie.”� 

                Grace only glanced accusingly at Emma. “Really? Calming Draught? _Again_?”� 

                I think now might be a good time to point out that even witches in anxious, scatter-brained pre-date states canstill cast rather brilliant Multicolour Charms. 

                Oh, dear. Why looking so blue, Gracie? 

                Hardy, har, _har_. 

                But even though she is a bossy, blue, boisterous, underhanded bint...I suppose Grace still has her occasional uses. Like when she assisted (shoved) Emma and me up to the dormitory without letting any of us escape (Emma) or fall down a flight of steps because of our suddenly amazingly jelly-like limbs (me). Or when she properly finagled with James for twenty minutes to get ready rather than the three he was apparently originally willing to wait (Three? Was he _mad_?). Or like when she came to the rescue when my cosmetic spells kept rendering me more dockside barmaid than charming lunch partner. Or when I discovered my tights had a colossal run in them and she effectively filched a pair from Carrie Lloyd’s plentiful stash.

                Yes, I think I'll keep her.

                You know, for now.

                "Do you think she'll notice?" I fretted as the witch in question went plunging cavalierly through Carrie's trunk, tossing various pairs of brightly coloured tights aside in lieu of finding a suitable black. "I mean, I know she's more pairs than any one person ever really ought to, but that doesn't mean–and what if she finds out–"

                "Then we tell her you found them on the floor and thought they were yours," Grace answered succinctly, still digging. "They're _tights_ , Lil. Who can tell the difference?"

                Which is another thing about Grace. When she's not playing the twit, she's actually quite logical.

                "Are you certain about these, Lily?" From her place lounging on my bed, Emma lifted the Slag Boots–which had just been dutifully salvaged from their dark place in the very back of the closet once more–by the tips of fingers. She scrunched her nose in distaste. "You were so miserable after your date with Amos–"

                "Well, don't blame the Slag Boots for _that_ ," Grace scoffed.

                Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm not blaming–oh, never mind. All I'm saying is that I wonder if it's really worth it. You have to make it all the way to Hogsmeade and back, you know."

                The lady had a point, even if it was a moot one. I sighed very loudly.

                "Don't remind me." I took the boots from her, glancing sadly down at my uninjured feet for what would probably be the last time today. Or ever. Poor feet. Poor me. "It is a far, far better thing I do–"

                "Ah- _ha_!" Grace's victory cry cut off the rest of my poignant soliloquy. She brandished a pair of black tights over her head in triumph. "Success!"

                "Huzzah, hurrah, Gracie!" I held out the hand that wasn't still carrying the Slag Boots to reach for the hosiery. "Come on, then. I only have three minutes and it'll take at _least_ that long to–"

                "Ah! Not so fast!" Grace clutched the tights possessively against her chest, effectively moving them out of my reach. Her face suddenly took on a mulish expression. Oh, hell. That never boded well. "At the risk of compromising your so-far-dormant panic button," she began slowly, "I would like to inquire whether you might want to…ahem, _change_ anything else before you tights-up?"

                Her suggestive leers and wiggling eyebrows were enough to let me know exactly what Grace was implying I _change_.

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake._

                "Grace," Emma warned.

                "It's a legitimate question!" she cried.

                "It's none of your business!" I returned, sticking her with a good glower.

                Grace sagged with a frown. "But that's–"

                I took advantage of her moment of weakness to swipe the tights from her greedy little hands, punctuating the theft with another pointed scowl. She went into an obvious sulk as I strode purposefully towards the loo with the tights and the Slag Boots and kicked the door shut behind me.

                Because, honestly? It _wasn't_ any of her business. Not even close to her business. What I did or ultimately did not decide to wear beneath my Date Day Ensemble was no one's concern but my own–well, and _perhaps_ James's. But mostly mine. He should _be_ so lucky.

                But in the name of Objective Retelling and keeping this all as thorough and accurate as possible…

                Well, let's just say that I decided to go more "slag" than "moral" for the day.

                Oh, go _on_. Disapprove. Judge harshly. My scarlet letter is no doubt with the seamstresses as we speak. But I’ve never denied that I'm no better than a puddle of hormonal mush! What did anyone honestly expect?

                I had no intention of informing the rest of them about this minor lapse in virtue and decency, however. As far as they were concerned, I was playing the prude part to the highest degree with dull grandmum knickers and matching girdle. In fact, as far as _James_ was concerned, I was playing the prude part, as well! My last minute beneath-the-ensemble change was merely there as a safety net. You know, just in _case_ I abruptly decided that I might as well get my money's worth of Madam Dumont's grossly overpriced merchandise. But _nothing_ –and I mean _nothing_ –was coming off. This was strictly For Viewing Pleasure Only. I hadn't _completely_ ditched my selective morals. I still had _some_ honour left. And though my potentially-considering-boyfriend often has a way of making me momentarily forget the scant honour I possess, there are some things that even James Potter and his deviant mouth can't talk me out of. 

                My virginity happens to be one of them.

                (Er...at least, not on a _first date_.)

                I actually felt much improved after I'd settled all that. I mean, I wouldn't claim I'd reached any sort of Zen state by the time I was putting the finishing touches on my strategically-untidy-side-plait in the loo mirror, but I certainly wasn't hyperventilating, which I called an all-around victory. The Slag Boots–charmed for comfort as much as they were ever going to be, Merlin help me–made short, clicking sounds against the dormitory floor as I finally stepped out of the toilets. Grace and Emma were much as I'd left them, sprawled out on my bed. They both glanced up as I stepped out.

                "Well?" I gave them the perfunctory slow spin. "Not terribly unfortunate?"

                "Lovely," Emma praised, putting down her magazine and giving me a pleased smile. Grace was naturally more skeptical, climbing off the bed in order to circle like a scavenger, giving me the close, methodical once-over. She fiddled with my fringe, gave my (her) jacket a neatening tug, then wiped some invisible (or I couldn't see it, anyway) lint off Emma's skirt. Finally, she straightened out and gave her nod of approval.

                "You'll do," she said, but her grin was bright and her eyes were all a-twinkle, so I reckoned I’d do quite nicely.

                I laughed a bit breathlessly.

                My heart was starting to pound.

                Holy hell. _Holy_ hell.

                "It's quarter past," Emma announced, sounding very casual about it, but even a blind man couldn't have missed the question and apprehension poorly hidden behind her token smile. She watched me like a hawk, and I really couldn't blame her.

                "Should I be fashionably late?" I asked, only half-joking. "Make him sweat a bit?"

                "I can't imagine he _could_ be sweating any more than he is right now," Grace said, looking none-too-disappointed by the prospect. James's potential nerves clearly tickled her fancy. She sighed wistfully. " _Merlin_ , what I wouldn't give to see his face when he spots you! It's almost enough to want to sneak down and spy."

                "Grace, _no_!" I choked out instantly. "That isn't even funny! Do you know how _mortifying_ –"

                "I _said_ almost," Grace crowed, but she was still looking far too pleased with the whole idea for my comfort. When I sent her an anxiously pleading look, she snorted. "Oh, for the love of…don't get your ugly and ordinary knickers in a twist! Emma will make sure I stay put. But I want a full report!" she ordered, holding up a stern finger. "Don't you forget even a _modicum_ of the moment! I want to hear of every drip of drool and nervous blather! I will never forgive you otherwise!"

                "Gr- _ace_ ," Emma complained.

                "Sometimes I do worry about you," I murmured.

                Grace's only reply was a, 'I'm-not-taking-the-mickey-here-you'd-better-not-botch-up-my-retelling' obstinate arm cross.

                Really. What are my mates?

                Before I could muster up enough concern to ponder just that, Emma consulted her watch again and dutifully reported, "12:17, Lily."

                It was time to go.

                Time to go on my date with James.

                _My date with James_.

                For the first time since the Hospital Wing scare this morning, I started to feel hot, compressed. I took a deep breath, moving slowly towards the doorway, trying valiantly to stop my heart from beating straight out of my chest. I stood frozen just before the closed portal, my brain apparently unable to send the proper message to my hand to get it lifting and opening. Perhaps sensing the need for some assistance, Emma came forward and opened the door for me. Her smile was warm and reassuring as she leaned against the door.

                "Have fun," she said.

                "Thanks," I croaked.

                "Give James our hullos," Grace called. "You know, once he lets you up for air."

                I snorted, but actually, I think it might have been Grace's customary snark–and the very real possibility that had I stuck around any longer, someone might have gone ahead and shoved me out the door–that finally unstuck my feet from the floor. I took my first heavy step out of the dormitory. Then another. Then another.

                I had just barely cleared the threshold when the door slammed shut behind me.

                Ah, mates. So supportive.

                Unfortunately, there wasn't any time to begin the rock-mate debate again. This was it. I was actually doing it. I was going on a date with James– _with_ James and hopefully _without_ an accompanying heart attack, though judging by the way that particular appendage was painfully slamming against my chest, there was a distinct possibility that I might be getting a two-for-one Date Day deal.

                All right. Breathe, Lily. Just breathe. I'd made it this far without calamity, hadn't I? There was no way I was faltering _now_. And I _wanted_ to go– _really_ wanted to go. That was always worth remembering, wasn't it? All I had to do was get down the stairs, cross the common room and climb out the portrait hole. How hard was that? I mean, I'd only trekked that same course about a hundred-thousand times. It was easy. _So_ easy. And then I'd be done. I'd officially be on my date. My date with James.

                Right.

                _Right_.

                So…anytime then, Feet. Whenever you're ready.

                Um.

                Yes, Feet. Would you mind terribly…? Ah. There you go! Yes, that's the way of it! Small, slow steps are still steps. Huzzah, hurrah! Keep calm and carry on! Yes! Nearly–

                There was a pause–of _course_ there was a pause–just in front of the portrait hole. Try as I might, I couldn't get my feet to take the final step, to just open the portrait and be done with it. And in the name of Objective Retelling, I suppose it's only fair to note that _this_ is as close as I can come to adequately describing my feelings at that particular moment, just before I finally managed to unglue my feet from the floor and opened the portrait:

                _YesShitFuckOhGodMerlinNoButYESAndAlsoNOShitDoubleBloodyFuckingShitOkaySHUTPNOWANDGOAndButHowYESGOShitOhMyGodGO._

                And in the name of Objective Retelling, I suppose it's important to note that _this_ is as close as I can come to adequately describing my feelings at that particular moment, just _after_ I finally managed to unglue my feet from the floor and opened the portrait:

                _Thank God_.

                Thank _God_.

                Really. That's it. Thank God, thank Merlin, thank any and every spiritual and otherwise entity that one _can_ feasibly thank and not get struck by lightning by the others for worshipping.

                Because there he was. Standing just there. James.

                And quite like that, everything was all right.

                And look, I _know_ –I _know_ that sounds stupid and girlish and overdramatic and not even _remotely_ Objective and how counterproductive is _that_ to my valid recording…but it's also the truth. I saw him and...and everything was just all right. _More_ than all right. _I_ was…

                Well, happy. That's the only word I can really think to call it. I was _happy_.

                And that was before I even got a proper look at him, seeing as James was off to the side of the corridor, pacing restlessly and not giving me a direct gander. He looked…well, utterly _brilliant_ , of course, and I don't want to hear a single untoward word against Plan Anticipation ever again because there was just no arguing for the fact that seeing him then–after determinedly _not_ seeing him all morning–wasn't positively _thrilling_ and that the girlish butterflies got a workout like no other simply from setting eyes on him. Not to mention the fact that I'm quite glad I had sense enough to refuse his date-ra madness this morning because then I probably wouldn't have gotten to see him in _his_ Date Ensemble, which, though far simpler than mine (tan trousers, grey jumper, trainers, cloak threaded through the crook of his elbow), was still…well, fab. Really, _really_ fab.

                And even though there was none of his usual easiness about him–in fact, he looked decidedly _un_ easy, and was so lost in his pacing that he didn't even hear me come out into the corridor–I was still a goopy mess of hormonal mush. 

                But I was a goopy mess of hormonal mush who could fortunately speak, otherwise the pair of us might have been standing there forever.

                "Hey, there." My voice seemed to echo in the quiet corridor. James jumped, jerking around with his fingers still threaded through his hair–and that's exactly how he froze: body twisted, expression surprised, hand partially hidden amidst dark tufts of hair, staring at me.

                It wasn't quite drooling, but I imagine Grace would be pleased.

                I was probably grinning like a right fool.

                And blushing like a right fool, as well, but that's to be expected.

                "Hi–uh, yes. That–hullo." The hand dropped slowly back down to his side. His expression didn't shift much, though. "You're...er, yes. It's...you look–"

                "Wow,”� I laughed, shifting a step closer. “Perhaps you _weren't_ so mad objecting to the Anticipation Plan. It might have rendered you mute."

                " _You_ render me mute," he said, finally recovering enough to quit gawking and start smiling– _really_ smiling. The kind of smile that had me melting in my boots even before they'd done their damage. And it certainly didn't help matters when he finally got his mobility back and quickly closed the distance between us. "You look brilliant,”� he said.

                I flushed furiously. Naturally.

                "Is that what this is all about?" I joked lamely. " _I_ thought you were just shocked I'd bothered to show up."

                James didn't even blink. "Never even crossed my mind."

                What a dishy little liar, he is.

                A dishy little liar _who I was now officially on a date with_.

                Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

                "But just in case it was crossing _your_ mind," he said next, sweeping a quick hand down my arm, "perhaps we should be off? Push you past the point of no return?"

                "Perhaps we should," I agreed. "But first..."

                I shucked the cloak that I'd had hanging over my arm aside, revealing beneath it another significant article of outerwear. I think James was a little surprised to see me carrying his scarf and was _certainly_ taken aback when rather than weaving it about my own neck, I tossed my very favourite snuggle mate over _his_ shoulders instead.

                "I've thought about it," I started succinctly, carefully securing the scarf about his neck, "and though it was quite the toss-up, I reckon you need the luck more than me. So now you have it." I gave the scarf a final, straightening tug, then yanked forcefully down so that his head was more level with mine. "You take it off," I mimicked, "and I can _personally_ promise that I will disown you."

                James's smile practically split his face. 

                "You know," he mused, "I can't help but feel as if I've heard that before."

                "Huh. Fancy that."

                James grabbed my hand. "Fancy that."

                Well, I was certainly fancying _something_.

                James dropped my hand only long enough to go digging in his trouser pocket. He pulled the Map out from its shallow depths and quickly relinquished the folded parchment over to me. “Here. You’re on lookout,”� he said. 

“But I don’t know where we’re going,”� I protested, but snatched up the Map gleefully nonetheless. Oh, the _power._ The _knowledge._ “It’ll be decidedly difficult to keep watch for oncoming trouble when I haven’t the faintest what our route is.”�

                "Third floor," was all he'd tell me, and even that curtly. He was smirking, of course, undoubtedly basking in his air of mysteriousness. "We'll take the back staircase. Less crowded."

                "You're the expert," I muttered, but despite the obvious issues, off we went.

                The date, it seemed, had officially begun.

                The back staircase was fortunately empty, though that probably wasn't very unusual. No one can ever really keep track of even half the staircases about this castle, so it's generally always safest to take the main one, even with the added difficulty of its tendency to rotate at the most inopportune moments. The corridors were rather clear, as well, but I suppose that wasn't unusual, either. Most people were in the Great Hall for lunch and the sporadic corridor wanderer wasn't anything an aptly altered walking pace couldn't solve. James and I didn't speak much as we made our way down to the third floor, but he kept his hand in mine.

                "So what are we looking for exactly?" I prodded as we finally made it down into the Charms corridor. We had to dawdle in the stairwell while Flitwick ambled by. "Let me guess–another portrait? Or perhaps a tapestry? No, wait–it's like Diagon Alley, isn't it? Some magical stone pattern and then _whoosh_ , gone goes the wall? So? Yes? Have I got it?"

                "Not even close." James tugged on my hand and we started down the corridor again. He was not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying this.

                "Well, at least tell me where the passage lets out," I complained. "I've heard there's one that comes out off the High Street. Is that it?"

                James shook his head. "There is one there, but Filch knows it. He had it rigged for a while last term–probably still does. This one lets out just outside the gates."

                Even with my glee at finally having some idea of where we were going taking precedence, that particular tidbit still struck some concern. My steps slowed. 

                "Wait. The gates?”� I pulled at James’s hand. “Won't people spot us leaving?"

                For reasons I couldn't possibly have fathomed then, this only made him laugh. 

                "Trust me, Infallible,”� he said, turning his head to grin at me. “If there's one thing I _can_ promise you, it's that you won't be spotted."

                Oh, right. Because _that_ wasn't vague or leading or anything.

                "You're not telling me something," I accused.

                "Patience," James replied.

                You know, sometimes I forget how annoying he can be. Even on first dates.

                But I sure as hell didn't forget it for the rest of our journey through the third floor considering James annoyingly refused to tell me anything more about where we were going or what we were doing or how I wasn't going to be spotted while we were doing it. It wasn't until he'd made a sharp turn towards the end of the corridor and we were practically there that he bothered sharing any more information–and even _then_ it was only because I knew where the corridor led.

                "You're kidding." I slowed my steps as he did, feeling quite stupid. "The Trophy Room? _Really_?"

                James shook his head. "Not the Trophy Room. Other door."

                Other door? In this corner? What was…

                "The armoury?"

                James grinned.

                Hm. Interesting.

                The last time I was in the armour gallery, I believe I was eleven and lost. Things hadn't changed much in there since then–same very daunting suits of armour, shields and weapons blazing the Hogwarts crest all over the place. It was a tight space, really, but James expertly weaved his way through the hunks of metal, heading straight for the back wall. There, four suits of armour, each representative of a different house, stood erect. As I not-so-subtly examined the group for some kind of lever or hidden button, James dropped my hand.

                "You can put your cloak on," he told me, doing, I assumed, just that himself. Truth be told, I was still too busy trying to discover the secret of the suits of armour to look. When I finally turned back to James in defeat, the secret having eluded me, I saw that he had indeed donned his own cloak. But strangely enough, he still had another one thrown over his forearm.

                "It can't possibly be that cold," I muttered, nodding towards the second cloak. "And even if it were, that thing doesn't look the least bit sturdy."

                James laughed.

                "It's more of a…decorative piece," he said, all smug amusement and no answers. But decorative or not, he didn't make any move to put it on.

                "Well?" I tossed on my own cloak, waiting for him to give his outerwear its final "decorative" flourish. "Aren't you going to put it on?"

                "Not exactly," he answered, but finally did lift the cloak. As it spread, the material seemed almost to shimmer. "Actually, we're _both_ going to put it on."

                Then he threw the thing about his shoulders, and disappeared.

                Yes, that's right. Disappeared.

                And no, I don't mean that as some sort of overdramatic exaggeration describing how fast he'd run off in a fit of better sense or anything like that. This is the Objective Retelling version. He had _literally_ vanished from sight _._ Right into thin air. Standing before me one moment, gone the next.

 

He. Had. _Disappeared_.

                Except, of course, I could still hear the bloody arsehole _laughing_ , so he was _there_ , just not…well, _there_.

                I think it was a perfectly acceptable time to gawk. Or more than gawk. Whatever the word is for something decidedly more than gawking, I was undoubtedly doing that. And was still probably doing it as James took the cloak off and reappeared again.

                "I told you you wouldn't be spotted," he grinned.

                If I were able to speak at that point, I probably would've called him some kind of dirty name. The dirtiest name I could think of. As it was, all I could manage was, "Um. Er. You…that's…er…ah…"

                Very articulate, Evans.

                Go on. Dazzle him with your wits.

                "It's an invisibility cloak," James offered, still grinning.

                "Yes, I'd imagined as much, thanks," I returned breathlessly, finally regaining my verbal abilities. And along with those, some legitimate indignation. "Now can I ask _where in the bloody hell you got an invisibility cloak from_?"

                "Family heirloom," James announced proudly, brandishing the cloak with far more expertise than was entirely comforting. "My dad gave it to me before I came to Hogwarts."

                "You've had that since _first-year_?" Good God. My poor little Prefect's heart wept and stomped in outrage. "Merlin's _beard_. No _wonder_ the lot of you get away with so much! You can see everyone with your stupid Map and they can't ever see you! Poor Mr Filch! He never even stood a chance!"

                James rolled his eyes. "Filch can hold his own. Can we go now?"

                "Go? No! I want to see this thing first."

                There was a bit more eye rolling and plays of exasperation, but James handed the cloak over easily enough. I took it from him eagerly. It felt exactly as it looked–light and silky, almost water-like in its metallic glimmer. I was keen on the texture of it, and perhaps the possibilities. With the Map still in my hand, I got to feel like a proper troublemaker. I pulled the cloak over my head. 

                Hm. I didn't _feel_ any different.

                "Can you see me?" I asked.

                James lifted his eyes towards the ceiling. "Well, as per its _name_ , Infallible, I'm going to say you're probably invis– _ow_!"

                I snickered, thinking this cloak might have more uses than originally believed–no one can see when you're aiming up to punch them. 

                Trusty.

                James rubbed at his arm and scowled. "All right. Fun's over. Come on."

                I danced playfully out of his reach. "Oh, no, I think I like this. Invisible. It has potential."

                "Lily–"

                "You can't swipe it back if you can't _see_ what you're swiping at!"

                "I can hear your shoes," James drawled, and I realised then that he was right. The Slag Boots were making clicking sounds against the stone floor as I moved, revealing my position. Traitors. "I like them, by the way," he added.

                Of course he did.

                "My boots?" I attempted to move a step closer as silently as possible. "Thanks. I like your trousers. They're pressed seamlessly."

                For a moment, James looked delighted by the compliment. Then he seemed to realise how bizarre that actually was and the smile dropped quickly back into a scowl.

                "Faithless wankers," he spat, glaring at a spot to my right. "Which one told you?"

                I could only giggle in response, but that was a poor choice for several reasons, predominantly because the sound was enough to give away my position as close enough for him to attack and James lunged immediately. I shrieked as his arm swung blindly, first catching me around the stomach, then lifting to remove the cloak. As I was (presumably) brought back into sight, I could only laugh harder as James's arm caught my neck in a headlock. I convulsed with giggles.

                "I really mean it! They're lovely! Finest pressed trousers I've ever seen!"

                "You know, I'm really starting to rethink this 'letting you be mates with the lads' thing. Getting dangerous," he said.

                "Tried to warn you," I wheezed, wiggling and squirming in a vain attempt to budge free. "I told you the master plan. _You're_ the egomaniac who kept making it all about _you_ –oh, let me go! You're ruining my hair!"

                James laughed, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before finally turning me loose. I gave him my angry look and went to elbow him, but the boy has very quick reflexes and managed to twist away. I was quite determined not to laugh because that would only make him think that he could get away with such nonsense, but it was a very difficult endeavour.

                "You have _some_ nerve," I sniffed, twiddling absently with my hair and fighting off a smile. "You're lucky I don't ditch you right now. _And_ I'd take the cloak with me."

                "Yeah, yeah." The way he was grinning, I knew that _he_ knew that I wanted to be grinning, too. Pah. "Just lift Ravenclaw's visor, would you?"

                "Lift Ravenclaw's…" 

                When I turned to look at him in confusion, James was pointing at the Ravenclaw suit of armour. 

                Oh.

                _Oh_.

                Hmm.

                Not really certain what the hell I was doing, I rose gingerly to reach for Ravenclaw's helmet. Like the others, the blue eye visor was firmly shut, but unlike the others (or I'm assuming unlike the others), this one lifted rather easily. And when it lifted–when _I_ lifted it–a loud creaking noise suddenly filled the room. James tugged me away from the suit of armour just as all _four_ of them began to move.

                They parted–two suits on either side–to reveal an underground staircase beneath.

                I gawked. 

                You know, again.

                "Come on. It only stays open for so long." James grabbed my hand and started down the staircase, lifting his wand and casting a quick _Lumos_ to light up the dark and dreary stairwell. 

                Then it was just…dim and dreary. 

                A dim, dreary, never-ending stairwell.

                Bloody hell, I am far too straight-laced for this rubbish.

                "Um. So that was… interesting," I said, hearing the suits of armour creak back together above us, taking the only source of natural light with them. Oh, dear. "How'd you discover this one?"

                "Detention, actually." James went ambling on down the stairs as if we _weren't_ quickly descending into a dark pit of unknown. "Remus was being far too thorough with his scrubbing and lifted the visor–nearly fell down the stairs in the process, but it was actually one of our easier finds. We came back later that night to explore."

                "And the rest is history?" I joked, trying to hide my unease. James's chuckle echoed.

                "Yeah, I s'ppse."

                Yeah, I s'ppse _we're going to die._

                But I suppose in the name of Objective Retelling, we can forgo the few moments of… _uncertainty_ experienced as we continued to plunge down deeper into this _lovely_ sinister dungeon where–Objectively Speaking–I'm thinking a few people _may_ have died. And for a handful of long, overdramatic moments, I was strongly under the impression that I might end up being one of them. Because even though James seemed to know his way through the tunnels–managed to navigate them quite expertly, in fact, despite the dimness and dreariness–these sorts of things tend not to register when one is continually contemplating one's mortality. 

                And if there were ever a place to continually contemplate one's mortality, let me tell you, it was in the tunnel beneath the house armours.

                But at the end of the day, we both made it out of the passageway with our mortality and our better sense restored. When we reached the end of the tunnel, James took the Map and gave it a look, scanning for potential passersby. There were a few on the grounds, but no one on the road to Hogsmeade. It was decided that it was still probably best to don the cloak until we'd made it over the first hill and out of sight of those loitering by the gates. That's when James instructed me on the finer points of the Invisibility Cloak Shuffle, a walking manoeuvre that he and his mates had had to perfect in light of the lot of them shooting up like weeds sometime around fourth-year and being unable to fit beneath the cloak without exposing some errant body part. The Shuffle consisted of much bumping and close proximity, both of which this Objective Reteller truly believes were highly exaggerated in order for James to be able to molest my person. But seeing as I don't really mind when James molests my person, I simply shot him a dubious look and let it be.

                Still, by the time it was finally safe to take off the cloak, I had fended off about a hundred untoward advances and James wasn't even bothering to be subtle about them anymore.

                "Excuse me, but I don't believe your hand belongs– _James_! For Merlin's sake, this is a first _date_!"

                James laughed as I scurried out of his reach, finally able to do so now that we were over the hill and in the clear. At first, I didn't see him, only heard his disembodied chuckle in the otherwise empty landscape. Then he shucked off the cloak and the chuckle received an accompanying leer. Oh, _brother_.

                "You're a _fiend,_ " I hissed.

                "You like it," James shot back, pulling out his wand and shrinking the cloak into a tiny scrap. He bunched up the silky material and pushed it down his trouser pocket. "Keeps things interesting."

                "You know, it's really sad how you've convinced yourself of that." I shook my head sadly as he moved closer to grab my hand again. "Delusions are awfully unhealthy."

                "Do you know what else is awfully unhealthy? Lying."

                "Well, perhaps you just don't _do_ it properly."

                We bickered about the pros and cons of such a phenomenon as we began our walk down the road to Hogsmeade. It was actually a surprisingly lovely day–not too bitterly cold and if perhaps not sunny, then at least pleasantly overcast. I didn't even miss the scarf I had so nobly sacrificed for James–though I hoped he knew that that was just a temporary loan. I wasn't about to give up my scarf, thank you very much. It was terribly rude to take advantage of someone's generosity.

                "It's actually a bit strange, isn't it?" the scarf-wearer in question mused, filling the lull of silence our finished argument had left a few moments later. I glanced up at him curiously.

                "My unhealthy fixation with lying?"

                James snorted. "No–though that _is_ quite unfortunate and you really should get it sorted. I was talking about this, actually," he said, motioning to the general atmosphere. "Us. Hogsmeade. A first date."

                "What about it?"

                He shrugged. "It's just rather bizarre. I mean, it doesn't _feel_ much like a first date, does it? We haven't any of the usual nonsense–no inane blathering or awkward silences. We've come through all that already."

                "We haven't even made it to Hogsmeade yet!" I objected, laughing at his rather fair estimation of usual first dates. "How would you know if there'll be any inane blathering or awkward silences? Personally, I intend to be exceptionally blathery and admirably awkwardly silent. But even if I'm not," I said, shooting him a pointed look, "that's not what makes something a first date."

                "No?" James asked.

                I shook my head. "Of course not. First dates are about...small talk. Compatibility. Getting to _know_ one another."

                "But we already know one another," he argued.

                Honestly, did this boy know _anything_? 

                "We don't _first date_ know one another," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Quit trying to deprive me of my first date, would you? I want all the stupid boring chatter and useless facts–and you should, as well! It's just like Anna says–don't you want to know if I'm precisely your cup of tea?"

                "Anna?"

                Oh, dear.

                I hope he's joking.

                "Yes, _Anna_." I tried not to look as scandalised as I felt. When James continued to simply stare, I went on. "Anna? 'Getting to Know You'? _The King and I_?" I hummed a few bars of the ever-familiar melody, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the tune _wasn't_ as ever-familiar as one might believe, at least judging by James's polite but entirely blank expression.

                Pah. And he claimed to _know_ me.

                "It's a song?" he guessed after a moment, clearly not understanding the extent of his sad ignorance. "By a bird called Anna?"

                "It's a film," I corrected, cut to my very core. "The character, Anna, sings "Getting to Know You" in the film, _The King and I_."

                "I've seen a film!" James cried proudly, and though it's rather depressing to report, an Objective Reteller must confess that the poor thing looked _quite_ pleased with himself when he announced, "Remus took Sirius and me once. It was about birds. Birds that just _attacked_ people. It was fucking _brilliant_."

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                " _The Birds_ ," I acknowledged flatly. "Hitchcock."

                "That's the one!"

                Of course it was.

                "Yes, well, the film I'm talking about is decidedly less scarring," I said, thinking my shudder was enough to imply the several months I spent after seeing James's only experience with cinema dodging any flock of birds I happened across. Thank you, Alfred, you sadistic bastard. " _The King and I_ is a musical. There's singing."

                "There wasn't any singing in _The Birds_ ," James reported. "Just screaming."

                "One of its many faults," I muttered dryly. James looked ready to argue with this ( _how could he argue with this?_ ), but I waved off his protests. "Never mind. Look, I'm giving you your very first First Date Getting to Know You fact–I love film musicals," I announced, though James didn't seem to immediately digest the gravity of the moment. "My mum and I unabashedly park ourselves in front of the telly for hours whenever one comes on. We've seen _The King and I_ a hundred-thousand times. And _My Fair Lady_. _West Side Story_ , as well–oh, and _Singing in the Rain_! That's probably my favourite only to _The Wizard of Oz_ –"

                "A wizard?" James asked, instantly perking up.

                I grinned and nodded, launching immediately into a brief retelling of the wondrous miracle that is _The Wizard of Oz_. James was disappointed at first that the film wasn't actually about the Wizarding World, but he seemed intrigued nonetheless. Though he kept getting caught up on the most asinine of details, like how good of a witch Glinda could've possibly been if she couldn't handle the Wicked Witch by herself or when exactly water became a tool of death.

                "You're missing the point! And you're ruining the film for me!" I cried, laughing despite my better judgement as he continued to question how exactly the Wizard's floating head was any different from talking with someone over the Floo and how was _that_ intimidating? "You just have to watch it, all right? I promise, you'll be so mystified, there won't be any time for stupid questions."

                "Sounds a bit dodgy to me," he decided. "I think I like _The Birds_ better."

                I rolled my eyes. "Right. Why bother with a heartfelt musical when you can watch people being gorged by flying flesh-eaters?"

                "Exactly!"

                I jabbed him hard in the side, knowing the idiot was just enjoying riling me, but what sort of monster indulged in such things at the expense of classic musical films? A depraved, vicious one, that's who.

                "Oh, just shut it," I grumbled as he continued to chuckle, entirely unaffected by my abuse. "I'm not letting you desecrate any more of my beloved films. And it's your turn, anyway. Tell me something I don't know about you. Preferably something I can desecrate, as well."

                "So that's what all this 'Getting to Know You' business is about, then? Desecrating one another's interests?" When all he got was another side jab and a derisive stare for that one, James just laughed and then shrugged. "I don't know. What am I supposed to say? You know everything already."

                "That is such a lie," I scoffed. "And since we know how you feel about such things, perhaps you should try a bit harder. It doesn't have to be something profound. Just a little thing, like... like I don't even know where you live!"

                "Cardiff."

                That surprised me. "Wales? Really?"

                James smiled. "What's wrong with Wales?"

                "Nothing," I returned instantly, though I suppose things could've been said–Glory to England, etc. "I suppose I just never pegged you for a Welshman, is all. You haven't an accent."

                " _Aw-righhh_ , somethings like this?" His exaggerated dialect made me laugh, but James just wiggled his eyebrows and took the abuse. "Suits me, doesn't it?" At my enthusiastic nod, he stuck his hands in his pockets and returned to his normal voice on a sigh. "Ah, well. My governess was this posh bit of goods from London, so that's probably something to do with it. Plus, most of my misbegotten youth was spent raising hell about Dover. The Potter seat is in Cardiff, but Mum was keener on spending time in France when I was younger and Apparating there from Cardiff is a bitch. Dover's only a hop away from Calais, so Dad bought a house there and had the Floo wired to the flat in Paris. It wasn't until just before Hogwarts that we stayed put in Card–why are you looking at me like that?"

                It took me a moment to realise he'd asked me a question, probably due to the fact that the ' _that_ ' he was speaking of was a gaping sort of gobsmacked sputtering that I'm rather certain had me looking like a fish out of water. But probably the most dumbfounding thing about it all was that James truly hadn't the faintest idea _why_ I was staring at him like that. His confused stare was entirely genuine.

                Dear _Merlin_.

                "Sorry," I finally managed, though if I was still a bit croaky and the look hadn't entirely faded, how could I really be blamed? "I've just never heard someone talk about their family's _seat_ in serious conversation before. Or their governess. Or their two homes and Parisian flat–overlooking the river, I'm sure?"

                "Wizarding Paris isn't on the river," James answered automatically, but his hand had lifted to clutch at his hair and I actually think the beginnings of a flush were starting to tint his cheeks. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't...I wasn't trying to brag or anything. You just asked and–well, we _do_. And I did have...but that wasn't really...er–"

                "You don't have to apologise," I assured him. "It's nothing to be sorry about. I suppose I'm just letting my Muggleborn show, hm?"

                James didn't smile at my joke.

                "Sometimes I forget that," he said, his voice suddenly low and somewhat serious. I glanced over at him, confused. "That you're Muggleborn, I mean. You're a better witch than most of the Purebloods I know."

                "And that surprises you?"

                He reeled back, almost insulted. "Of course not."

                "I didn't mean–"

                "It does make me wonder what sad state you would have rendered the rest of us in if you _had_ grown up around magic," he said, and his slightly biting explanation made me feel a bit shamed-faced, even if I hadn't meant the question critically. After a moment's pause, he turned his head to look down at me. I could tell there was something more he wanted to say, but he seemed to be having an internal debate about saying it. I wasn't entirely surprised when he stopped walking. I stopped, as well.

                "What is it?" I asked.

                "Lily, you know that I would never...that I couldn't..." He struggled with the words, but cleared his throat and then got it right. "Your blood doesn't matter a whit to me," he said, rather forcefully. "I couldn't care less who your parents are or how far back your magic can be traced or that I’m…whatever I am and you're not. It's not important. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a narrow-minded arsehole. You know that, don't you?"

                Er...

                I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by the declaration considering the turn the conversation had somehow taken, but I was still a bit taken aback by both the words themselves and the vehemence with which he delivered them. No, I don't suppose we'd ever discussed it, but then again, I'd never imagined that we had a reason to. Even when I'd despised his very being and thought the feeling mutual, the idea that any of the animosity between us might stem from blood prejudices had never even crossed my mind. James Potter wasn't like that. Even Lily-of-5th-Year knew that.

                But I suppose even these sorts of things occasionally need acknowledging. Honestly, I don't suppose I'd ever really extensively considered that James was a Pureblood and I was a Muggleborn and how that fit before–at least, not so concretely. It was so easy to forget about petty, disgusting politics when one was locked away in the relatively safe haven of Hogwarts, and while that might have been naive to cling to–foolish and irresponsible, even–it was a foolishness I wasn't willing to toss aside at the moment. I wasn't stupid. I knew that there was a war going on outside the Hogwarts bubble. But thus far, I had somehow managed to keep it from damaging my teenage years too permanently. I wasn't about to let it rear its ugly head just in time to ruin my first date.

                But James needed some reassurance–was desperately seeking it, if his hard expression was anything to go by–and that was something I _could_ give.

                "Of course I know that," I told him, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t be stupid. Do you think I would really be here now if I didn’t know that?”� I waited for his features to ease, his stare to become less stony, his jaw to start to unclench, before trying to shift the conversation into lighter territory. I didn't want to dwell on this now. Joking seemed the best conversation turn. "And I promise not to hold your two houses, Parisian apartment, and sickeningly blue blood against you, either."

                James's lips twitched and I could see in his eyes that he was grateful for the assurance and the reprieve. He gave my hand a light tug and we started walking again. It was with a lighter step and an utterly James smirk that he soon added, "Well, in the name of full disclosure, I suppose I should also mention the cottage in Godric's Hollow–but no one's used that in _ages_."

                Oh, right. All those cottages we don't use. What a bother.

                When I groaned, James laughed.

                The rest of the walk down to the village was entirely pleasant and decidedly less serious, for which I think we were both grateful. I was quite happy to find that James soon threw himself wholeheartedly into the Getting to Know You plan with a relish even Deborah Kerr would have admired. Along with his plethora of real estate about Britain and the Continent, I also learned that he spoke a smattering of Welsh to go along with his fluent French ("What you should really hear is my parents row–Dad hollering in Welsh, Mum wailing in French. Most god-awful, garbled mess you've ever heard."), knew an actually impressive if utterly _incorrect_ amount about Muggle music ("Quit giving me that scandalised look, would you? How can you even compare those warbling insects to the likes of The Stones? Zeppelin? Pink _Floyd_?"), as well as his favourite Quidditch team ("Caerphilly. Us Welshmen stick together, even if we don't sound exactly the same."), Hogwarts professor ("McGonagall. Though spastic Vector does hold a place in my heart."), and colour (with a smirk: "Green. Emerald green."). In return, I told him of my youthful ambitions to become the next Grace Kelly ("I walked about the house in a feathered boa and glittery sunglasses for _weeks._ When my mum caught me trying to dye my hair blonde, she finally put a stop to it."), my unparalleled skills at Gobstones ("We can only play if you're prepared to lose. I won't go easy on you just because I'd hope to snog you afterwards."), as well as my favourite book ("Is this _Rebecca_ bird like Anna, then?" he asked), least favourite professor ("Freeman. The woman's a fraud.), and greatest pet peeve ("Empty, smarmy flattery about the colour of my eyes.")

                By the time we'd made it to the edge of town, we were back to sparring about Quidditch, unsurprisingly James's favourite topic, though I’d known that already.

                "One match," he wheedled, nudging me irritatingly in the side. I shook my head firmly, but he kept going. "Come on. We'll go during winter hols. It's off-season! You won't be swarmed in the stands! We'll make a fan of you yet!"

                "It's more than just being swarmed," I argued, wrinkling my nose in distaste. "I've told you. There's too much going on and the rules make my head hurt. Can't we just agree to disagree?"

                James shook his head vehemently. "No. No, not happening. No girlfriend of mine is going to go running her mouth against Quidditch. Can't do it."

                The way he said it–threw it in there all casual-like and then went and gave his whole game away by flickering his eyes quickly over to mine to gauge a reaction–he really deserved nothing less than the pointed glower I stuck him with and the mutinous, " _James_."

                "Just testing it," he said hastily, but his poorly hidden smirk told a very different story.

                I was strongly considering testing my fist in his stomach and reckoned my expression must have told him as much because he mustered a hefty sigh and went, "Fine, _fine_. More-potential-than-mate, it is. I'm so pleased."

                "Actually, that's not even your hyphenation anymore," I replied primly.

                James's eyebrows lifted. "No? What's it now, then?"

                I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Uh-uh. You don't get to know now. You don't deserve the knowledge after that stunt."

                "Stubborn shrew," James grumbled, but I kept stubbornly mum. He sighed dramatically. "Fine. No matter, really. I'll just have to tempt it out of you with sweets. Honeydukes?"

                I turned about at the teasing comment, surprised to find that we were indeed already on the High Street and the aforementioned sweet shop was just down the road.

                Bloody hell. How had we gotten to town so _quickly_? Well, not _quickly_ , I suppose, because we had been walking for quite some time, but...it somehow seemed to have gone by quite suddenly. Now that I was thinking about it actually, my feet _were_ rather burning. 

                Oh, dear, stupid Slag Boots. Already?

                Apparently 'Getting to Know You' was an effective anaesthetic as well as an efficient time-burner. 

                Or perhaps that was just James.

                And in the name of Objective Retelling, I suppose it's only right to admit that such thoughts _may_ have made me smile a bit–or, you know, a lot.

                I glanced up at James, finding him grinning, too. I gave him a jaunty shrug. "You can try."

                "I accept that challenge," he said, and then dragged me down the road.

                I'd never been to Hogsmeade when it wasn't a school-regulated weekend and it was rather strange not to see the place flooded with students. I mean, refreshingly so of course, but strange all the same. There were still some people ambling about the streets, but they were all locals and had an ease about them that Hogwarts students certainly didn't share.

                It was also the first time I'd approached Honeydukes and didn't have to battle through a mob of sugar-happy third-years merely to get to the door. It surprised me, then, when instead of making use of the clear shopfront and heading straight on in, James stopped just before the door. Our still clasped hands made it so I stopped, as well. I turned to him questioningly.

                "What's wrong?" I asked.

                He didn't immediately answer, but words weren't entirely necessary. His expression was an easy one to read–eyes bright, mouth thinned, brows lowered.

                The James Potter Plotting Face.

                Oh, dear.

                "I have an idea," he muttered unsurprisingly. I drooped, waiting with a certain amount of dread for the insanity to follow. Sure enough: "I think...I think we should have a Getting to Know You _Challenge_."

Bloody hell. A what?

                "A what?" I asked aloud.

                The thinned lips stretched into a grin. "A Getting to Know You Challenge! To see who really knows the other best!"

                "It's not a _competition_ , James."

                "Well, yes, not _yet_ , it isn't." His eyes were twinkling a bit too much for my liking. "But it _will_ be."

                I didn't have the heart to tell him that that sounded like the worst idea I'd ever heard, especially not when he looked so pleased with himself. I couldn't have done even if I'd wanted to, though. He was already explaining the rules of the game, not the least bit interested in hearing my opinions on the matter.

                "It's simple," he said quickly, eagerly. "We each go in while the other waits out here. The goal is to pick out the other's favourite sweet–it can be anything inside the shop. You buy it, and then we convene out here. Whoever comes closest to being right, wins. See? _Challenge_."

                I have to admit, as much as I wanted to loudly scoff at the ludicrous idea, an equal part of me was already itching to jump right on the bandwagon. I could feel my competitive spirit beginning to stir.

                "I'm not certain this is the best idea," my sensible side managed to get out before Competitive Lily took over. "Another Getting to Know You fact? We had to suspend Evans Family Game Night because I was too good at winning. You're setting yourself up for disaster here."

                In the name of Objective Retelling, I suppose it's only fair to admit that that's not _exactly_ how the demise of Evans Family Game Night came round. Truth is, both Dad _and_ I were a bit too good at winning, and really quite liked it that way. But then Petunia started bringing Vernon-the-Biggest-Sore-Loser-Known-to-Man round and Mum said Dad and I really had to learn to throw a few games of charades if we ever wanted a Game Night to end in peace. I'm sure it's not too surprising to hear that Dad and I weren't too keen on the idea–in fact, we were both morally appalled by such reprehensible slander. So that's how Evans Family Game Night petered out into Evans Family Dinner–or Watch Vernon Eat, as Dad liked to call it.

                But the abridged version would have to do for James.

                "Afraid to lose, are you?" he asked, smiling.

                Competitive Lily snarled. "That's not what I said!"

                "No, no, you're quite right. We shouldn't start our date out with your defeat–"

                Oh, the little goading _wanker_.

                It was really out of my control after that. Competitive Lily had been taunted to her limit. She lunged instantly for the shop door, jerking it open with one rough swing. "Five minutes. Prepare to _lose_ , Potter."

                "Good luck!" James called as I stomped through the door.

                And in the name of Objective Retelling, I suppose it's only proper to confess that I might have become a _bit_ frenzied then.

                But really, who could blame me? It was a _challenge_ , for Merlin's sake. The entire point of it was to win. And I couldn't possibly do anything else now that James had been such a smug, taunting git about it. But Honeydukes had honestly never looked so massive than it did at that moment. Wandering about the aisles, I considered the possibilities. Off the top of my head, I could recall moments during which I'd seen James nibbling on most of the items in there–chocolate frogs, sugar quills, cauldron cakes, liquorice wands–but when I stopped in front of the counter displaying the fresh fudge, I reckoned I'd found the most likely winner. But what kind? Honeydukes had just about every flavour under the sun. I immediately eliminated the vanilla flavours–James did not seem the vanilla sort–and after a few more moments of consideration, the caramel and butterscotch flavours went, as well. I didn't think I was heading in the wrong direction to think chocolate, but that still left a good handful of derivatives. Plain chocolate? Chocolate with nuts? With fruit inside? Marbled with another flavour?

                The choices were overwhelming, and for a while, I was set on just buying the classic chocolate and letting simplicity rule the day. But there was just _something_ about the chocolate peppermint...

                James was always such a hog when there was chocolate mint cake for dessert. We'd had it the other night and the idiot had had no fewer than three slices. Granted, he and Peter had seemed to be making a match of it, attempting to see which one of them would cast up their accounts first, but still. I'd seen him nursing on peppermint sugar quills as well, hadn't I? Or was I just imagining that?

                In the end, Competitive Lily decided that you didn't get anywhere playing it safe. No guts, no glory, and all that. I called the clerk over and asked him to pack me up a portion of the chocolate peppermint fudge, hoping I hadn't just thrown it all away. And even though _some_ might have called it _slightly_ devious, as he was ringing up the purchase, I decided to exercise my first-to-go advantage.

                "You're the only one working now, yes?" I asked the bloke, a rather young chap with wheat-coloured hair and an overly square jaw. I thought that was good. Young meant malleable. 

                He ducked the square jaw down in a nod. "Until half-past."

                I grinned. _Brilliant_. "Excellent. So listen–this bloke is going to come in after me, right? Tall. Specs. Mop of really messy, dark hair–"

                "James Potter?"

                Oh, dear lord. Even store clerks knew him?

                I resisted rolling my eyes. "Yes, that's the one. Anyway, when he comes up to ring his purchase, do a girl a favour, would you? Just stare really dubiously at whatever he's buying. Mutter things like, 'Really?' or 'Sure you want this?' Psych him out. Make him squirm."

                "Er, why?"

                "We're having a competition," I confided. "I need him off his game. Are you in?"

                The only place he looked like he wanted to be 'in' was his backroom, far away from the madwoman customer and somewhere where he could safely contact the St Mungo's Psychiatric Ward for immediate pick-up. But in the end, he _did_ actually shrug and agree.

                I gave him my very best grin and thanked him profusely. I paid for the fudge, gave my new best mate one last smile, then made for the door where I could already see James absently pacing about with his hands in his trouser pockets. The bell above the door rang as I stepped outside, golden Honeydukes bag clutched tightly in one hand. The other held the door open for James. He eyed the gesture suspiciously.

                "Good luck," I mocked, watching him brush past. "You're going to need it."

                James smirked. "You know, I hear arrogance is a supremely unattractive trait, Evans. Might want to watch that."               

                I shut the door on his smug, cheeky behind.

                As James got to work inside, I strolled aimlessly about the storefront, taking in the whole scene. I liked watching all the townspeople on their ways along the High Street, but my mind always inevitably wandered back to the goings-on inside. What was he up to? Which aisle might he be moseying down? The fellow competitor dearly hoped that he wasn’t anywhere near the strawberry crÃ¨me flavoured fudge (my decided favourite), but the potentially-considering-girlfriend reckoned such a stroke of fate might not be the _most_ unfortunate occurrence.

                I didn’t have a watch to gauge the time, but I think James might have exceeded his allotted five minutes. I had every intention of calling him out on it, but seeing as he was waltzing out of the shop soon enough, I didn’t get to holler tauntingly through the door like Competitive Lily really wanted to. I noticed immediately that he was holding his purchase rather peculiarly–whatever he’d bought was obviously in some kind of box, and he was balancing it carefully by the flat bottom, as if it couldn’t be tipped.

                Interesting.

                “Methinks someone took a tad longer than five minutes,”� I sing-songed as the door swung shut behind him.

                “Methinks you can’t keep time,”� James replied, pushing his purchase at me. “Here. Hold it from the bottom. Don’t tip it.”�

                “Well, _now_ I’m intrigued,”� I said, taking the box and holding it carefully as instructed. I passed my own un-fragile parcel over.

                “Let’s sit,”� James said, grabbing my selection with one hand and motioning towards a nearby bench with the other. I nodded and took off, setting James’s pick carefully down on the bench between us before sitting down myself. James held mine on his lap.

                “Are we opening them at the same time?”� he asked.

                I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head. "No. You go first."

                James nodded, not finding reason to argue with that executive decision. He had an eager, boyish expression on his face as he dug into the bag almost immediately. In between compulsory eye-rolls, I waited with slightly halted breath as he reached in and pulled out the box. When he saw the package the fresh fudge comes in, his lips quirked.

                "Well, you've the right section," he said, and I grinned in victory. The right section! Huzzah! He went for the lid. "Now let's see if you've managed to pick the right–"

                He froze.

                For a few moments, there was silence.

                Um…

                "It's chocolate peppermint," I offered lamely, just in case he couldn’t tell. That probably wasn’t the issue at hand, but it was all I could think to say. He was just sort of staring in the box. I hadn't the faintest what that meant. "Um. You know, it's not–"

                "I know," he said suddenly, his voice coming out a bit raspy. He cleared his throat and finally looked up. "Chocolate peppermint, I know–but how the bloody hell did _you_ know?"

                I shrieked in delight. "Wait, that's right? I'm right? Ha! Yes! I’m right! I _knew_ it! I win!"

                 James's smile was a bit mystified, his eyes narrowed. "It was a lucky guess. It _had_ to be a lucky guess."

                "No, it wasn't!" I cried, shooting him a triumphant look. "I mean, the fudge bit was rather obvious, but then I had to pick a flavour–and I remembered the chocolate mint cake the other night! And you've peppermint sugar quills as well, don't you? That's how I knew! Ha!"

                I was awash in my victory, grinning from ear to ear with competitive glory. Yes! I knew it! Always worth the risk, that’s what I say! And this was a _double_ victory because even though my competitive side was in full party mode, the potentially-considering-girlfriend side wasn't feeling too miserable, either. I knew him! I _really_ knew him and he didn’t think I did! _Ha_! The only damper on the whole thing came from James himself, who wouldn't quit frowning and looking quite serious about it all. I stuck my tongue out at him.

                "Not a sore loser, are you?" I goaded.

                His lips quirked. "Not particularly,”� he answered slowly. Then, “I'm just feeling a bit egotistical again and aren't certain whether that will make you squirm."

                Oh.

                _Oh_.

                "Um." The blush came–of _course_ it came–but surprisingly enough, the squirms did not. Well, mostly didn’t. There were a few thrown in with the girlish butterflies. "No. Um. That's...you can feel egotistical. I won't squirm. Er, I think."

                James's grin strengthened. "Well, no use being in it alone." He pushed his Honeydukes bag at me. "Go on. Open it."

                I glanced down at the James's selection, actually quite grateful for the distraction. The competitive spirit lessened the embarrassment. "You realise you can only tie now, right?" I asked, carefully lifting the bag onto my lap. "Either way, I win."

                James rolled his eyes. "Just open it, Infallible."

                "Fine, fine–but it _is_ true."

                I bit back my smile as James groaned and I bunched down the golden bag until a familiar box was revealed.

                Honeydukes's Fresh Fudge.

                "You've the right section," I mimicked, skimming my fingers around the box lid. "Though why I had to be so careful about it, I haven't–"

                I opened the box.

                And in the name of Objective Retelling...well, in the name of Objective Retelling...

                Honestly? I'm not sure I can even Objectively Retell this bit. I'm not certain there _is_ a way to Objectively describe the moment when you open up your box of fudge, only to discover that it's _not,_ in fact, a box of fudge at all–or at least, it certainly doesn't _look_ like fudge. Because in place of the small chunks of assorted goodness you're expecting to find, there is instead a bowl. Yes, that's right. A bowl. And _inside_ that bowl, there are shards. Hundreds and hundreds of little, tiny shards. _Fudge_ -coloured shards. And at first you're all, "The _hell_?" because that's nothing you've ever seen sold at Honeydukes. In fact, it's nothing you've ever seen sold at _all_ and perhaps it’s a mistake? But after staring blankly at it for a few moments, you begin to realise that it _does_ actually bear a rather strong resemblance to something you're familiar with. Something...

                And that's when you realise it.

                You realise _just_ what you're holding.

                And really, how is it possible to Objectively Retell the moment when you realise that your potentially-considering-boyfriend has gone and made you a bowl of fudge rice? _How_?

                So you know what? I'm not even going to bother.

                Terribly sorry, Future Lily and assorted other listeners. You're just going to have to endure a bit of exaggeration right now. Skip over this bit if you must. It has to be done.

                I died.

                I just... _died_.

                Or at the very least, my poor, little, suspicious heart did. First it flipped, then it flopped, then it did a little flailing dance and the girlish figure in my stomach joined right in and they twirled about together in this mess of giddy _glory_ until there was no more dancing to be done and then I just...died. Right there on the bench outside Honeydukes in the middle of Hogsmeade. It was just too much. _Too much_.

                Now I ask you– _how can anyone not positively adore this idiot?_

                (All right. Non-Objective bit over. I promise.)

                So remember that gawking thing from before? Yeah, I was doing some more of that. Quite a bit some more of that. It was really unavoidable.

                "Lil?" James finally asked, sounding a bit cautious. "All right?"

                "You win," I croaked, just barely getting the words out. I couldn't even look at him. I just kept staring at the fudge rice. My _fudge rice._ "You...you _definitely_ win."

                "Well, don't give in _that_ easily," he laughed, and I imagine he was grinning. I wasn't about to actually _look_ at him to check. "What happened to all that competitiveness? And you _did_ get mine right. It's probably a tie–"

                "You made me _fudge rice_ ," I choked, the words short, emphatic. Even though I knew it was probably too soon, I glanced up at him, anyway. Oh, _hell_. "I mean...that's...how did you even–"

                "Slicing Spells. About a thousand of them. That's what took so long." He explained it so _casually_. Like he _hadn't_ just made me _fudge rice_. "Feeling egotistical?" he asked.

                It was more than that– _so_ much more than that. More than I think I can properly explain without broaching territories that really have _no_ place being broached during a first date. I tried to convey some semblance of this through my rather desperate look, but I'm not quite certain I managed it. At least, James didn't melt into the puddle I think he might have done had I actually articulated such thoughts. When I gave my jerky nod, all he did was just look quite pleased with himself.

                "You know, I _was_ all for the tie. But if you insist–"

                "I do."

                He _was_ grinning now. Captivatingly so. Wonderfully so. _Brilliantly_ so. "Well, come on, then." He shifted, pushing the lid closed on the fudge rice. "Now you know the sort of standards expected for the next challenge. Perhaps you'll come closer to besting me."

                He was moving to stand, obviously ready to move on, but I remained where I was, not certain I was quite over my shock yet. But over it or not, what option did I have _but_ to move? I mean, unless I was about to go diving into... _certain_ conversationsthat I most definitely did _not_ want to be diving into. Because despite the fact that a sporadic collection of words pertaining to such a conversation were pushing against my lips, it really isn't the sort of thing you can conduct with only a sporadic collection of words. You really need all of them. So what's a witch to do? I had to keep going. One day, all the words would probably be there. But today was not that day.

                So that's what I did. Moved on, I mean. Placing a temporary Sticking Charm on the fudge rice bowl so that it wouldn't topple over during transport ("I should have thought of that," James muttered), I slowly rose from the bench. James held out his hand and I slipped mine into it, but not before I'd taken advantage of the new height boost the Slag Boots offered me to drop a quick kiss against the side of his mouth. James didn't object, of course, but he did shoot me a questioning look.

                "That was practically cheating, but you still win," I said.

                He snorted. "And this from the girl who tried to con the shop clerk into playing for her side? _Et tu_ , Evans?"

                We started up the road again, arguing about the finer semantics of engaging outside resources in Getting to Know You Challenges (I was a firm pro-advocate, but James kept bemoaning technicalities, blah blah cheater _whine_ ). It was finally decided that such interferences were heavily frowned upon, but such wasn't even an issue for the next Challenge–a mini, consolation challenge, James called it–which was composed of James and me standing in the middle of the road and him loudly proclaiming, "All right. How well do you know me? _Where do I want to go next_?"

                I rolled my eyes and, resigned, took off towards Zonko's. 

                Really, give me a _hard_ one, at least.

                We left the joke shop predictably with more bags than we'd arrived with (some of us more loaded down than others, though James _did_ succeed in talking me into buying a few Warbling Wands that I am rather positive will never leave the box), but I suppose that was to be expected. We balanced things out once we'd hit Scrivenshaft's and I got to indulge in my own shopping Achilles' heel–quills. Even though I'd just bought a load when I was trying to avoid Amos last Hogsmeade trip, a witch can never have toomany quills. James laughed as I carefully considered each one, testing the weight and sharpness of every feather and forcing him to test them out with me. It was only when he loudly threatened to buy out the entire shop if I didn't choose one soon (and honestly, I don't think he was entirely kidding) that I finally settled on two. There was a brief scuffle as he tried to grab the pair to pay for them, but I vehemently objected. He tried to rationalise it by claiming that his next Getting to Know You fact was that he didn't let witches pay for things on dates, but I reminded him that I am a young, independent woman of the 1970s and could pay for my own belongings, thank you very _much_. 

                Well, I'm a young, independent woman of the 1970s who eventually just let him pay for one just to shut him up, but there's a kind of power in submission, too. Obviously.

                No Challenges were issued inside Dervish  & Banges, though with the score now 1 to 1/2, it was considered. James couldn't think of anything that didn't strongly resemble the Honeydukes round, however, and declared himself morally opposed to such repetition. In the end, I suggested that perhaps his creative juices would flow better after a slight repast, and we finally took off for the Three Broomsticks.

                Like Hogsmeade in general, it was entirely bizarre to see the old pub not packed wall-to-wall with rowdy students. When we walked inside, there were a few other people lounging about the tables and bar, but we basically had our pick of the litter in terms of seating locations. It was the first time I think I've ever seen the prime corner booth next to the windows open and I _suppose_ I might have lunged for it as if the hordes of savage students were going to be closing in at any second.

                Which, all right, was perhaps not the _classiest_ of reactions–but I couldn't help it! It was _instinct_. The corner booth's free, you lunge! That's just what you _do._

                Besides, I was rather certain my feet were bleeding. The Slag Boots had finally staked their claim on my feet somewhere between Scrivenshaft’s and Dervish  & Banges and the end result was not pretty. People with bleeding feet cannot be held accountable for their actions. They just can't.

                James did not seem to understand this, however. 

                (Which, in his defence, might have been because I didn't exactly tell him about my bleeding limbs. But still. He just should have _known_. You know, telepathically.)

                "No one's racing you for it, Infallible," he chuckled, following along behind me at a much more leisurely pace. He seemed to prefer sliding into the booth rather than diving, which I think that really just means that he's dull and unadventurous.

                "I've never sat here before," was the excuse I gave, trying not to show how much I wanted to sob in relief as the pressure eased off my toes. Poor, _poor_ feet. Ow, ow, _ow._ "It's always taken."

                "Easily pleased, are you?"

                "I'm out with _you_ , aren't I?"

                "Well–"

                "Drinks?"

                My head snapped round at the interruption, rather shocked to find Madam Rosmerta standing at the end of our table, gazing down at us with a raised notepad and an inquiring stare. 

                Wait a second...she comes out from behind the _bar_?

                "Butterbeer. Hot," James answered, obviously unfazed by this. He glanced casually over at me. "Lil?"

                "Oh–er..." I was still a bit too startled to answer properly. Out from behind the bar? _Truly_? "Um. Yes. Butterbeer."

                "Hot or cold?"

                "Erm..." I thought about it for a moment, but why think about things when there was a _much_ less stressful option available? My head snapped instantly to James. "Challenge,”� I shot at him.

                "What?" Rosmerta asked.

                James grinned. "Sneaky," he said like a compliment, obligingly putting on his Thinking Face and having a ponder about it. Then, slowly, "She'll have...hot, too?"

                "Ha! Wrong! Cold, please," I told Rosmerta, who was staring at the pair of us like no one had told her it was Outing Day for the St. Mungo's patients and these things should really be made public knowledge. Her survival instincts undoubtedly kicked in and she dashed off quickly, but I was too busy grinning at James to toss her an apology. "Now we're tied!"

                "What are you on about, 'tied'? You don't get points when the other person's wrong." James looked scandalised at the mere suggestion of such a thing. "And even if you did, that was hardly worth a half- _point_. Who drinks cold butterbeer in October, anyway?" he grumbled, his frown flirting the edge of a sneer. "Bloody sacrilege."

                "People who want something cool and refreshing after jaunting about town," I replied primly, perhaps with a smirk, but I had every right to one and it was nice to be the person donning it for once. "Now quit whinging and pass me a menu. It's quite obvious _you_ can't be depended upon to order."

                You know, there are so few appreciators of fine wit these days.

                Instead of applauding you for your clever brilliance, they threaten to maim you with dining utensils. 

                What is this world coming to, I ask? Shambles. Just _shambles_.

                But apart from the brief altercation with the (to be fair) rather dull pub fork, lunch started off rather splendidly. After Rosmerta had returned with our drinks (I know. I was rather shocked she'd come back, as well. What dedication to craft) and we'd ordered our food, James announced that he'd grown quite fond of this Getting to Know You business and wanted to know something else. At first, I couldn't think of anything, but then he was all, "I thought you were the professional here, Lily?" and something about 'profession' had Abbott's Potions Division brochure popping back into my head. To be honest, I hadn't even flipped through the thing, much less seriously considered it, but it was still an interesting development. James probably knew a bit about it himself, Academy-bound as he was. So without telling him precisely _how_ the handoff had come about (something told me he wouldn't be too keen on a Super Spy story just then), I relayed the rather surprising exchange. 

                And so things went, for…Merlin, I don’t even know how long.

                We talked. We drank. We ate. James told me about the time he and Remus got locked in Honeydukes's backroom for the night (there’s a passageway that comes out of there, as well!), and I in turn confessed the truth about Evans Family Game Night, which James found utterly hilarious. He poked a bit about the Vernon issue, but I didn’t really want to talk about Vernon because then I’d have to talk about Petunia and I wasn’t quite ready to ruin the lunch with talk of Petunia, so I skirted around it and James let it be, launching instead into a tale about the time Sirius received a good smacking from Rosmerta for hiding behind the bar in an attempt to look up her skirts during the Marauders’ first visit to Hogsmeade. Apparently they were all too afraid to come back into the pub for ages and had taken up sneaking illegally into the Hog's Head. I had never been tossed out of a pub, but I _was_ there that time Uncle Davy was caught sampling the wine at Marks  & Spencer and Aunt Mae had to have a long chat with the security guard to keep him away from the bobbies and Mae declared she’d never shop at M&S again (though of course she still does). James decided that he’d like to meet Davy, and I confessed that the two of them would undoubtedly get on splendidly. Which I'm not certain is a good thing.

                It was…well, it was all quite brilliant, actually. Brilliant and lovely and not the least bit like I ever thought it was going to be. Or I suppose, not the least bit like I ever allowed myself to _hope_ it would be.

                Honestly, I felt a bit like a henwit. _This_ is what I had been having so many conniptions about? _This_ has been the bane of existence over the past several eons? Seriously? _Seriously_? It was a new level of pathetic, even for me. Though I suppose I can’t be _entirely_ blamed–the part of me that wasn’t too busy calling myself ten times a fool was able to acknowledge that this had never really just been about a _date_. It was about a step, one I knew was going to be a bit of a turning point. But what I really should have realised was that James and I were already so far _past_ that point of no return, it was almost comical. It was like James had said earlier–we’d already _done_ all the first date baggage. Been there, angst-ed that. All that was left now was the fun bits.

                Er...well, _mostly_ the fun bits.

                Because there was this…oh, I don’t know what to call it. Incident? Encounter? Moment-that-lasted-several? Whatever it was, it was the part of the afternoon that I certainly wouldn't label as _fun_. 

                Oh, hell. That sounded ludicrously ominous, didn't it? It wasn't. Really. I mean, it was _something_ , but nothing _horrid_ happened–in case it wasn't perfectly evident from the cats/grandchildren introduction, this was _not_ a horrid date–but it was still…unnerving. For James more than me, I think, because I didn’t really realise there _was_ anything to be acting all strange about at first. It wasn’t until _he_ started acting so oddly–and then I remembered the name from before, see–and I could practically _feel_ all the tension in the air and I knew _something_ was off, but how was I to know _what_ and–

                And I’m not explaining this at all well, am I?

                Bugger. So let’s…just from the beginning, then. Objectively.

                Rosmerta had come back with our food ages before and I can’t quite remember what exactly it was we were talking about…perhaps it was Dad’s very poor attempt to teach me how to drive last summer? Or James’s subsequent return about Sirius and (I kid you not) his motorbike? Or maybe it was–oh! No! Now I remember! It was my apology note to Robbie! James had thought I was kidding when I’d told him the other night that I was going to write one.

                “Of course I was serious!”� I cried, offended at even the implication otherwise. “I couldn’t just _ditch_ him. I’m his partner. He’s only _got_ one.”�

                “Partner, my arse,”� James scoffed, and really, jealous much? No one _forced_ him to take Muggle Studies. “Couldn’t Grace just have told him you had a better offer, see him next lesson?”�

                I stuck him with a good frown. “That is so rude– _you’re_ so rude.”�

                James shrugged, unaffected, and popped a crisp into his mouth–one of _my_ crisps, to be exact, which just about made my point for me. He washed it down with a gulp of his own butterbeer thankfully, but I think the damage was already done. “Why haven’t you ever written me a poem?”� he whinged.

                “It wasn’t a _poem_ , it was a _rhyming note_ ,”� I corrected, grabbing a chip off his plate in retaliation. 

                James waved off the amendment. “Same thing. I want one.”�

                “I can’t think of anything that rhymes with ‘idiot’.”�

                “If Rob bloody Harms gets one, then I think I should–”�

                _BANG!_

                The sudden noise forced out my girlish yelp, but it was thankfully a soft one and didn't draw the entire pub's attention as a louder one might have done. But even James jumped, whipping his head around to look at the still clattering window behind our heads–the source of the sudden noise. The hand covering my still pounding heart dropped and the girlish yelp faded into girlish nervous giggles when our terrifying interruption started blowing fish faces at us from behind the other side of the windowpane.

                "Oh, hell," I laughed breathlessly, watching the continued childish antics proceeding outside of the window.

                Because, in the end, that's really all it was–childish antics conducted by a child-like head, attached to what I was presuming was a child-like body, though I couldn't absolutely confirm that as only the head was visible through the small windowpane. It was just a little boy gleefully plastered against our window, pulling various silly faces at us and obviously _highly_ amused at having just slammed his hands against that very same window and successfully scaring James and me half out of our wits. He was young–couldn't have been more than six or seven–and I only got to take quick stock of him–pale, freckled face, matted brown curls plastered down by a beaten-up old cap–before the little hellion popped out of the frame and was gone.

                I watched the boy go, turning back to James without really looking at him. 

                "Devilish little scamp," I muttered, though really, who could be cross at a little mischief? I reckoned the rest of my party certainly couldn't. "You two could be mates, actually. Same sense of humour."

                James didn't answer.

                It was those few seconds of unexpected silence following my mild gibe that had me really focusing in on him. Cocking my head to the side questioningly, I finally registered the rather strange expression marring James's face. He wasn't looking at me, but at some point just beyond my right shoulder and within the space of a single moment–in the time it took for the bell above the pub door to chime once–his entirely blank expression scrunched into a heavy grimace.

                "James?" I asked worriedly.

                "I'm sorry about this," he said.

                Sorry? Sorry about what? 

                "What are you–"

                And that's when he was attacked.

                Yes, that's right. Attacked. And I'm retelling that quite Objectively. He was literally _assaulted_. Pummelled quite enthusiastically, in fact. 

                Though considering his assailant couldn't have been older than six or seven, was half his size and was flailing some rather scrawny limbs, I reckon the odds were stacked in James's favour.

                I lurched back just as the scrawny limbs and boyish giggles began to fly.

                "James! Hey, James! Hey–"

                "Cal, don't–"

                "Duck! Have you now–"

                "I can't– _Cal_ –"

                The scamp from the window knew how to press his advantage, I'll give him that. He wasted no time in climbing up on James's side of the bench and launching himself straight at my still wincing potentially-considering-boyfriend. Small arms and dirty trainers flailed. It became obvious rather quickly–though at the time, I think I was still plastered against the back of the booth, eyes wide–that this was a friendly kind of attack, the sort of brawl adolescent males use to affectionately greet one another. The only trouble was, James wasn't playing along. Instead of giving a few playful jabs to the boy's side or catching him into a controlling headlock, James kept trying–quite poorly, I might add–to subdue the wild hellion.

                There was a lot of grunting and a few more rough exclamations elicited from the fray.

                "That's _cheating_ –"

                "Cal, I'm _not_ –"

                "–no _fair_ –"

                "–playing! _Cal_!" With an almost feral growl and some highly impressive manoeuvres, James finally got a good grip on the boy's–Cal's–wild arms. He had Cal clamped by each wrist and was holding the two as far out as they would go, successfully securing a moment's peace. Cal squirmed and shouted in protest.

                "Hey!" the boy bellowed in outrage. "No fair!"

                "Time!" James hollered back, giving Cal's arms another quelling jerk. "Time out, mate!"

                " _Time_?" Cal repeated the word as any proper boy his age would–as if he'd never heard of such a concept. " _Why_?"

                "Bit _busy_ at the moment, mate," James gritted, and though Cal's squirming body blocked my view of his face, I imagine James was doing some kind of cocking business in my direction because Cal spared me a quick glance over his shoulder. The boy looked decidedly unimpressed by what he found.

                No worries, Cal. I get it.

                It didn't take a genius to discover that a comment along the lines of, "Seriously? You're quitting our manly melee for _that_?" would have undoubtedly followed, but with the same abruptness with which we had received our first lunch interloper, with a short, second tinkle of the pub bell, we suddenly came by our second.

                 "Calvin Carrington! How many _times_ have I told you, no running off–"

                The witch who strode into the pub with the shrilly cry and hurried footsteps looked as harried as she sounded. Bundled up in a thick ragged cloak with a black cap identical to Cal's pushing down her equally identical brown curls, she was red-faced and frowning. She was a bit older than I might have anticipated Cal's parent to be, but with an uncanny speed that would have marked her as a mother even if her entering tirade and matching features hadn't done, she took in and assessed the whole tableau with swift speed. Her quite transparent facial expressions very clearly displayed her subsequent thought process:

                First, anger (oh, hell, my son's dashed off _again_ ); Horror (oh, hell, my son's dashed off again and _attacked_ someone); Relief (oh, hell, my son's dashed off again and attacked someone, but at least it's someone I know); Mild alarm (this someone is not alone); Irritation (must get son _off_ ).

 

                Really, I was inordinately impressed with the whole progression.

                "Calvin." The witch strode determinedly towards us. "Get off James. _Now_."

                "But, Mum–"

                " _Now_."

                There was a hint of rebellion in Cal's mulish expression, but he–intelligently, from my view of it–gave in without an overdrawn fight. He made certain to provide a big show of sighing and sulking, of course, untangling himself from James and grudgingly plopping down on the bench next to his combatant, but remained impressively silent. The boy's expression was antagonistic at best. I would have smiled at the brilliant display of petulance, but Cal's recent move gave me my first good look at James since our visitors had arrived and it suddenly became a bit difficult to smile.

                Because instead of the amused-if-a-bit-exasperated-but-always-good-natured grin I expected to find flashing across James's face, I found instead that he looked...well, a bit sick, actually. It only lasted a moment–just a few brief seconds of an obviously dazed dread before he covered it up with a small, stilted smile–but it was long enough for me to catch it and _certainly_ significant enough to shed a curious light on the whole scene.

                What in the _world_...

                "Hullo, James," Cal's mum greeted with a sigh, her smile rueful as she stepped closer to our table. She moved with a casualness that confirmed their acquaintance and an ease that proved she obviously didn't share any of the tension that was presently stiffening James's shoulders and turning his smile brittle. Then again, most of her attention was focused on Cal. 

                "We do _not_ go running off attacking our friends, Calvin," she scolded sternly, for what I imagined was not the first time. "My goodness, you probably frightened this poor girl half to death!"

                "No harm done," I assured her quickly. "The melee was kept on that side of the table. I was merely a bystander."

                Cal's mum laughed, a warm chuckle. "Well, that's comforting."

                "Corrine, this is Lily," James said finally, remembering his manners. His voice was a bit raspy. "Lil, Corinne Carrington–er, Cal's mum."

                "Lovely to meet you, Lily," Corinne said, extending a hand.

                "You, as well," I murmured, but if my handshake went a bit limp towards the end...well, that wasn't really my fault.

                Corinne Carrington.

                Carrington.

                _Carrington_.

 

_"This isn't_ about _you! This is about James and his goddamn need to prove himself!...You, his parents, Dumbledore, the Carringtons..."_

                Holy hell.

                Holy double fucking _hell_.

                I hadn't the faintest how in the hell I had remembered the name. Really, it seemed almost kismet. How that tiny scrap of conversation between Sirius and me from all those days ago had stuck, popped in my head just then, I'll never know, but I was inordinately grateful for it. It was a marker, a point in a direction, if not the answer I was looking for. These were the Carringtons, whatever that meant. Here was another piece of the jagged, nonsensical puzzle that was James Potter–one that he was obviously not comfortable with me witnessing.

                My gaze flickered automatically over to him.

                His face was entirely devoid of expression.

                "Calvin is very sorry for interrupting your lunch," Corinne said, drawing my gaze back to her as she dropped a hand on Cal's head, then snaked it around to give him a tug on the ear. He swatted her away and gave a yelp of exception, which Corrine deftly ignored. "Though I do wonder where my notice about the student day has gone." Her eyes twinkled as she looked towards James. "Must be lost in the post, hm? It couldn't be that the Head Boy would be sneaking into town, could it?"

                James's head snapped back in surprise. "You know?"

                Corinne looked confused for a moment–which made two of us, because I certainly didn't know what he meant–but her bemusement faded quickly as another, almost exasperated look crossed over her face.

                "Know? About Head Boy?" She gave James's hair the same affectionate ruffle that she had Cal's. "Oh, silly boy. Of course I know! I imagine your mother wrote me the moment your letter arrived. She was so happy, James," Corinne attested softly, a fond smile lifting her lips. "And doing much better, from what I hear. That's lovely, too."

                "Yeah, better," James mumbled, and if the whole scene wasn't already so unnerving, I might have actually gaped outright when he seemed to shy away from the comment, shrivelled up slightly, went a bit red in the cheeks and muttered, "Must have been a rather shocking letter from Mum. Bit of a joke, isn't it?"

                Corrine gasped in outrage, giving James's ear a twist, too. "You mind that tongue, James Potter! It's not a joke in the least! We're all terribly proud, you know. I'm sure there isn't a better Head Boy to be found–don't you think, Lily?"

                I was not the least bit prepared to be pulled back into the conversation–was far too involved with dissecting the fleeting clues drifting off both of their faces to bother (There was a bond there, an affection, wasn't there? Then why was James acting so strangely? Had I ever known that he had been dubious about his Head Boy appointment? _What was going on?_ ), but pulled back in I was nonetheless. The only person more surprised than I was at this was James, whose head swivelled around as if he'd entirely forgotten I was sitting there.

                Which was really lovely, you know, on a date and everything.

                "He passes par," I answered, hoping to ease something with the light teasing. Ease _him_. "Probably doesn't help that he's got a rubbish Head Girl."

                "She's Head Girl," James informed Corrine flatly, at her lowered brow.

                 She laughed. "Well, you're quite the pair, aren't you?"

                Oh, she had no idea.

                "Mum, can James come to ours?" Cal asked loudly, obviously through with his pout and now seeking attention. 

                Corinne gave him a sorry smile. "James is having lunch with Lily, my love."

                Cal spared me a second brief once-over. At first, I thought I proved as lacklustre as I had originally showed, but I suppose I must be an acquired taste or something because after a moment, I _did_ get a grudging, "I _s'ppse_ she can come, too."

                Aw, thanks, Cal.

                "Calvin." Corinne shook her head.

                "But James hasn't been round in _forever_ ," Cal whinged with a flair of melodrama I could easily respect. When his mother still proved unhelpful, Cal twisted round to try to work James. You had to give him points for tenacity. "You haven't been round in _forever_. We can play Quidditch! My training broom goes _real_ high now! Or we can work in the barn again–"

                "Another time, mate," James said quickly, and I suppose his whining threshold must extend only for me because he sounded like he really wanted Cal to quit it, even through that falsely patient tone of his. "I'll come round at the weekend. Promise."

                Cal was not placated by this compromise. "But–"

                "Mr Zonko is going to close down for lunch if we don't hop to it, Calvin," Corinne chimed in, and you have to give it to the witch, she knows her kid. Cal instantly looked dismayed at the chance of missing his Zonko's fix. As far as I knew, Mr Zonko never closed for lunch, but this was obviously not the point. Corinne let out a hefty sigh. "But we can stay here with James and Lily if you'd like–"

                "No! Let's go to Zonko's!" Cal burst out, grasping at his fleeting chance. He did make sure to turn on James with a suspicious stare, though. "You'll come round tomorrow?" he asked.

                "Sunday," James said.

                "How many days is that?"

                James spread five fingers wide.

                Cal didn't seem very satisfied with that–five was undoubtedly a terribly large number when you were just barely that age yourself–but the boy knew a dead end when he saw one. Plus, the cushion of Zonko's was surely a fair enough trade-off. There was a lighter spring in his step as he hopped off the bench. He didn't wait around to wave or say goodbye. With a hollered, "Don't close, Mr Zonko!" as if the man was going to hear him from there and immediately stop what he was doing, Cal took off for the door.

                "Calvin!" Corinne's shouts were met on deaf ears, drowned out amidst the sounds of tinkling door bells and scurrying feet. She sighed. "Oh, dear."

                I was beginning to see a trend with Calvin. 

                Tugging her cap lower on her ears, Corrine stared at the pub door in defeat. She looked resigned, prepared to rush back into battle–or motherhood, as I hear they sometimes call it. 

                "Better catch up before he begins a melee with Mr Zonko," she muttered, but managed to spare a moment to give James and me a parting smile. "It was very nice to meet you, Lily. And you"–she gave James's head one last affectionate swipe–"don't be a stranger, hear? I miss our morning teas."

                James's smile was tight, but his nod was sincere. He lifted a hand in parting as Corinne finally turned about and took off purposefully after Cal.

                And then they were gone. 

                And in the seconds that followed, all I could really do was sit there and wonder... _who were they_?

                Because despite being introduced, having conversed, having watched the scene unfold...I still honestly hadn't the faintest who these Carringtons were and what they meant to James.

                The urge to meddle was almost overwhelming. I had to bite down on my tongue and stare fixedly at James's expression–the one that had almost instantly dropped with relief as if he'd just dodged a speeding bullet–in order to swallow the words down. But I couldn't not do _anything_ , either. It would have looked highly suspicious if I just let the whole encounter go without even the briefest of comments. And James unfortunately knew me and my meddling well enough to expect I'd be curious. The way he started to clam back up as his gaze finally flickered from the pub door over to mine proved as much. I had to plaster on my most reassuring smile and tread the precarious waters carefully. But how did one pretend to meddle _without_ actually meddling?

                "They're lovely," is how I decided to start it, and meant that honestly, even if the comment had ulterior motives. "Friends of yours?"

                James's nod was quick. "Of the family–friends of the family." It was a tribute to how off-kilter he still was that his answer fell so clumsily off his tongue. "Sorry about that. Cal's only six, so he hasn't...he's an only child and there aren't that many kids in the village, so–"

                What was that about awkward blathering?

                "James, it's fine." I reached out to drop a hand over his. His fingers were stiff beneath mine. "Really. It was an entirely pleasant interlude. I liked them. Are you all right?""

_No_ , I wanted him to say, because I knew it was true. _No, I'm not all right and let me tell you why_.

                But of course he didn't say that. He didn't even come close. Instead, he gave an unsteady laugh, pulled his hand out from under mine to swipe it through his hair again and went, "'Course. Scamp just got a few good kicks in, s'all."

                Sometimes I forget how easily he lies.

                Unfortunately, that's not something I could much condemn him for. Yes, it stung–I wouldn't be Objectively Retelling it if I tried to claim otherwise–but I wasn't about to play the hypocrite and call him out on the fib. And perhaps more importantly, I suppose I sort of understood. James was not one to shake easily. Even if I knew nothing much about him, I think I'd still know that. The fact that he was unnerved by the Carringtons in the first place was startling, but being unnerved enough not to have immediately schooled his features into some facade of casualness was even more so. Sirius's inadvertent mention of them had me thinking the family might be somehow tangled in James's ever-complicated weave of last year, but there wasn't exactly an easy way to be all, "Hey, James? Those people? Another Big Secret of yours, yeah? Care to share?"

                I may not be the sanest of sorts, but even _I've_ got more tact than that.

                The questions still grated, though. I was confused and concerned and more than a little curious, but I knew that if I gave in and meddled, I'd ruin everything. I knew how defensive James got when someone touched on his unfortunate, elusive soft spots and he wouldn't be able to shake that mood off as quickly as some others would. How could I risk it? _Why_ would I risk it? Even a compulsive meddler like me can push aside her more urgent impulses in the name of self-preservation. This wasn't the time or the place and if I tried to turn it into that, I'd only be left disappointed. James had proven time and time again that he wasn't ready to confide in me about his less-than-stellar 6th-year, and even if the Carringtons weren't somehow involved in that, they still obviously held a similarly fragile place in his life. 

                As disheartening as it might be, I was going to have to be patient.

                I mean, for Merlin's sake, the boy had given me _fudge rice_. Couldn't I give him a little more time to keep his secrets?

                So I let it go. I didn't like it–I wanted to borrow some of Cal's prime petulance and stomp and kick until I finally got the answers that never seemed to come my way–but I apparently have more restraint than previously thought. Despite the urges to act otherwise, I managed to grin and bear it.

                Well, grin- _ish_. There might have been a slight desperation in there. And if I wasn't allowed to press about our visitors, I could at _least_ press about something our visitors had _said_ , couldn't I? Because it would've been highly suspicious if I'd just left it at "They're lovely." Highly, _highly_ suspicious. So I had to. For realism's sake.

                (That's what I chose to tell myself, anyway.)

                "You know, if both of us are going to be suffering from inferiority complexes, this is going to be a highly self-deprecating relationship," I commented lightly, attempting to hide the grin-ish situation by taking a seemingly-absent-but-in-actuality- _highly_ -contrived sip of butterbeer. James's brow furrowed.

                "What?" he asked.

                " _'Bit of a joke, though, isn't it_?'" I mimicked, lifting a questioning eyebrow. "You don't have to try to make me feel better about my own inadequacy by claiming some of it yourself. Modesty rings very untrue with you."

                "It wasn't modesty," James protested, though I'm not entirely certain I believed him. At least he was starting to look more like himself again. "Weren't you surprised I'd got Head Boy?"

                "I was angry you got it, not surprised," I said, thinking back on that rather dramatic day with the hazy memory of a witch who had really been through far too much since then. But most of it came back. Unfortunately. "But that was just because I didn't like you. And then you went and lied to me about it, so you didn't really do yourself any favours."

                "I didn't _lie_ ," James tried, but that was just another lie, the tosser. "You were actually being _civil_ to me that day on the platform! I didn't want to ruin it. So I...evaded. Strategically."

                "And I strategically dumped a pitcher of pumpkin juice over your head," I returned. "Seems fair."

                James squinted thoughtfully, but his lips were twitching in the beginnings of a genuine smile that was more than a little bit relieving to see. "Was that for not telling you I was Head Boy?" he asked. "Or was that the goop? I think that might have been the goop."

                "I think the fact that you can't remember which one of your many transgressions it was for doesn't bode well for either of us," I muttered. Then, with much dramatic thought, "What am I doing here again?"

                James laughed–an _actual_ laugh, not one of those unfortunate impersonations he'd been passing off as chuckles since the Carringtons had come and gone. It was nice to hear, but I wasn't about to give up on my original point just because I was glad to have my James back. Besides, judging by how comical he found the questioning of my presence on our date, his play at modesty was once again ringing false.

                "You _do_ realise that if you weren't Head Boy, our entire points system would have collapsed around our ears by now, don't you?" I asked, taking another small sip of butterbeer. "I would have unapologetically tossed the whole ledger out the nearest window the first week. Then I'd just have made things up until I was found out."

                "You'd still have a partner. He could've done the ledgers."

                I scoffed. "He, who? Amos? Phil Rook?"

                "Rook can count."

                "Yeah, to _ten_."

                James smiled. "Well, the Slytherins don't usually need to go any higher than that, anyway."

                I refused to laugh because that would have only pushed me off topic again and I wasn't about to let him get away with that. "You never told me you felt that way," I said, tilting my head slightly to the side. "About Head Boy, I mean. I didn't know...I mean, practically the first thing I said to you this year was that I thought I'd be getting impeached and yet you never said...not that you were required to commiserate, of course, but–"

                "I wasn't a Prefect," James said, giving a jerky shrug. "And the rules and I have never been overtly fond of one another. You know that–better than most even, I reckon."

                "But you're top of our class," I argued, regardless of how true his own points might have been. "Not to mention that you've been Quidditch captain for years. Everyone knew you were a contender last term, even if it seemed a bit farfetched."

                That obviously surprised him. His eyes went wide. "What? Everyone who?"

                "Er...everyone who cared, I suppose," I answered slowly, surprised myself, actually. He honestly hadn't known? But when I thought about it, it _did_ make sense. "The Prefects, mostly. Jenny Kearns compiled this rather fierce ranking with all of these calculations that you were definitely on–not that that meant much, of course. Jenny was just mourning the end of her rule and wanted to watch people squirm one last time, but–"

                "I was on a list?"

                I nodded. "In fourth, if I remember correctly."

                "Were you on it?"

                I pulled a face. "In second. But that's only because Jenny hated all of Hufflepuff and a substantial amount of her own house and wouldn't have ranked Julie Little or Tammy Turner in the top tier if her life depended on it. So you can see the innate foibles of the list–"

                "Who the hell could have possibly ranked above you?" James demanded, and really, it was sweet of him tolook so outraged by the slight, but who are we kidding? Who _couldn't_ rank above me?

                "Charlene Blake," I answered, naming the Slytherin prefect in our year. Then, just because, "Liz Saunders was below me."

                The snort James let out then probably shouldn't have been as comforting as it was, but I am clearly a weak, petty witch who likes her reassurance.

                "Jenny Kearns is an idiot," he said, shaking his head. "For putting me on this list in the first place, but mostly for thinking that anyone in this damn school is better suited to be Head than you are."

                "You've already got me on a date," I mumbled, pretty certain that even my toes were blushing. "You don't have to keep pulling out the false flattery."

                "False flattery?" James rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, as if asking it for patience. When they flickered back down, there was a bit of an edge there. "Who are the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefects?" he asked abruptly.

                "Rory Chambers and Lesli Hollis," I answered automatically, though I didn't know why.

                "Are they any good?"

                I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he doing? "Rory's a legacy, so he knows what he's about–both of his sisters were Heads, so I suppose he's got something to prove. Lesli's a bit spacey and doesn't like to punish her mates, but that's not exactly a rarity among our bunch, so it's not really worrying. Why are we talking about Ravenclaw prefects?"

                James ignored my question. "Chambers. He's the one with the hawk nose? Mutters to himself during meetings?"

                "No, that's Lucas. Lucas Mathers. He's a sixth-year."

                "He rubbish?"

                "No, he's fine–constantly skives out of doing rounds at the weekend, but I'm personally more impressed by that than anything else. Now why–"

                "See, _that_!" James cried, jabbing a finger in my direction with such exuberance, I reeled back in my seat. " _That's_ what I'm talking about! You just _know_ all this rubbish. You don't even have to _think_ about it! Do you think I know one brownnosing Ravenclaw from the next?" he asked, his tone providing his own negative answer. "I can't even remember their _names_ , much less their family history and leniency tendencies. But you...you just _know_."

                "But I've been a Prefect since the beginning," I protested, shaking my head. "I've known them longer–"

                "Not the fifth-years."

                "I know Clara, Rory's sister," I tried, squirming in my seat. "So, you know, by extension...ish–"

                "Do you know what Charlene would have called Rory Chambers?" James asked, cutting me off before I could continue on with my _inordinately_ compelling line of argument. "'You there'," he said, and accompanied the appellation with a vague wiggle of his finger that, I have to admit, I could see Charlene doing _exactly_. "Not necessarily because she doesn't know his name, just mostly because she could. And Lizzie?" I decided then and there that James's snort was perhaps one of my most very favourite sounds in the whole world. "She wouldn't even _care_ , Lily. Honestly and truly. She wouldn't care."

                Oh, bloody hell.

                "That's not true," I denied hesitantly, every fibre of my being protesting against even vaguely sticking up for that cow, but it had to be done. "If nothing else, she'd care just to impress you."

                "Except _I_ wouldn't care."

                I pulled a face. "Well, now that's _definitely_ not true. You do so care."

                "Only because you do," he said, giving a shrug. "You _make_ people care–no, stop shaking your head, it's true. If I were partnered with anyone else, I wouldn't be feeling the least bit guilty over the fact that I haven't the faintest what the difference is between Lucas Mathers and Rory Chambers. But because _you_ care, because _you_ know, I feel like a prize arsehole for not knowing."

                "You're not a prize arsehole," I muttered, and really, was he _trying_ to kill me with embarrassment? For Merlin's sake, there were easier ways to end this date! "And I don't care what you say, you _would_ care. If you were even half the villain you seemed determined to make yourself out to be, I wouldn't be here right now. So quit it."

                For the first time since the Carringtons had left, James faded back into that unnervingly huddled version of himself. Resting his elbows atop the table, he ducked his head down and slipped an agitated hand through his hair.

                "You don't...I've done some really fucked up things," he said, glancing up at me from beneath his tucked head. "You don't know the half of it."

                I knew decidedly more than half, I amended silently, biting back a wince as guilt gnawed at my stomach. No, I didn't know the specifics, but what Sirius had lacked in detail he'd more than made up for in harsh overview. Not for the first time, I wished that he hadn't told me anything, or perhaps that James might have done. But what was done was done and there wasn't anything for it.

                Still, it was obvious that whatever mistakes he'd made, James had more than repented for them. Unfortunately, the sodding martyr in him refused to see it that way. 

                If I was the one with the inferiority complex, then James was definitely suffering from a guilt complex. And watching him then, he didn't seem the least bit inclined to fight against it.

                Which was just too damn bad, because I wasn't about to let him wallow.

                "Quit that," I scolded, sticking him with a good frown when all he continued to do was stare at me with this disconcertingly stony look. "You are a perfectly decent Head Boy and if you keep saying otherwise, you're going to get me cross. And if you're trying to scare me off, you're doing a damn poor job of it. I don't care what you've done–I only care what you _do_. And with the exception of a few exceptionally poorly-timed animal transfigurations, you haven't managed to fuck up _too_ spectacularly–I mean, _obviously_ ," I said, giving a gesture around us. "So shut it or else...or else I'm eating all your chips!"

                James's expression kept for a moment, but it wasn't long before his head was raising and his lips were twitching upward at my strategically-ludicrious-but-hey-I-know-his-weaknesses-he's-a-sucker-for-a-stupid-joke-just- _try-_ to-wallow-at-that threat, thank Merlin.

                "Oh, no. Not the chips," he drawled, but completely counteracted the possessive claim by shoving his plate towards me. "You sure know how to hit a bloke hard."

                I popped a chip in my mouth. "Damn right, I do. Now tell me something funny and maybe I'll be inclined to share your food with you."

                James laughed (even though I'd said _be_ funny, not prove _I'm_ funny. I already _know_ I'm funny), but tried his best to earn some sharing privileges back with a story explaining his next Getting to Know You fact, a little something entitled: Why I Hate Baby Ducks (No, Quit Gaping at Me Like That. You Heard Me. I Hate Baby Ducks).

                Which, in the name of Objective Retelling, probably tells you how sadly besotted I am, considering my willingness to disregard his childhood demonstrations of sociopathic tendencies.

                But really, what's one more psychological disorder? The others need friends.

                Things stopped being so serious after that, which I suppose was for the best, even if I wasn't entirely certain how I felt about it all yet. I mean, yes, it was strange. And yes, I was dying to delve. And yes, I knew I couldn't, not if I didn't want James to clam up like a prize oyster and never un-clam again. Patience is not a virtue that has ever been keen on me, but it's one that I respect even in its general absence from my life. I know there's nothing stopping me from tracking down Sirius and demanding some answers that, to be perfectly honest, I feel like I can eventually wheedle out of him. Nothing except James and the fact that I'm not entirely certain knowing more things that I'm not supposed to know about him is really in anyone's best interest, anyway. I mean, it certainly hasn't served me overwhelmingly well so far. And even though such is a compulsive meddler's burden to bear, sometimes I can overcome my shortcomings in order to make a rational decision. Not continuing on this meddling track was most _definitely_ the best, most rational way to go. And for once, I was able to take my independent mouth firmly in hand and not counteract that rationality.

                Which was probably only because said mouth had an inkling of what was coming next and knew an Oyster James was no James it wanted to be dealing with, but still.

                Is it bad when your mouth is tartier than you are?

                "Where to next?" is what I asked, quite some time later, actually, because of course we'd had to finish our food and then James had wanted another butterbeer and I wasn't about to object when I was still in the process of trying to talk him out of his hatred for baby animals in between other Getting to Know You business, and the next thing I knew, we'd been sitting at the booth for ages and ages and poor Rosmerta was looking like she was quite sick of us. I pushed the pub door open and held it all gentlemen-like as James strolled out behind me. "Nefarious underage drinking at the Hog's Head? Haunted adventures at the Shrieking Shack? A second helping at Puddifoot's?"

 

                _Somewhere I can keep off my feet?_ I added silently, because if you thought several hours of lounging about in a booth would have helped the Slag-Boots-Bleeding-Feet situation, then you are _highly_ underestimating the magnitude of the Slag Boots' destructive powers. 

                Bloody hell, why don't I have enough sense to just _bin_ these stupid buggers?

                "All worthy endeavours, but I have a different idea," James offered, oblivious to my pain as he tossed an arm about my shoulders. 

                I glanced up at him curiously. "Are there other places in Hogsmeade to go?"

                James shook his head. "Not Hogsmeade. Back up at the castle."

                "The castle? What's– _oh_ ," I said, catching sight of his sharp grin and suddenly knowing _exactly_ what he was implying. My stomach danced in keen anticipation. "Ah. Intriguing. Very intriguing. Might you expand upon this idea for me?"

                James bent his head obligingly, pressing his mouth against my ear and whispering a series of quick, yet surprisingly thorough suggestions.

                And even in the name of Objective Retelling, I truly do not feel comfortable recording the kind of blatant depravity that that corrupt maniac relayed to me just then.

                I mean, really, the _children_.

                (Though one really has to give him points for creativity.)

                Needless to say, I was an entirely new shade of red by the time James pulled back and stared at me with his inquisitively lecherous grin. I had to press my lips together and think of God and Country simply to control the rampant urge to either expire on the spot or say something _entirely_ inappropriate ("The castle? Why bother? The bushes over there can do!"), but somehow, I managed.

                "I'm not entirely certain that's particularly _legal_ in several countries," I murmured, though the words were slow and not entirely scolding, "so I'm going to have to give that one a 'no'. But I admire your general path. And your ambition."

                "I aim high," James replied, and if the way he immediately grabbed my hand and started tugging in the direction of Honeydukes was anything to go by, I'd say that he aimed high _now_. "Come on."

                Ow, ow, _ow_ , shite _feet_.

                "Um, no rush, really–"

                "Use those legs, Infallible!"

                Psh. And I thought _I_ was the slag.

                I'm rather certain that the pair of us set records with our near-sprint from the center of town all the way back up to the 7th floor. I didn't even get to enjoy the experience of breaking into Honeydukes's back room (yes, _I broke into someone's back room_!) or Shuffling beneath the cloak, or the less-dreary-than-the-last-but-still-rather-unnerving-who-in-the-hell- _built_ -these-vile-tunnels-anyway passageway that led us straight from the sweet shop right on up to the castle, where James checked the Map for passersby before helping me clamber out of the statue of the one-eyed witch.

                Which, let me tell you, was an interesting sort of manoeuvre in debilitating Slag Boots and a precarious mini skirt, but no one has ever faulted me for my lack of dedication.

                I don't know who was more thrilled when we finally reached the Room of Requirement–James, who practically hopped back and forth in his attempts to get the fickle door to appear immediately; or me, who might not have been _exactly_ crying in pure and unadulterated misery, but it was really quite touch-and-go there. In any case, it was with emphatic eagerness that we both arrived at the door.

                Or, you know, _fell_ against the door, as some of us may or may not have done.

                "All right?" James asked as I stumbled, because now that we were there and the door had appeared, he suddenly seemed capable of focusing on something _other_ than getting us to the nearest semi-sturdy, private surface.

                "Fine," I gritted, and maybe he still hadn't entirely shaken off his slag-haze because he didn't seem to notice that my smile was brittle and that I was seriously considering amputation, if I could only remember a proper slicing spell. "Thank you for walking me to my door."

                "Should probably make sure you get in all right," he played along, inching a hand down to the doorknob and twisting. "Complete portrait to door service, you know."

                With a grand flourish, he swung his arm out and the wooden door flew open. Cautiously, I peeked my head inside.

                All things considered, the boy really didn't do too poor a job of it. Apparently no longer content with the wonders of a duplicated boys' dormitory, James had opted instead for a common-room-esque theme. The space was quaint, cozy and, as any proper Gryffindor would have it, bathed in shades of red and gold. There was a fire already roaring pleasantly in the large hearth and two plush scarlet loveseats flanking a low coffee table.

                And in the corner, taking up a rather large portion of the room, a heavily draped canopy bed rested atop a slight dais.

                _Oh_.

                Um.

                Er...

                Moving quickly, I grabbed the doorknob from James's hand and slammed the door back shut. As I turned, my eyes flashed up to his. His eyebrows lifted inquiringly.

                "Not your door?" he asked.

                I shook my head and–really, the things this boy makes me _do_ –made the familiar painful three-times trek in front of the door, which I'm sure had never seemed so unnecessary as it did just then.

                I grabbed the door knob, pushed the portal open a crack and inspected my handiwork.

                Ah, better. _Much_ better.

                James popped his head in, as well.

                "Ah," he murmured, eyeing the spot where just moments before, his bed had stood where the new, large scarlet sofa now resided. His eyes flickered down to mine and he grinned. "A challenge?"

                "It's _not_ –"

                But, you know, it's rather difficult to finish one's sentence when one's person is being mauled.

                Oh, well. These things happen.

                I didn't even notice the door slam shut as James all but shoved me into the room, lacking perhaps the sort of finesse one might expect from these sorts of things, but it was rather hard to care about that when the randy tosser was dragging me inside and very much molesting my mouth. The feel of his mouth was glorious, warm, wondrous, better in reality than it could ever be in my head. But no matter how brilliant James's kisses proved, there was really no stopping noticing the moment at which he obviously decided that there was far too much space between us (clever boy) and promptly lifted me off the ground, fitting my body more securely against his.

                I very audibly–very _embarrassingly_ –moaned into his mouth.

                But not the kind of moan one really _expects_ in these sorts of situations.

                It had to mean something very sad and pathetic that even arrogant, cocky, lost-in-his-lust James didn't think I was moaning at his amazing snogging skills.

                "Lil?" he laughed, breaking away at the sound and moving to put me down.

                I very nearly shrieked.

                "No! Keep me up! _Keep me_ _up_!" I locked by arms about his neck and clutched at him as I might have clutched at the sole life buoy bouncing afloat in a tumultuous sea. Tucking my feet up off the floor, I buried my face in his neck and moaned again. "Oh, _god_ , keep me up. _Please_. That's _heaven_."

                "Call me suspicious," James started dryly, "but I'm beginning to think your gasps of pleasure have very little to do with me. What's with the dangling?"

                I bit my lip and tried not to laugh, but it just felt so bloody _good_ to be off my sodding feet that I couldn't entirely hold back the relieved giggles. They filtered out in a kind of desperate melody that sounded mad even to my ears.

                "It's my feet," I confessed, too relieved to blush at the stupidity of it all, even though I knew any self-respecting witch with half-a-Knut of dignity probably would have done. "My stupid bloody shoes have ravished them. I think they were bleeding–three hours ago. I'm afraid to look now."

                "Your shoes?" I felt James move against me, perhaps to glance down at the offending footwear though I knew what he'd find if he did. The damn tools of Satan had the devious ability to come off misleadingly innocent. "Then why the bleeding hell are you wearing them?"

                I was not deigning to give that foolish question an answer.

                At my silence, James grumbled something probably highly uncomplimentary, then bent down to scoop me up at the knees. I might have taken a moment to enjoy the very comfy, awfully chivalrous action if I wasn't already drowning in gratitude at simply being removed from the floor. As he hoisted me over towards the bed-turned-couch, I let out a slew of highly contented, highly would-have-been-thoroughly-embarrassed-by-if-I-weren't-so-thoroughly- _relieved_ sounds that continued on until he gently placed me down on the plump couch cushions. James took the spot next to me.

                "You're daft," he said, grabbing one of my mangled feet and lifting it onto his lap. "Absolutely _barking_."

                "And this surprises you?" I very nearly snorted in his face. "Besides, it was _necessary_."

                "Necessary to injure yourself? Oh, I can't wait to hear this one."

                "Blokes _like_ the boots," I explained, then stabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. " _You_ liked them."

                "Blokes also like their dates not to cripple themselves," he replied, fingers deftly untying the Slag Boots' somewhat complicated lacings. "We're a mighty funny lot that way."

                As he tugged off the first boot, I let my hissing sound serve as an answer, expelling the pained breath as he tossed the shoe aside and carefully placed my foot back on his lap. Despite my many misgivings, I chanced a glance down at the throbbing limb. I took it as a good sign that there was no blood seeping onto James's lovely trousers, but there _were_ a good number of runs in Carrie Lloyd's tights where the flimsy material had been rubbed raw by the Slag Boots' abrasive leather. All in all, it was a rather ugly display.

                " _Christ_." Shaking his head in disbelief, James examined the tattered tights with careful fingers. "Well, you can bin these," he said, plucking at the nylon.

                "They're Carrie's," I confessed as he hoisted my second foot onto his lap and started working on it like the first. "Grace filched them."

                "Well, give Carrie the proper apologies because I don't think they're making it." He tugged at the remaining loosened shoe to reveal an equally tarnished second foot.

                Ugh.

                Sorry, Carrie.

                Sorry, feet.

                "They're actually not as bad as I thought," I observed after a thoughtful moment, going to wiggle my toes about and proving rather surprised when they not only complied, but only smarted slightly at the movement. Motion! Functionality! "Look, they work!"

                "Can I toss these in the fire?" James asked, holding one of the Slag Boots aloft. I let out a dismayed yelp and lunged for it before he could use those blasted Quidditch skills to make good on the threat.

                "No, you can't _toss_ them in the _fire_!" I clutched the boot possessively against my chest. "Are you _mad_?"

                James only stared. "You're cradling a boot to your chest as if it was a long lost child, and _I'm_ the one who's mad?"

                With a precision and dexterity that I'm rather certain I'll never be able to duplicate again, I twisted down and grabbed for James's leg, gripping his trainer in one hand and jerking the shoe off in one, swift motion.

                Ha! A _hostage_.

                "An eye for an eye," I threatened, swinging the trainer about by its laces (which had hung predictably loose, and was undoubtedly the only reason I'd been able to yank it off his foot so easily).

                "They're old," James replied with a careless shrug, then had the gall to smirk as he lazily toed the second trainer off himself. "Can't say I've ever sacrificed skin for them, either. You clearly have a far closer relationship with your shoes than I've with mine."

                "Are you mocking me?"

                "Me? Mock? Never."

                All right. I really did walk right into that one.

                Sniffing disdainfully, I crossed my arms over my chest and raved my offense. "You know, if I weren't mostly crippled right now, I think I might very well abandon you."

                "But seeing as you mostly _are_ ," James replied smoothly, cleverly twisting towards me, "I suppose you'll just have to hang about. Though I haven't the _faintest_ how we ought to entertain ourselves–here, alone, with you crippled on this very large couch...any ideas?"

                "A few," I offered and, really, every hostage-taker knows when the jig is up and it's time to talk negotiations, so it was actually with _much_ thought and conniving strategy that I threw James's shoe over my shoulder, grabbed him hard by collar, then dragged him down on top of me.

                I mean, it's always best to take advantage of your opponent's weaknesses.

                And in the name of Objective Retelling...well, _objectively_...

                Then we, er...Got to Know Each Other.

                Metaphorically. Not biblically.

                (Still, innocent personages of the children and feline variety _might_ want to skim over this bit. It's not the kind of milk or cream you're thinking of, I promise.)

                If I'd been worried that my slight slip into prudedom by abandoning James's bed dreams for the more demure couch option would have somehow hindered the goals of my own slaggish tendencies or his aforementioned quite high ambitions, I really shouldn't have bothered. The pitch might have been smaller, but James was still a professional player–completely undeterred by the new terrain and admirably versatile in adapting his tricks. Of course, the new terrain wasn't too shabby a replacement, if I do say so myself. We were no strangers to the Sofa Snog, James and I, but the Room of Requirement must have truly understood just what was to be required of it because when I gripped James's shirt and had him follow me down on the cushions below, the sofa proved large enough not only to keep any limbs from hanging precariously off the ends, but also to prevent bodies from rolling unceremoniously to the floor.

                Which all things considered, was quite lovely.

                Thanks terribly, Room. Owe you one.

                James still tasted like butterbeer, a sweet surprise that I probably should have expected, but who could be bothered with _thinking_ when there was so much _feeling_ to be done? I admit, I might have been a _bit_ impatient–fitting my mouth to his just as soon as my tugging had brought him close enough, lifting my torso until it meshed easily with his–but the boy was being deliberately goading from the start. I had barely got a few paltry proper kisses in there before he purposefully started toying with me. Every time I went to deepen a kiss, he'd carefully pull back, making it practically (pathetically) impossible _not_ to be pushing up against him every time he lazily brushed his mouth against mine. These weren't the heady, quick snogs of this morning, or even the charged madness of the Trophy Room ledge–these were slow and painfully languid, a kind of careful silkiness that, yes, had me shivering from head to mutilated toes, but dear _Merlin_ , I was about to die of frustration. What was he _doing_?

                "Are you actually going to kiss me, or are you just going to play at it for awhile?" I inquired, pulling away only long enough to get the question out, then lunging back in to kiss him again with as much fervour as I could muster. But James only indulged my ardent advances for a few moments before pulling back again, chuckling gently against my mouth.

                "I _am_ kissing you," he said.

                "I mean _properly._ " I tilted my head to the side and aimed for his mouth at a better angle, but he still proved entirely uncompromising. I let out a frustrated groan. "James Potter, I _swear_ –"

                "So bossy," he murmured, but it clearly wasn't a particularly _compelling_ type of bossy because instead of heeding my orders and finally snogging me the right way, the teasing arse just started pressing the same infuriatingly slow kisses across my jaw and down my neck.

                Which, all right, _might_ have managed to distract me for a moment or two–but it was _only_ a moment or two! Soon we were back at the same infuriating stalemate. I swear, the boy was trying to kill me.

                It was just too bad for him that I wasn't going down without a fight.

                The hand that had started at his collar had long since abandoned that particular perch in lieu of curling up around his neck and threading somewhat clumsily through his hair, but I still had a firm enough grip to jerk his head away from my neck and bring us eye to eye. His face was flushed, but he still smirked down at me like the devil he is.

                "I can _make_ you snog me properly," I boasted, making certain that the claim came off as the threat it was. I swept my fingers along the nape of neck in a way I _knew_ drove him spare. "You know I could."

                He shuddered slightly beneath my fingertips, but one really had to give the boy credit for his stone cold resolve because he somehow managed to keep control of his baser impulses long enough to resist my clever manoeuvre. His eyes _did_ go delightfully bright behind his glasses, though, even as he determinedly kept his game face on and, after a moment, cocked his head to the side.

                "Is that a challenge?" he asked.

                Oh, a _challenge_. I bit back a smile. "Well, we _are_ presently tied."

                "We are _not_ tied."

                "Well, we _won't_ be once I _win_ ," I returned, and accompanied that very true statement with a very strategic body squirm.

                James's jaw clenched tellingly.

                Amateur.

                "You're going to regret that," he gritted.

                "Really?" Naturally, I did it again. "Hmm."

                This time, he had to close his eyes.

                Oh, hullo. Lily Evans, Slaggy Seducer Extraordinaire, here. Lovely to meet you.

                When James's eyes opened, I rather started to understand why everyone was so intimidated by him on the Quidditch pitch.

                Hm. He _did_ look rather fierce, didn't he?

                "Prepare to _lose_ , Evans."

                Then, before I could even rally a proper set down, he swooped right in.

                In the name of Objective Retelling, I suppose it's only fair to concede now that however glamorous I may soon make this out to seem, what followed was probably _not_ the innocently chirping birds and whispered sweet nothings of romantic films. Perhaps it ought to have been–you know, considering our first date status and everything–but this was first and foremost a competition, and I was most definitely _not_ the only overly-competitive one lying on that couch. In the end, there was as much laughing as there was moaning, quite a bit of grappling, and more than a few overtly dirty tricks that put even my clever body squirms to shame. It probably wasn't particularly pretty, but holy _hell_ , it was fun. And, you know, _zing_ -y. Really, overall, I think the pair of us rose rather brilliantly to the challenge.

                Some of us a bit more– _ahem_ – _literally_ than others. If you know what I mean.

                (Oh, come _on_. I _said_ the children shouldn't read this bit!)

                Though I'd like to think I started out with the upper-hand, I admit, that probably wasn't the case. James's swooping proved rather more effective than my competitive side ever wanted to see...though the witch-beneath-him side wasn't _too_ distraught over it. Lifting his hands to cup either side of my face, his fingertips skimmed into my hair and effectively trapped my lips just where he wanted them–under his and unable to jerk higher, harder, into the kiss. His mouth was warm and fleeting, the caresses bordering on painfully slow, but the soft strokes were deceptively thorough. I would have fought harder to thwart him–really, I would have done!–but maybe I had been a _little_ hasty in disparaging this slow-and-steady-wins-the-race method. Frightfully impatient as it made me feel, it also was rather...well, fucking brilliant.

                Or maybe that's just James. I don't know.

                So maybe I got a little distracted in the beginning by James and his stupid, enticing teasing, but eventually I remembered that this was no time to be playing the pliant submissive and jumped back into the game. It was easier than I'd expected to turn the tides, though some might perhaps claim that it was Dirty Trick Number One to have shimmied my fingers down between us until I'd effectively reached the hem of James's jumper and instantly started tugging. Even in the midst of his competitive ministrations, James had to realise that divulging himself of a dreaded layer was never _really_ going to be working against his favour. I was counting on that line of thinking, hoping he didn't immediately realise that by moving his hands away from my face in order to shuck out of the jumper, he was in actuality giving me the opening I'd been looking for.

                The jumper had barely even touched the floor before _I_ was the one swooping in.

                (In case you hadn't caught on yet, there was a lot of swooping involved in this.)

                " _Sneaky_ –" he'd started to scold, but I'm nothing if not utterly thorough in my endeavours, and didn't give him much of a chance to speak after that.

                I have to say, it was probably one of my tongue's proudest moments.

                Huzzah, hurrah, tongue. Go on with your skilled self.

                The aforementioned talented appendage was probably also to blame for the hasty loss of Grace's jacket, not to mention the ruination of my beloved side-plait, which James made rather quick work of some time after I'd swooped, scooped, grabbed, grappled, and snogged the poor boy into forgetting his own aims. But no matter how thoroughly I snogged him or how dangerously low I let my hands stray ( _YesAllRightIKnowI'mASlagYouDon'tHaveToSayIt_ ), James still proved clever enough not to fall for the same trick twice. Every time I kindly attempted to help reunite his white t-shit with its mate, Mr Jumper, he somehow managed to deter me.

                But soon I'd had enough. The damn thing needed to _go_.

                " _Off_ ," I ordered harshly, breaking away only long enough to grab the hem of the shirt and start jerking it upwards with whatever highly-snog-reduced strength I had left. It predictably didn't move any higher than his ribs, but I thought I'd still made my point.

                James dropped his forehead against mine and clumsily shook it.

                "You first," he returned, and it was only then that I realised that not only had _his_ hands somehow found their way to _my_ shirt hem, but had in fact been happily hanging about _under_ it. For quite some time now.

                Dear Merlin. When had he managed _that_?

                "Erm...you know..."

                But James suddenly seemed to have acquired a new sub-mission–ridding me of my shirt as quickly as possible.

                All bets were off after that. I was sneaky, but he was probably sneakier, not to mention entirely unscrupulous and not even mildly ashamed of proving it. I'm going to go ahead and blame that same complete lack of morals for my loss in the Shirt Challenge, though I _was_ the one to get the last laugh when my New Favourite Witch Ever, Madam Dumont, gained me the few seconds of Distracted James I needed to win back the power with another _much_ more deliberately aimed body roll and a strategically hooked foot (Really, you should have _seen_ him. Gawking doesn't even _begin_ to describe it. I suppose Grace gets a good birthday present this year). 

                But no matter what kind of body rolls or hooked limbs I deviously employed, James's slow-and-steady method still had one innate advantage over my frenzied-attack plot that I couldn't for the life of me overcome. Because while I was rather limited to devoting my ardent attentions mainly to his mouth–one couldn't really properly snog a neck or an absent patch of skin, after all–James had a _lot_ more territory he could cover. Because the slow kisses? Well, he could (and did) spend all day lavishing them at my pulse points, or my shoulder or...um, lower.

                ( _God_. Not _lower_ lower. Just...lower. Merlin. As if I would _ever_...)

                Still, kissing was all well and good, but I'm not going to pretend that there wasn't an ample amount of pawing, as well. That's where I gained back some momentum. I am an _expert_ paw-er. 

                Oh, hullo, _zings_. Welcome back.

                So that's really how we went on–salaciously conducting our own little orchestra of  moans, groans and _zing_ s, which is probably not the sort of music any type of civilised music tutor would ever teach their students, but maybe people might care a bit more about their lessons if they did.

                Not that we...er, brought the zings into a _zing crescendo_ , if you know what I mean. That would have been a bit much, even for Lily Evans, Slag Seducer Extraordinaire.  Because Lily Evans, Slag Seducer Extraordinaire was still only on a first date. Even if said first date didn't feel like a first date. And even if said first date did not stop said Slag Seducer Extraordinaire from displaying half of her Madam Dumont merchandise for all the world (or James) to see. But you know, I really think that people put too much emphasis on zing crescendos, anyway. Like, they're not the _only_ thing in the _zing_ musical catalogue. And I know that Grace gets her Blissful Look at the mere thought of them and Emma dies of mortification if we even bring the topic up (as Grace often does, usually in the middle of History of Magic where she often insists things need "spicing up"), but that doesn't mean anything. I mean, I'm no _professional_ on crescendos (I've _crescendo_ -ed before. You know, once. I think), but it seems terribly rude to discount all the other lovely melodies one can make with _zing_ s without heading straight for that Big Rising Finale In The Sky. So I enjoyed my happy harmony of _zing_ s and _ahh_ s while simultaneously retaining my dignity as A Girl Who Is In Fact _Just_ On A First Date.

                You know, mostly. I didn't start out with much dignity in the first place, so I suppose it's all splitting hairs at this point.

Quite (quite) some time later, the two of us lay on the couch in a tangle of heavy limbs and dishevelled clothing, lazily attempting to recover from duo fatal dosages of calcium. It was with surprising diplomacy (and perhaps the aid of the aforementioned calcium) that we both agreed to end the challenge in a tie.

"I'm too knackered to fight you for it," was the reason I gave to James after watching him cock a dubious eyebrow at my easy surrender. I snuggled closer against his chest–not too rotten a consolation prize, if I do say so myself. "Lunches are exhausting."

" _Dates_ are exhausting," he corrected, giving my side an emphatic poke at the word choice. I squirmed in protest, but his hand just curved round my hip, keeping me in place. “You're new to this good date business, so I s'ppse it's understandable. We'll just have to build up your endurance. Do better next time."

"Sorry. Next what?”�

"Quiet." His hand patted absently at my head. "You're tired. Don't know what you're saying."

"You can't just–"

"Shhh. Take a nap. You like those."

James closed his eyes and did some more of his patting business, an act that was almost irritating enough to warrant shoving him off the couch and laughing as he fell. I refrained from doing so mostly because there was a very high possibility that the blighter would take me down with him, but that didn't stop me from imagining it in all its retaliating glory.

Oh, all right. And I suppose in the name of Objective Retelling, I _also_ might have resisted shoving him because...well...

"Hey." I gave him a little jostle. "James."

He kept his eyes stubbornly shut. "Hey, what?"

I nibbled softly at my lower lip. "I...I had fun. Today. I had a lot of fun today. I shouldn't have...I mean, I know–"

"You worry too much," James said, eyes finally lifting open. The bright irises had lost their hazy look, but they still made me want to shiver. "What did I tell you before, Infallible? Dates happen, the world spins. It's not quite the crisis situation you've been envisioning."

"It wasn't like that. I never thought it would be _bad_ , I just..." I huffed irritably, wishing I knew how to explain it without sounding like a complete headcase. James was already staring at me like a puzzle he couldn't figure out. It was damn frustrating. "Never mind. I just...wanted to tell you that. That I had fun. And you did, as well, right?"

James hummed a vague agreement. "Eh. Beats Muggle Studies."

                 I jabbed an elbow into his ribs and enjoyed the breathy laugh that it expelled. "Arse. I'm trying to be nice and you have to be all sarcastic. Really, it's a wonder we even made it here at all. Don't you have a detention to get to or something?"

                There was a brief but _noticeable_ pause before James went, "You must be kidding. You are a _thousand_ times more sarcastic than I could ever be–"

                "Oh, bloody _hell_." I sprung upward, resting my hands on either side of James's torso and looming over him in disapproval. "You _do_ have detention! What time? What time is it even _now_?"

                James sighed. "I thought we were napping? What happened to the napping?"

                Oh, for the _love_ of...

                I grabbed for James's wrist and jerked it upward, ignoring his blathering protests as I examined his watch with a dirty scowl. "What time's your detention?"

                "What time is it now?" he evaded.

                I stuck him with a dark look. "Don't make me knee you in the stomach."

                Clearly weighing the probability that I was kidding about such a threat (am I _ever_ kidding about violent threats?), James squinted at my face critically. I leaned harder on the limb in question. He grunted, then grudgingly answered, "Six. Tentatively."

                " _Six_?" Dear Merlin, this boy was going to be the death of me. "James, it's five- _thirty_!"

                "Excellent," he replied quickly, shaking my grip off his wrist and immediately using his newly freed limbs to jerk me back down on top of him. "Twenty-minute power nap. Go."

                "You haven't time for a nap," I snapped, wriggling like mad in his vice grip. "You have to change. And get something to eat. And it's probably best to show up a few minutes early–"

                James let out a strangled cry. "Early? For _detention_?"

                "Get up. _Now_."

                He bristled dramatically at the order, grumbling and complaining like a scolded child as he nonetheless heeded my dictates (and none-too-subtle prodding) and slowly began to unfurl himself from the couch.

                " _I'm such a shit Head Girl_ ," he was mocking as he rose, using a voice I'm assuming was supposed to resemble me. " _Anyone would be better than me_. Pah! A bloody fucking _dictator_ , is what you are. Prefect to the _core_ –"

                I opened my mouth to give him the proper set-down he deserved...but the words died in my throat as James stood up and moved into the firelight.

                The gasp came instantly.

                "James. Bloody _hell_ –"

                His head swung around. "What? You _are_."

                "No, not _that_ , you clodpole!" I leapt immediately to my feet, waving off his stupid insistences. "Your _back,_ James. What the bloody hell did you do to your back?"

                The moment I said the words, the body part in question went rigid as James's shoulders tensed and he instantly whipped around. The movement was too little too late, though. I’d already seen the damage–and honestly, that's all I can really think to call it. Damage. Like, _wound_ damage. An honest-to-God, actual wound. Running in a thick, brutal brushstroke from just below his left shoulder down and across to his right, an angry, reddened welt pulled and distorted his skin. It looked like some sort of burn, though I'm not exactly a professional medic and it wasn't as if James gave me much time to examine it. Whatever it was, it looked painful. Painful and severe. But perhaps the strangest part about it was that just below it, running right alongside the bottom curve of the injury, a brief line of black, curvy words was inked into his skin.

 

_En tout_...something, something, something. 

                It was in French and he turned too quickly for me to catch any more.

                I grabbed his arm and tried to jerk him back around. "When did you get that? _How_ did you get that? And is that a _tattoo_?"

                "Why do you always have to fling my clothes so far away?" he grumbled, completely ignoring my questions as he wrenched out of my grasp and strode to the other side of the room where his jumper and t-shirt lay in haphazard heaps. "I always leave yours in a nice little pile right there. Consideration, that's what–"

                "James." I stalked after him instantly. " _James_ –"

                "I'm just saying, you could be a bit less enthusiastic in divesting my clothing. It's only polite." He grabbed the jumper and t-shirt off the floor, still refusing to meet my gaze. I stopped him before he could toss the layers back on, seizing the t-shirt from his hands and quickly pulling it over my own head. James finally glanced at me, but only to stare at my new ensemble. I didn't care. This was not the sort of conversation I wanted to be having in Madam Dumont's best and my shirt was too damn far away.

                When he saw my expectant scowl, James's expression turned exasperated.

                "Bloody hell. You're going to make a big deal about this, aren't you? It's just like a witch to fall to pieces over a little scrape."

                "When did you do that?" I demanded, ignoring his stupid, sexist gibes and petty male belittling of his own vulnerabilities. He wasn't going to distract me. "What happened?"

                His lips slipped into a frown. "Nothing. A stupid accident last year. It's not a big deal. You didn't notice it before?"

                I really wanted to hit him.

                "Oh, sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "Ages ago. I just thought _this_ the opportune moment to bring it up!" I gave his arm a scolding whack. "Of _course_ I didn't notice before, you berk! When last year? Is it a burn? It looks like a burn. Not like mine, but still...though perhaps it's a–"

                "You're hurting my head," James complained, and lifted a hand to the body part in question to give his temples a quick rub. "I told you, it's nothing. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and things got a bit hot. Besides, scars give you character. Stop insulting my character."

                "I'm not insulting your character. I'm concerned. Isn't that what dates are supposed to be? Concerned? Aren't they supposed to care?"

                "I think I've another injury sprouting up just here," James replied, tapping at the corner of his mouth. "Much more worthy of your concern. Care away."

                I shot him a dirty look, but James just laughed, dropping his hand back down to his side and then lifting his jumper up with a questioning eyebrow. I grudgingly gave him a wave of permission, knowing that I wasn't going to be allowed to extensively examine the injury as the doctor's daughter in me wanted to anyway, so there was very little point (other than purely aesthetic, of course) in keeping him out of his clothes. As he threaded his arms through the sleeves and pulled the jumper over his head, I watched him carefully through narrowed eyes, baffled by the many mysteries that constantly seemed to surround the boy like a blasted aura. Disastrous 6th-years, horrid injuries, tattoos...what was next? A long lost sibling? Witness protection? A few unexplainable youthful murders?

                "And the tattoo?" I asked once he was clothed again, thinking to solve at least _one_ James Mystery before the blighter undoubtedly unleashed seven more on me. "It _is_ a tattoo, isn't it? What does it say?"

                Contrary to expectations, James actually _did_ answer my question immediately. Of course, seeing as he answered in _French_ , I don't suppose it was anything to throw a party over.

                Useless, thy name is James Potter. No cake for you.

                "Thank you," I deadpanned. "That was _supremely_ helpful."

                "It means, 'Lily Evans talks too much. And should also go out with me,'" he supplied, predictably with a smirk.

                Oh, what a laugh he is. Please, hold me while I curl over in uncontrollable _mirth_.

                "I bet it says, 'I am a giant arse with more smirks than sense. Bow down to me.'"

                "Sounds a speck too long for my tastes," James answered, tossing in a grin. "Though that 'bow down' bit has potential."

                I'd walked straight into that one, but knowing it didn't make me feel any better. Unfortunately, it became increasingly obvious that smarting over aptly-timed banter wasn't going to be the only slight James would be serving me as he simply continued to grin with no move to do or say anything further. I suddenly wished for entirely un-aesthetic reasons that I hadn't told him he could don his shirt again. It seemed I'd thrown away the only chance I'd had of getting even the smallest James Mystery solved.

                I stared at him with an increasingly skeptical frown. "You're not going to tell me what it says, are you?"

                He immediately shook his head. "Can't. I'm saving it."

                "For what? A rainy day?"

                "For date number two." Good lord, and there went that smirk again. "You know. Getting to Know You _More_. I've got to save _some_ of my secrets, Evans."

                I'm sorry...there were secrets he _wasn't_ saving?

                "You seem awfully confident about this second date thing," I muttered, trying to swallow down the angry calls of my slighted meddling pride with a subject change. I walked slowly towards the couch and gingerly took a seat. "You _do_ know what they say about assuming, don't you?"

                "That if someone doesn't assume the lead, you'll be walking round in circles forever," James replied pointedly. Which...oh, _whatever_. "Now where did you chuck my scarf?" he asked.

                Hold on, there.

 

_His_ , what?

                "It's by the door with the shopping bags," I answered quickly, nodding towards the pile. "But don't touch it. It was just on loan to you. You can't _keep_ it."

                James stopped walking and shot me a look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Can't keep _my_ scarf?"

                Pah. Yours, mine...whatever happened to world peace?

                "Yes. So leave it," I ordered, making certain to use a tone that left no room for argument. James only continued to stare as if I'd finally gone up the bend, but if he actually thought he was taking that scarf with him when he left, _I_ was not the mad one here.

                Honestly, some people have _some_ nerve.

                "Here," I said, bending down to grab one of his trainers, which I then proceeded to lob in his direction (well, his _general_ direction, anyway. These things are mostly about vicinity, anyway). It landed a reasonable distance from his socked feet. "You can keep those."

                I stretched for the second shoe and lobbed that one at him, as well. James not-so-subtly raised his eyes towards the ceiling and muttered some not-so-friendly things about kleptomania and the audacity of some people, but I wisely chose to ignore him. I watched silently as he shuffled towards the trainers and quickly slipped his toes in, not even bothering to do up the laces. They trailed behind him as he ambled back towards the couch and plopped himself down on the cushions next to me. He hadn't been sitting there for more than a few seconds when he abruptly bent down to swipe up the Slag Boots from the floor.

                Uh-oh.

                "James!" I yelped.

                "Oh, cool your cauldron, would you?" He rolled his eyes again, but it certainly wasn't much of a comfort to be watching him refrain from using his slightly-more-accurate-than-mine lobbing skills to start a Boot Burning only to have him reaching into his back pocket to slip out his wand.

                Oh, hell. He _would_ know a burning spell. Probably even several of them.

                But a moment later, the Slag Boots had not gone up in a fantastic display of mutinous flames. Instead, with one simple flick of his wand (show off), the devilish footwear was suddenly replaced by a pair of black, plush wonderful bed slippers.

                Oh.

                Ah.

                Hm.

                I slowly took the shoes from him.

                "You still have to go to detention," I started firmly, bending down to place my new lovely slippers on the floor before leisurely sitting up again. "But I _suppose_ I'm going to have to snog you a little more before you leave."

                James couldn't even get the full chuckle out before I was already clambering all over him.

                And truly? I am not ashamed. A witch needs to do what a witch needs to do.

                In the end (you know, of the _doing_ ), I was all but shoving him out of the room as the clock struck 5:56 and James was bordering dangerously on Being Late territory. He had his t-shirt back, I had reclaimed his scarf, and no one was particularly unhappy–though the troublemaker in question _did_ continue to take his sweet time in dragging his feet on his way to the door.

                "Go," I ordered, jabbing him none-too-gently right where I imagine his stupid tattoo (which I _still_ didn't understand) might reside, hoping it hurt. "James–no, stop that– _go_!"

                "You're a rotten date," he grumbled, but the way he was still very much trying to grope me as I pushed at him seemed to suggest otherwise. "Look how nice that couch looks. Don't you want to go back on the couch?"

                "No." _Yes_. "Move it!" _Please don't try anything because I'm far more slaggy than I am responsible._

                "Infallible–"

                "No one is going to buy the cow if you give the milk for _free_ , James."

                And really, what more is there to say after that?

                James obviously couldn't think of anything, but that might have simply been because he was too busy grinning to give it proper thought. He became easier to shove, in any case, so I took advantage of the moment of weakness to get him to the door, even if he still insisted on dawdling as I reached for the doorknob.

                "You don't want me to go," he said, speaking the truth, even if I didn't want to hear it.

                Somehow, I remained resolutely stubborn. "What I don't _want_ is you in detention for another week. And you don't want that, either. So go."

                I'm not sure if it was the reminder of the consequences of his skiving or the simple fact that I had already managed to shuffle him halfway out the door and there was little chance of shuffling back, but for whatever reason, he finally seemed willing to give in to the inevitable. It was pure dumb luck (or a slight return of bad karma) that at the very moment when he seemed willing to give in, _I_ suddenly realised what was happening.

                Our lunch was ending.

                Our _date_ was ending.

                My very first date with James Potter was coming to a close.

                I grabbed hold of his wrist before he could get any further out the door.

                "Wait!" I cried, the word coming out more sharply than I'd intended. James's eyes narrowed in curiosity, but he immediately stopped where he stood. I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the ball of panic that suddenly seemed to be stuck there. "Just...wait. For a second."

                It was with quite a bit of relief that I watched James nod and then turn towards me, the scant remaining sensible side of my brain actually able to acknowledge that there wasn't really a chance that he'd have done anything _but_ stay, though that hardly seemed to matter as I wasn't feeling particularly sensible just then. I hadn't the faintest why everything suddenly seemed to come rushing down on me just then–all of my stress from this morning, the relief afterwards, all the various ups-and-downs of the day–but there it was–there _he_ was–and I suddenly found myself desperate for something. I just didn't know what that _was_.

                Fortunately, I didn't need to have the answer.

                It's times like these when I find myself reconsidering my desperate desire to trade in my traitor-of-a-mouth. Because on the rare occasion, the damn nuisance _does_ somehow manage to get things right

                "C'mere," is what it told James then, and even sent a useful message to my hand to tighten its hold on his wrist and gently start pulling him forward.

                Recognition lit up James’s eyes into a bright hazel just before his lips stretched into a slow grin.

                "Go where?" he played along, though already he was breaking script by shuffling towards me–something I _certainly_ hadn’t done that night in the stairwell. "I'm standing right in front of–"

                It was appallingly easy to jerk him forward and fit my mouth against his.

                It was breaking-away part that proved a bit difficult

                "All right. Now you _really_ have to go." I wrenched my mouth from his and accompanied the desperate claim with a push that could only be described as lacklustre at best. Fortunately, I got more forceful the longer I blabbered. "But I had fun. And you had fun. And now we're both going–well, _you're_ going. I'm staying here. But we're both _separating_ –you know, literally, not metaphorically. I mean–Merlin, will you quit _laughing_ at me? _Go_!"

                Predictably, James did not quit laughing. In fact, I think he got louder.

                Tosser.

                "Oh, shut it, will you?" I scowled darkly, but at least his unremitting chuckling made him easier to shove. I was none-too-gentle in my manoeuvrings of his person. I had finally cleared him from the doorway and into the corridor. "You know what? I no longer care if you have detention for another week. It's no concern of mine."

                "Liar," James shot back, grinning like the damn bloody prat he is. "You're _aching_ for me to bring up date number two again. Go on. Just try to deny it."

                Oh, the arrogant _fool_.

                Well, we'd just see who had the last laugh, wouldn't we?

                I took a small, but significant step backwards.

                "Potentially-considering-boyfriend."

                James immediately stopped laughing.

                "Who–what?" His voice went noticeably lower.

                I retreated another step, trying to hold back my smirk. "Your new hyphenation. That's what it is. Potentially-considering-boyfriend."

                "That's–oh." He cleared his throat as his hand went straight for his hair. He began to look a bit jittery. His feet jostled, his eyes blinked incessantly, and he was acting quite as if someone had just replaced his blood with shots of espresso and he didn't quite know how to handle it. He stepped forward. I stepped back. His eyes never left mine, but I refused to squirm. "So.. _._ ah, how does one go about getting rid of the 'potentially-considering' bit, then?" he asked.

                It took only a moment–and a quick grab for the side of the door–for me to answer.

                "One quits being an arse and goes to detention."

                Then I slammed the door in his face.

                And that, dear felines and assorted progeny, is how my very first date with James Potter came to an end.

                Yes, that's right. An end.

                It was over.

                It _is_ over.

                And in the name of Objective Retelling...well...

                Well, _what_? Honestly. What is there to say? I mean, there are _words_ –Relieved. Happy. Girlish. Calcium-overloaded. Anxious. Excited. Uncertain–but none of them even come close to describing the reality of it. I’ve tried to be as Objective as possible, but even _that_ was more a simple feat of rhetoric than a tool in helping me process all of this. I’m not sure anything can. Not then, and not now. It’s just all...well, a lot.

                I just...I just feel like there’s this _balloon_ lodged in my chest or something, you know? Like it’s there and it just keeps filling up and it’s sort of fun but also sort of frightening and it just keeps getting _bigger_ and _bigger_ and I don’t know what to do about it or how to stop it or even if I _want_ to stop it...

                But for the first time, I don’t think the not-knowing frightens me. It honestly, Objectively doesn’t.

                Which, you know, is new.

                Rather nice, too, actually.

                Especially for a balloon expanding inside your chest and all.

                 Because James is...he’s...

                You know what? No. No, I’m not even going to try to put some kind of label on him right now. He’s just James– _my_ James–and that’s all I’m going to leave it at.

                And even though Grace has started throwing things against my closed bed curtains in a desperate attempt to get me out of my four-poster and into hers where she and Emma have been (im)patiently waiting for me to come along and share my tale since I finally arrived back in the dormitory an hour or so ago, I’m not going to appease her just yet. Because out there, reality’s going to set in. Out there, Grace and Emma are going to coo and clap over my Getting to Know You game and my fudge rice and my new budding relationship with Madam Dumont...but they’re also going to want to know about the Carringtons. And about James’s mysterious injuries. And about why the bloody hell I just let these things go when I could’ve–perhaps _should’ve_ –found out more. And maybe I can solve that by not telling them about any of these things (which, honestly, I might very well do), but that doesn’t mean the problems just go _away_. Because also out there, Carrie Lloyd is still gazing curiously at the tattered tights I’d peeled off and left hanging haphazardly off my bed, wondering why they look so familiar. And out there, Saunders is probably still glaring at my bed curtains as fiercely as she was glaring at _me_ when I’d first arrived back, because somehow (though I don’t know _how_ ) she knows. I _know_ she knows. And I don’t want to think about how she knows or why she knows or even what it matters.

                Because right now, I just sort of want to be the witch who’s just come back from a _brilliant_ date with a _brilliant_ bloke and who gets to _revel_ in that brilliance for as long as it bloody well lasts.

                So that’s what I’m going to do.

                Sod it, karma. Pick your vacation days more wisely next time, because this witch is _not_ giving in to your nonsense. In fact–

                Oh, bloody _hell._

                How in the name of all that’s magical did that mad cow get hold of my slippers?

                _Merlin_ , Gracie. I’m coming. I’m _coming_!

**_________________________________**

**Latest, Still 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 43  
Total Observations: 297

 

 

_L–_

 

_Was stuck in the greenhouses again tonight. Saw these, thought of you._  
Clever of Sprout to be growing roses, isn’t it? And red ones, as well.  
I think this might be fate telling you something, Infallible.

 

_See you in the morning. Feel free to ask me out again then._

_Your potentially-considering-boyfriend,_ __  
J.  
 _P.S — Try placing a finger over the 'potentially-considering' bit._ __  
P.S.S — Looks good, doesn’t it?

 

**_________________________________**

**Wednesday, October 29th, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 297

 

 

Ugh.

                _Ughhhh._

                Damn you, karma. _Damn you_.

**_________________________________**

**Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 298

 

 

Observation #298) What goes up, must come down...both karmically _and_ medically.

                So, just in general, I reckon gorging yourself on your fudge rice as you primp and preen your red roses in the new vase your sympathetic mate kindly transfigured for you ( _really_ must revise chapter three!) right before you go to bed is _probably_ not the wisest of decisions. At least, not if you don’t want to be hanging over your toilet for a good fifteen minutes quite early the next morning.

                Bleh.

                Ugh.

                Seriously, karma? _Seriously_?

                I suppose I was actually a bit fortunate (yes, there’s a fortunate in here) in deciding to skip dinner last night in order to hole up inside of Grace’s bed, whispering into the early morning hours all the relevant details of my date (though I had, as previously considered, left out any and all potentially nefarious encounters and/or discoveries in order to protect all parties involved). If I hadn’t done, things might have been a bit uglier come toilet-hugging this morning. I suppose I should be grateful, but I’m sure it’s not so shocking to hear that I’m, you know, _not_.

                There was a brief moment in-between dry heaves wherein I considered going for yet another visit with my very best mate, Poppy Pomfrey...but something told me that the healer wouldn’t have been too pleased about the whole skipping-meals-and-then-staying-up-late-to-chat-blokes-with-mates thing. You know, considering the last time I saw her, she told me to do the exact _opposite_ of all that. So there really was no other option for me but to simply buck up that unwavering stubbornness that I’m sure landed me in Gryffindor in the first place, get dressed, pull it together, and make my way out of the dormitory feeling only slightly lightheaded, but determined not to show it.

                And quite impressively, that’s what I did.

                Not so all-powerful now, are you, karma?

                And if you can believe it, things really didn’t get too much worse after that. With my body conquered and under control, I quickly made my way down to breakfast, wishing I could stop the frantic beating of my heart as easily as I had the overwhelming urge to faint. But try as I might, the beating continued, growing stronger and stronger the closer I got to the Great Hall. Shockingly enough, it wasn’t even panicked beating that was pounding in my ears with every new step I took. I think I even surprised myself with how eager I was to get downstairs. How eager I was–

                Well, you know. To _see_ him.

                I love mornings after brilliant first dates. Even toilet-hugging brilliant mornings. Everything looks so _shiny_.

                I suppose it was fortunate that my mood and general outlook was still so naturally positive, because once I got downstairs, I really didn't have much time to prepare. I had just barely made it down the main staircase and into the Entrance Hall before I’d already spotted James leaning against the wall next to the Great Hall doors. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. I didn't even wonder what he was doing there. I just rushed ahead.

                “Good morning,”� I called, indulging myself in a bit of a smirk as James watched my happy approach with obvious surprise. I was suddenly very thankful that I had spent a good ten minutes rinsing my mouth out with the strongest mouthwash in the cupboard because I really don't think I would have been able to resist the urge to press my mouth to his in a hasty kiss just as soon as he was close enough.

                “Morning,”� he mumbled, and the poor thing really _did_ look torn between grinning like a loon and eyeing me all skeptically. The end result was a peculiar narrow-eyed lip twitch, but one had to give him points for blending emotions.

                “Were you waiting for me?”� I asked.

                “To accost you,”� James confessed, but the way he said it, I reckoned it wasn’t the kind of accosting that _I_ had on the mind. 

                I mirrored his narrow-eyed lip twitch. “A good accosting or a bad accosting?”� 

                James hesitated for a moment, long enough to give me my answer. My eyebrows flew upwards and my determinedly jovial mood found its first crack as I watched his eyes silently flicker back and forth over my face. For a split second, I let myself traverse the usual Lily path–the burst of panic flaring up inside my chest as my mind raced through all the worst and most troubling possibilities. But I must be growing or maturing or perhaps my morning sprawled out in the loo had simply zapped me with a bit of short-term humbling sensibility, because even my uncontrollably overactive imagination couldn’t quite swallow the idea that he may be here to chuck me or inform me of his disgust at my easy slaggish ways, or confess that in a fit of drunken abandon, he and Saunders had decided to rekindle their love and run off together to France or South America or perhaps just Cardiff.

                (I said I didn’t _believe_ them, not that I didn’t _think_ them.)

                I was just about to act on just such rare rational sensibilities, but James managed to move first. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed me by the shoulders and proceeded to steer me round until I was standing in the middle of the doorway facing the Great Hall.  My back was pressed up against his front and I could feel the heat of his body radiating onto mine.

                “Look at the end of the Hufflepuff table,”� he said, his breath warm against my ear. "To the left."

                The Hufflepuff table? What in the hell did the Hufflepuff–

                Oh.

                _Oh_.

                Aw.

                For once, I was quite glad not to be staring James in the face. If I had been, I’m not certain he would have been too appreciative of the way the smile crept automatically across my face and my cheeks flushed in victory at my first sight of the Hufflepuff table. Because, really, what else _could_ I be doing when my gaze flashed over to the left side of the table and I feasted my eyes upon the group of third-years sitting there? How was I _not_ supposed to grin with foolish pride as I spotted my beloved Thomas Dunn standing atop the bench, spoon-sword fighting with a gangly-looking Ravenclaw with a wicked wrist flick? And how was my heart _not_ supposed to sing with happy delight when I eventually zoned in on MJ–my darling, taciturn, _strange_ little MJ–sitting a bit to the right of the sparring partners, quietly watching the ongoing duel as he occasionally chatted with the same blonde boy I’d seen him with the other day?  How, I ask you? _How_?

                So no, I don’t think James would have liked my reaction at all. But that didn’t stop me from doing it.

                It was really just bloody sodding annoying that James had to go and try to _ruin_ it all by squeezing my shoulders with obvious censure before turning me round to face him again.

                “What,”� he asked crisply, “have you been _doing_ , Lily?”�

                It was such a stupid question–stupid, firstly, because of its entirely rhetorical nature. He _knew_ what I’d done–but mostly stupid in the pure idiocy of James’s outrage over the whole thing. I can’t say I was much surprised by it (actually, I was rather surprised he wasn’t being _more_ hostile about it, honestly), but that didn’t make it any better. And in the harsh morning light, when the haze and glory of the brilliant first date had slightly worn off and I could look back on yesterday with a _bit_ more clarity...well, let’s just say I was getting mighty sick of James and his bloody secrets. I reckon he might have taken my tensing shoulders as a sign of my impending panic over being caught at my game, but the sensation suddenly pulling my limbs tight was nothing more than pure, restrained temper.

                I _wanted_ to hit him. Really, I did. I wanted to borrow one of Darling Thomas’s sparring spoons and start thwacking until there wasn’t anything left to thwack. But unfortunately, the lingering remnants of my post-date high and the toilet-hugging rationality wouldn’t much allow that kind of abuse. _They_ wanted me to talk to him, the swotty buggers.

                I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, and stuck James with the lightest frown I could muster.

                “I thought you were through making him your charity case,”� he said.

                MJ wasn’t a _charity_ _case_! 

                “Don’t talk about him like that. And it was _you_ who said I should leave off, not me. I never made any such claim and you’ve never given me any kind of proper reasoning as to why I should! But can we _not”�_ –I shoved him back into the shadows of the doorway, pressing another quick kiss against his downturned mouth before he could argue–“row about this again, please? You and Marley are constantly ditching me for Quidditch and I have to talk to _someone_ while I eat my breakfast. Random third-years are practically the only option. I happened to introduce two of them. What's the big to-do? The apocalypse is not drawing near.”�

                James’s scowl was mutinous. “That’s not the _point_ –”�

                Merlin’s beard, whatever happened to snogging someone into submission?

                “Please, stop,”� I begged, curling my fingers around the collar of his shirt front and using it to pull his lips down to mine again. “Can’t we go one day without arguing? I’m happy right now–blissfully, ignorantly happy. Thank you for the roses last night. They were lovely–now can you just let me cling to my happy for a little while longer? _Please_?”�

                For the second time that morning, James looked decidedly torn. I know his better instincts were shouting at him to argue on, to try to get me to submit to his faulty views without the least bit of rational reasoning relayed, but equal parts of him seemed generally unwilling to see me unhappy–which was a good thing, I suppose. 

                In the end, that was the side that won out, but when he pushed his lips back against mine, it _was_ a bit more firmly than I’d been expecting.

                “I’m glad you’re happy,”� he told me, leaning his forehead against mine. “But please– _please_ , Lil–quit meddling. All right?”�

                Hmph.

                Didn’t he realise I could just as soon quit _breathing_?

                “I’ll try,”� was the concession I offered. And I _would_ try. I just didn’t know how successful I’d be.

                James features sighed in relief. The brush of his mouth became warmer, softer. 

                “Thank you,”� he said.

                I nodded jerkily, trying to ignore the slight flare of guilt in my stomach.

                But as we finally made our way inside to join Marley at our usual spot...I mean, should I _really_ be feeling guilty about this? How could I just quit when my meddling garnered such brilliant results? _Why_ should I? I mean, just look at MJ! Even now, he’s looking almost entirely like a normal young wizard, sitting with his mates at breakfast. I reckon he’s really bonded with that blonde one. They keep ducking their heads together all conspiringly. Can you imagine it? A real friend! An actual, _real_ friend!

                Oh, the _possibilities_!

                I reckon that James thinks I keep gazing over there with much troubling conscience, wondering how I could ever be so foolish as to go against his wise dictates–at least, that’s what his lack of barbs and slightly sympathetic looks seem to be telling me. But he’ll see it all my way eventually. I know he will.

                And in the meantime...well, sometimes a girl has got to be glad to have milk on the table, doesn’t she?

**_________________________________**

**Later Later, Still at Breakfast**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 298

 

 

 

Please, can anyone tell me– _why_ haven’t I killed Grace Reynolds yet?

                “Lily can do it,”� the should-be victim herself just announced to the table, which, yes, sounds harmless enough taken out of context, but that’s one of Grace’s greatest powers–spouting things off out of context and having it be too late once you realise what she’s _actually_ talking about. And seeing as I was too busy trying to con Emma into taking an extra Charms lesson with Flitwick with me to be listening to the general hubbub going on around us, I easily fell into the trap.

                “Lily can do what?”� I asked, thinking to hear something along the lines of, “a stellar backhanded Disarming Spell”� or perhaps even, “an uncannily good impression of Binns discussing the Elvin Rebellion of 1399.”�

                But no, it wasn’t either of those things. Of _course_ it wasn’t.

                “Keep time for speed trials tomorrow,”� was the answer I _did_ get, which made absolutely no sense to me until Grace turned back to the rest of the motley crew, took a casual sip of her pumpkin juice and went, “She’s coming to practice tomorrow.”�

                Say _what_?

                “I’m _what_?”�

                “She’s what?”� James echoed.

                Grace just kept sipping at her drink as she turned her eyes on me and made it seem as if _I_ was the mad one. “You said you were coming,”� she blatantly lied, and only I could see the evil glint in her eyes that gave her whole game away. “The other morning in History. Don’t you remember?”�

                Dead.

                She’s _dead_.

                “I did _not_!”� I cried shrilly at the exact same moment that James grabbed my arm in a tight grip and went, “You’re coming to practice?”�

                Oh, buggering _hell_. He looked so _ecstatic._

                “I can’t,”� I said quickly, desperately. “I’m a spy for Ravenclaw. I’ll leak all of your top secret information!”�

                “Does she even _know_ enough to leak information?”� Sirius asked.

                “She’s done it before, actually,”� James defended. “Planted false information to Hufflepuff.”�

                It was the first time I was _not_ pleased to have impressed Sirius.

                Damn, damn, damn, _damn_.

                “I am not going to practice,”� I tried again, with more authority this time.

                No one listened.

                “I think Sophie’s boyfriend’s coming, as well,”� Marley said. “He can help, too.”�

                “The pitch gets a bit nippy in the morning,”� was James’s addendum. “You can wear my robes.”�

                “We’re not getting anything done tomorrow,”� Chris Lynch sighed.

                And that’s how it went, on and on for the next ten minutes.

                And the thing is, I _tried_ to tell them I wasn’t going–tried to tell them _thirty times_ –but it was like talking to a bunch of mannequins, for all that my insistences got through. They just kept going on and on–James offering me more of his Quidditch gear, Marley saying that she could introduce me to Sophie Cleese’s boyfriend, Sirius pondering quite loudly about whatever happened to the ‘no spectators’ rule James had been trying so hard to institute?

                And all the while, Grace just sat there, basking smugly in her victory.

                How long in Azkaban do you get for murder, again?

                Whatever. It’d be worth it.

**_________________________________**

**Later, Herbology**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 298

 

                Emma says it’s just not right to keep changing Grace’s skin puke-coloured, but I say that’s just what she _is_.  Vomit-flavoured. Like a Bertie Botts.

**_________________________________**

**Bit Later, Still Herbology**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 298

 

                Though now that I’m thinking on it...that colour really isn’t doing much for my already ailing constitution.

                _Ugh_.

                Purple will have to do.

**_________________________________**

**Later Even, Charms**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 299

 

 

 

Honestly, I have lost all respect for that girl. What a bloody tattletale.

                Though was she honestly expecting Flitwick to do anything more than say, “Miss Evans, your Charming talents might best be utilised on targets other than your fellow students, if you’d be so inclined”�? As if she could ever break Filius and me up. We’re _like this_.

                And so what if she still has entirely purple breasts? I’d _like_ to see how she goes about proving that to anyone. Just go on. _Try_.

**_________________________________**

**Later, History**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 299

 

                Speaking of people who deserve purple breasts...

                Seriously, Saunders? _Seriously_?

                Doesn’t she have anything better to do than just glare at me contemptuously all the time? I mean, for Merlin’s sake, James barely had his _arm_ around me. It was there for like a _second_. It’s not as if we were bloody standing there _pawing_ each other in front of her–though even if we _were_ , that would be entirely _our_ issue, not hers. What’s it to her? He’s _my_ potentially-considering-boyfriend, thank you very much, _not_ hers. I can hang off him or have him hanging off me any which way we please!

                Psh. I bet this isn’t even _about_ today. This is about yesterday. I _know_ she knows where we went yesterday. I _know_ she knows what we were doing. I bet she had her sodding ears straining to hear every bloody word I said to Grace and Emma last night, even if we put up a Silencing Charm  solely for just such reasons. I bet it just _kills_ her to know that James and I have an actual relationship, not some sad, sick attachment born out of mutual misery and drowned away by gallons of scotch and firewhiskey. But that’s just _too damn bad for her._

                As a matter of fact, she can get–

                _Wait a second_.

                Did she just...

                Oh, she has _really_ got to be kidding me.

**_________________________________**

**Seconds, Still History**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 299

 

 

 

_Pay attention. —LE_

 

**Sorry? — JP**

 

_Quit passing notes and pay attention. For Merlin’s sake, James, you’re Head Boy. And this is history. There’s something inordinately vital about learning from other people’s mistakes–or even your own. History is important._

                **Are you kidding?**

 

_Does it sound as if I’m kidding?_

                **Lily.**

 

_What?_

                **You’re passing me notes.**

 

_Yes, but I’m going to stop once you stop._

 

**Look, Infallible–the jealousy thing? Totally keen on it. Really, I am. Very encouraging. But also very unnecessary. And you know that.**

 

_If you think I’m asking you out again, you’re mad._

                **Pay attention, Lily. History’s important _._**

 

**_________________________________**

**Later, History**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 299

 

 

 

_Dear Mum,_

 

_Thank you for the generally unhelpful information regarding your fishing woes. You are clearly a very loving and devoted wife. I have heard the tales of Hettie Clark and Bitsy Simon and understand your pain. Please do not let Dad con you into inviting them round for dinner over winter hols again. There are more humane ways of torturing your daughter._

 

_Speaking of Dad, I really think it would be best if you left the diagnosing to him. Your medical knowledge is clearly a bit rusty. Send my love to the true doctor, if you please._

 

_Things here are well. I woke up feeling a bit off this morning, but I reckon that’ll sort itself out. Have a Prefect’s meeting to organise for tomorrow and a huge exam Monday that I’m not nearly prepared enough for, but I'm sure they'll be all right, too. Or I can hope, anyway._

 

_Went to lunch with James yesterday. It was rather lovely. Do you remember the day Tunie brought Vernon home for tea for the first time? He wouldn’t quit talking about drills and you’d got that clotted cream from Harrod’s and Vernon lapped it all up and we both thought Dad was going to cry? Well, James knows about things other than oil machinery. And while I’m sure he could devour an entire jar of clotted cream if he put his mind to it, I reckon he’s more inclined to share. Just so you know._

 

_Love you and miss you,_

 

_Lily_

 

_P.S. — Dad never had any irritating ex-girlfriends hanging about, did he?_

 

**_________________________________**

**Later Later, Transfiguration**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 300

 

 

 

Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit, _shit._

                What the bleeding _hell_ is wrong with me? Honestly, what is it? What the sodding _fucking_ hell did I think I was going to gain here? Have I _ever_ been happy knowing things that he doesn’t want me to know? Is eavesdropping _ever_ the best option? You’d think I’d bloody well _learn_ from my mistakes instead of being stupid enough to repeat them time and time again. I swear to Merlin, every time I think I’m miraculously maturing, that I’m finally amazingly catching on to this whole ‘young adult’ bit, I go and do something like _this_ and the whole bloody thing’s a ruddy cock-up.

                _Why_ , karma? Honestly, _why_?

                Hell. Double bloody fucking _hell_. What am I supposed to do now? How can I just...how can I even...

                I shouldn’t have stayed.

                I really, _really_ shouldn’t have stayed.

                Better yet, I shouldn’t have even gone up to the Owlery in the first place. Why the bleeding hell did I go up?

                Well, I mean, I _know_ why I went up–I needed to post my letter to Mum, and when I dashed up to the dorm before lunch to send Winnie off, my darling pet’s cage was noticeably empty. I knew that meant she must be making her occasional visit to the Owlery to reaffirm her social status as Best Owl Ever, proving once more to the other birds that she is the savviest of them all, but her social schedule was a touch inconvenient for me. I reckon I could have waited until after lessons in the hope that Winnie might’ve finished flaunting her superiority by then, but a quick trip to the Owlery actually didn’t seem like such a heinous option. The walk might do me some good.

                Because the thing is... look, I know it’s stupid, all right? I know that I shouldn’t let it get to me and that to do so only gives her power and that after yesterday, I should be feeling _highly_ _confident_ in my position as potentially-considering-girlfriend...but I can’t _help_ it. It’s as if she just _knows_ how to drive me absolutely spare. And truthfully, I _don’t_ know that all my worrying is unnecessary. I don’t know it and I don’t like it and I like it even _less_ when James insists on telling me that I _should_ know it because if I _did_ actually have something to worry about, would I really be trusting _him_ to warn me off?

                I mean, not that I think he would...well, not _really_ , anyway. But is it honestly so outrageous for me _not_ to be enthralled with the fact that he’s still unfailingly loyal to his ex-girlfriend, who–oh yes, that’s right–probably wouldn’t have too much of a qualm about drowning me in the Great Lake?

                And it’s not as if I feel like I have any right to dictate who his mates are or how he handles his past relationships or anything like that. Actually, his loyalty to everyone he cares about is probably one of the things I like best about him, and Merlin knows he’s never denied such things from _me_. But how am I supposed to resign myself to the fact that Elisabeth Saunders is here to stay? I hate it. I hate _her_. I hate it, I hate her, and I don’t imagine any of that has ever been made as clear as it has been now.

                But I’m getting ahead of myself. I have to tell this right. I only hated her _mildly_ as I was walking to the Owlery. It wasn't until later that everything...well, you'll see.

                Truthfully, I was probably right about the trip up. It gave me a few moments to be alone, away from the fact that despite my really-not-as-facetious-as-he-obviously-took-them-to-be wishes, James still continued to pass notes with Saunders throughout most of History. Not to mention Grace’s well-meaning but _really_ not-helping-as-much-as-she-thought-they-were, “We can push her down the stairs and make it look like an accident, Lil. Really, we could”� threats. Because the truth of it was, I was still feeling a bit like utter shite, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do about Saunders, and the more I thought about it, the more shite I felt like–physically _and_ emotionally. It was a rather colossal mess.

                My head was cleared slightly by the time I’d reached the Owlery, though. I spotted Winnie almost immediately, holding court high up on one of the rafters. I didn’t really have any answers, but I had a plan–one that included taking all of the Transfiguration books and notes I’d gathered in my dorm and heading straight to the library after lessons, determined to bury myself in some much-needed revisions as an attempt to control _some_ wayward part of my life–and that was comforting. I didn’t think it significant that while I had stowed away all of the aforementioned Transfiguration materials in my bag, _Keep Your Guard_ was the book I chose to carry in-hand. 

                I mean, there was still _lunch_ to get through, wasn’t there? No one said I couldn’t have a bit of fun before the Transfiguration Trials begun.

                I made sure to put Mr George Abbott’s book in as clean a spot as the Owlery offered on one of the window ledges before signalling Winnie down from her fawning session. She fortunately didn’t look too displeased by this (she undoubtedly thought it only beneficial to her high rank that her owner had to come fetch _her_ , not the other way around) and put up no fight as I handed over my note to Mum and requested that she please deliver it to Surrey as soon as her schedule allowed. Winnie gave a dignified flounce, a little, “Hm. I _suppose_ I could fit you in between my morning chat session and my afternoon treat,”� then gave the whole Owlery a bit of a show before soaring out the high windows and away from sight.

                Hmph. How someone with an inferiority complex ended up with a pet with such a _superiority_ complex is beyond me. I really ought to take a few cues from my owl.

                With nothing left to keep me, I promptly left the Owlery and was still seriously considering this dilemma (and how one might impersonate Winnie’s haughty-but-still- _highly_ -relatable beak lift) when I realised halfway down to the Great Hall that I had accidentally left Mr Abbott on his window perch back upstairs.

                Shit.

                (Er, literally. Ack.)

                The Owlery was _so_ far...but I couldn’t just _leave_ him there. It was Mr Abbott. We were _kindred_. And I needed something to read during lunch.

                So even though it was a damn pain in the arse and I was already missing lunch and my stomach was grumbling and Pomfrey was going to have my head because I couldn’t seem to follow even her simplest of dictates for creating a more healthy lifestyle, I turned about and went off to save Mr Abbott from becoming the next impromptu target for Owl Droppings Bonanza ‘77. It really was the only option.

                Thinking on it now, I really haven’t the faintest why I didn’t just go barging straight back in there like a woman on a mission. I mean, I _was_ a woman on a mission. So why was I dawdling? Why had my ears perked up and my feet slowed as I reached the door? I truly, honestly don’t know. And in retrospect, I’m not certain I’m grateful for it, either. But what happened, happened, and all I know is that as I slowly approached the entrance to the Owlery, thinking only to save Mr Abbott from his unfortunate peril, the sudden sound of voices filtering through the small crack left from the only partially closed Owlery door caused me to stop before I entered.

                “–completely ridiculous.  I can’t believe you went with her. I _can’t_.”�

                “We've talked this conversation dead already, Lizzie. I’m not doing it again.”�

                Lizzie.

                _Lizzie_.

                Oh, dear _God_.

                “That was _our_ thing, James,”� Saunders was saying, and though I couldn’t see her through the pathetic crack between the door and the doorframe, I _knew_ she was in an angry sulk. The petulance rang out in her voice. “It _is_ our thing.”�

                “You can’t _claim_ lunch, Liz,”� came James’s dry reply. “You’re being ridiculous.”�

                While I still couldn’t see Saunders, James had moved to lean against a window ledge as he shot back his reply–the single window ledge visible with my limited vantage point and, ironically enough, the very same window ledge that _Keep Your Guard_ lay innocently atop. As James’s hip practically touched the side of the book, I stifled my gasp and lunged back into the shadow of the doorway.

                Shit.

                _Shit_.

                WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo _whatdoIdo_?

                “How long after she found out we went to lunch did she demand you do the same with her?”� Saunders demanded next. “Three seconds? Four?”�

                “Does it matter?”� James sounded tired, like he’d heard this a thousand times. I was starting to realise that he probably had done. My stomach tightened unpleasantly, but my body remained frozen. “I told you in the Broomsticks what was going on, Lizzie. Quit acting as if I blindsided you with it. It's not–”�

                 “But _her_ , James? Why does it have to be _her_?”�

                The thought was so close to my own feelings on the topic, so similar to the things I had just moments ago been thinking, I almost recoiled from the slap of it. It was also the slap I needed to pull me out of my daze and snap me back into reality. I shouldn’t be here. I _so_ shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be listening to this and I _knew_ that. Even then, standing plastered against the stone wall, too afraid to even peek through the crack again in the off chance that I’d be found out, I knew I should have left. This was not a conversation I was supposed to be hearing. This was not my business. But my damn feet refused to move and even worse, my ears strained to hear the rest of the conversation. My better sense was screaming to turn around and walk away _right now_ , but the conniving part of me I couldn’t deny was sick of meeting brick walls where I wanted open paths and saw the potential shortcut being dangled like the proverbial apple.

                And _stupid_ , stupid me, I took it.

                “This was never going to be easy, Lizzie,”� James said next, his voice quiet, but still echoing in the hollow tower. “Do you think I was keen on seeing you hanging off Graham Vaughn last term? Of course not. But we decided last March that we wouldn't let that keep us from being friends. This is the way these things happen.”�

                Saunders’s scoff was loathing. “Oh, come _off_ it, James. That thing with Graham was nothing. You weren’t the least bit bothered and you know it. This is...it’s...”�

                “Different. I know.”� The words should have been comforting, but unsurprisingly weren’t. My heart thudded painfully as James let out a long sigh. “But Liz...look, I’ve told you before... _we’re_ not...I can’t...”�

                “I _know_ what you said!”� Saunders’s voice was sharp as a whiplash. She sounded furious and I had to bite back a wince of my own. If I hadn't been me, I might have almost felt bad for her. “I’m sorry I’m finding it a bit more difficult to just disregard my feelings for you as easily and entirely as you've yours for me. I’m sorry I actually _care_.”�

                “That’s _not_ –”�

                “Isn’t it?”�

                I couldn’t decide who was feeling more awkward at that moment when silence suddenly filled the Owlery–James, who couldn’t seem to find an answer; Saunders, whose furious breathing could be heard even through the small crack in the door; or me, who shouldn’t have been hearing all of this, but was. I suppose I could be taken out of the running considering most of me might have felt a bit like cheering. I don’t like admitting it, but despite James’s many assurances otherwise, I suppose part of me had always thought that he wasn’t exactly being entirely truthfully when he said that he told Saunders there was nothing left between them. But there he was, more or less telling her that very thing. My heart would have sunk in relief if it wasn’t already too busy pounding its way out of my chest.

                When James responded nearly as sharply has Saunders had done, it pounded even harder.

                “If I didn’t care, do you really think I’d _be_ here right now, Liz? Don’t you think it’d be a damn sight easier to just tell you to shove off and be done with it? But I haven’t done. And I don’t intend to. But for fuck’s sake, _don’t_ make me choose.”�

                “Why? Because you’d choose her?”�

                _OhGodPleaseSayYesPleaseSayYesPleaseSayYes._

                I couldn’t help it then–I _had_ to peek inside. It wasn't even an option anymore. I held my breath and leaned into the doorway ever-so-slightly, spotting James almost immediately standing just where he had been originally with _Keep Your Guard_ still resting at his back. His hand was in his hair, though, and he looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be snapping back at her again or hanging his head in defeat. When he did finally glance up, his mouth pressed into a grim line. I hadn't seen him look so affected since our meeting with the Carringtons.

                “I’m not picking anyone, Liz. But this has got to _stop_.”� His face grew sterner, tenser. “I can’t force the two of you to get on, but you have to quit going after her–no, don’t shake your head at me. Do you think I’m stupid? I know Lily and I know you. That girl doesn’t have an antagonistic bone in her body–she’s all defensive attacks. I’m not saying they can’t be lethal, but are you honestly telling me that she starts most of it? I thought not,”� he added after a moment, at what I’m assuming was Saunders’s continued seditious silence. I didn’t know whether to feel pleased or a little bit offended. I have antagonistic bones! I _do_! But I didn’t have too much time to consider it before James was already speaking again.

                “I’ve told you...I’m not playing at this, Liz.”� I had to move closer and strain my ears to hear him. Even then, the words were faint. “I want...fuck, I don’t _know_ what I want. But whatever comes of it, I’d really appreciate you not making it more difficult than it already is.”�

                “But that’s just it, isn’t it?”� Saunders replied stiffly, defensively. “These things shouldn’t _be_ that difficult, James. You’re letting her run you in circles, and for what? It shouldn’t _be_ that hard. Was it ever that hard with us?”�

                James let out a light snort, but the question had him cracking his first smile. “I think things were _too_ easy with us, Liz. That was part of the problem.”�

                Silence filled the Owlery then, and as I watched James casually tuck his hands into his trouser pockets and assiduously gaze down at the tips of his school shoes, I realised that this could be it–I could leave now. Already the things I was hearing were causing my stomach to roll distastefully, threatening a return to my early morning loo activities, and nothing particularly awful had even been said. I didn’t know if the conversation was over or if they’d stay cooped up in there for ages more talking about all the ways their relationship went wrong or didn’t go wrong or what-have-you, but I knew that I couldn’t take much more. I needed to cut my losses and get out of there before they found me out or–possibly worse–didn’t, and I was stuck hearing something I didn’t want to. A meddler does what a meddler does, but that doesn’t mean she can’t use a bit of common sense when the occasion calls for it. Mr Abbott was going to have to survive the afternoon alone. I needed to leave. _Immediately_.

                And honestly, if James hadn’t gone and said what he did just then, I truly think I might have done.

                “We saw the Carringtons in Hogsmeade yesterday.”�

                I froze.

                Bloody fucking _hell_.

                “You what?”� I couldn’t decide then what precisely had caused my feet to immediately glue to my spot–James’s initial question or the utter panic that suddenly filled Saunders’s voice when she replied. “You _what_?”�

                “Corrine and Cal found us in the Broomsticks–Lily and me,”� James explained, though I don’t think that had ever been in question. He absently scuffed his shoes against the straw floor, leaving a moment’s pause in the conversation before glancing up again and assuring her, “Don’t worry. She doesn’t know anything about it. Corinne didn’t mention it and I haven’t told her, either. I promised you I wouldn’t.”�

                “ _Merlin_ , James,”� Saunders breathed, and her voice was practically cracking with relief. “Couldn’t you have _started_ with that? Fucking hell, my _heart_...and Evans didn’t suspect a thing?”�

                “I didn’t say _that_ ,”� James replied grimly, lifting his eyes again from where they'd been diligently fastened on his shoes once more. He shook his head. “She’d’ve had to be blind not to. I wasn’t expecting them to come along and Cal sort of accosted us. I reckon I didn't hide my surprise too well. She knew something was off, but she didn’t press it–haven’t the faintest _why_ because that’s not like her at all, but she didn’t.”�

                “What did you tell her?”� Liz’s voice meshed with her footsteps against the Owlery’s straw floor and for the first time, she came into my view. It was only her back, but I could see the tension pulling her limbs as tight as a bow string. “You must have told her something. She must have asked _something_.”�

                “I told her that they were friends of the family–which I suppose they are, now." James shrugged. “That was it. But then later, she was asking about my back–”�

                "Why did she see your back?"

                "Liz."

                “What? I'm just asking! Please tell me that you didn't just _tell her_ about it.”�

                "Of course not!"

                "So does she know?"

                “Didn’t I just _say_ she doesn't?”�

                They were talking too fast and my head was spinning too much to process it all. Wait a second...so _Saunders_ knew about the Carringtons? And it wasn’t all in my head that he was acting utterly strange around them (though truthfully, that had only been my wishful thinking backing up that theory)? And what did his back have to do with any of it? Did that mean they were all somehow connected? But how? Why? And what the bloody fucking hell did Elisabeth Saunders have to do with it? Why could _she_ know, but I couldn't?

                Any thought of leaving had so far come and gone that it was a foregone conclusion that I was going to be staying exactly where I was until I got some answers. I might have been content or even resigned to ambling on down the Two Way Street with James...but that was before I knew that another vehicle was ambling on down his side of the road with him. An Elisabeth Saunders-themed vehicle. One who he obviously didn't put up the same roadblocks for that he did me.

                I was suddenly furious. _Furious_.

                “Lizzie.”� James’s voice was tired, but if he thought he was getting any sympathy from me, he was out of his bleeding _mind_. “I know I promised you I wouldn’t...but I’m going to have to tell her eventually. We’ve been bloody fucking touched by the luck of Merlin that it hasn’t come out in some way by now in the first place. Even most of the lads don’t know all the details–”�

                “No.”� Saunders strode towards James, her tone livid. “ _No_.”�

                “What do you think she’s going to _do,_ Liz? She’s not–”�

                “If you think,”� Saunders interrupted shrilly, “that I’m about to give that _cow_ yet another step up on her damn bloody _high horse_ , then you’re out of your fucking _mind_ , James Potter! Honestly, you are!”�

                “She’s not _like_ that,”� James retorted, and I suppose he got a _nano-_ speck of a point for defending me. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s not–”�

                “Oh, really?”� Even from the back-view, I heard the taunt in Saunders’s voice and saw the sneering tilt of her chin. James didn't cow under it as I usually did, but it still had to be intimidating. “If you really believe that, then why haven’t you already told her? Sounds like you had two rather perfect opportunities. So why haven’t you done?”�

                James glared. “What are you talking about, Liz? _You_ said–”�

                “Oh, bull _shit_ ,”� Saunders scoffed, and the bitter swear rang loud in the high tower. “Don’t you dare go acting as if _I_ was the real reason you haven’t told her. When have you ever let anyone stop you from doing what you truly wanted? If it was really that important to you–if you _actually_ wanted her to know–you would have done it and then found some way to charm me out of caring. I know _you_ just as well as you know me, James Potter! You’re not fooling anyone!”�

                “Liz–”�

                “Admit it!”� She was moving closer to him now, but her voice was getting louder, ringing in my ears. “The reason you haven’t told her is because you _know_ she’ll look at you differently. People like Lily Evans have their moral compasses shoved so far up their arses that they couldn’t possibly acknowledge a mistake for what it is–a _mistake_. She’d judge you. She’d see these cracks that you’re so bloody ashamed of and call it her last straw. She’d do it without a blink of an eye and you _know_ it!”�

                “That’s _not_ –”�

                But Saunders was already on a roll. She wouldn’t be stopped.

                “I swear to Merlin, James, sometimes I don’t even recognise you anymore.”� She shook her head, her angry voice taking on a maudlin edge. “You let her run you round in circles–and for what? A relationship that’s not _even_ a relationship? One that hangs so precariously on her sodding puppet strings that you can’t even be _yourself_? You're happy to let her lead you around by the nose. You don't even care that you have to hide things from her–hide _yourself_ from her. What sort of future do you see in that? What sort of satisfaction do you get from it? I hope to fucking hell you’ve managed to pry the bloody prude’s legs apart, because that’s the _only_ –”�

                Oh. My. _God_.

                “ _I’m leaving_.”� James’s voice was so deadly furious, I thought he might very well hex her. But he only shoved roughly past her and stomped for the door.

                Fuck.

                _Fuck_!

                “No! James, stop!”� I had already plunged myself back into the shadows of the doorway, relatively certain that that wouldn’t have helped had James decided to come stomping out of the Owlery, but I figured it was better than being caught _literally_ at the peek hole. Saunders must have grabbed his arm or something, though, because he didn’t come flying out of the doorway in a fit of heated outrage. Her voice started up again, quick and frantic. “I’m sorry, all right? I'm–I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line. I’m just... _Merlin_ , James, don’t you _see_ it? Why do you let her do it? How is it possibly worth it?”�

                Her questions were quiet, but I could hear them clearly, perfectly, painfully. I had never felt so close to casting up my accounts as I did then and I knew that if I hung about much longer, the pair of them would eventually walk out of the Owlery to an interesting sort of surprise waiting on the doorstep–me, a heap of sick, or possibly both. And for the first time, I no longer had any desire to be listening. James’s prolonged silence was answer enough for the most prominent questions that were already pounding in my head. There were more questions–there were _always_ more questions–but I honestly, truthfully, in the highest of degree of reality, did not think I could handle any more.

                So before James could answer– _if_ he could even answer. I had my doubts–I forgot about Mr Abbott, lifted my no longer glued feet from the ground and hurried as quickly and as silently as I could away from the Owlery. And I didn’t look back. Not even once.

                _I know you might not believe this, but you're worth it._

                That’s what he’d said to me, that first night in the Room of Requirement.

                Now I’m wondering which one of us is more worried that he didn’t mean it.

                Shit.

                _Shit_.

                I just...can’t. I just _can’t._

 

Observation  #300) Never discount karma. Eventually, it always makes up for lost time.

**_________________________________**

**Later, Still in Transfiguration**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 300

 

                “Merlin, Lil, you’re _white_. What’s wrong? Why weren’t you at lunch? Lil? _Lily_?”�

                Stop talking to me.

                Everyone, _please,_ just _stop_ _talking to me_.

                My head.

                _My head_.

**_________________________________**

**Later, Library**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 300

 

                I wonder what the penalty for vomiting on library books is.

                Torture? Azkaban? Death?

                At the very least, a large step down from your high horse, surely.

                I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve found this stupid armchair hidden behind the Herbology section. At least I’ll be alone in my shame. 

**_________________________________**

**Still Later, Still in the Library**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 301

 

                She’s right, you know. She’s _so_ right.

                Things shouldn’t be this difficult. _Relationships_ shouldn’t be this difficult. And while James is no free crumpet at the tea party, I’m self-aware enough to know that he’s not really the one making this so complicated. That’s me. That’s _all_ me. Maybe if I were half so inclined to actually make this official as he is, he wouldn't feel like he has to hide things. I _do_ run him round in circles. I _do_ pull at strings that I haven’t any right to be touching, much less controlling. It doesn’t matter what my intentions behind doing so are. I still _do_ it. 

                And at the end of the day, I’m probably _not_ worth it. James was always the one insisting that I was, but I’m beginning to think that that boy has bigger issues than any true sense of rationality is strong enough to overcome. And regardless of any of the feelings between us–or even the feelings between _them–_ maybe sometimes that’s just not enough. I don’t know. My head hurts thinking about it. Other parts of me, too, but I think we'll stick with the head for now.

                I reckon I’ve finally figured out the mystery behind the colliding big secrets, though, for all that’s worth. Honestly, I feel like a bit of a henwit for not seeing it before. Because there was only one thing that Sirius didn’t really explain to me that night in detention, claiming (though now that I think about it, perhaps not entirely truthfully) that he didn’t know the details himself. There was only one thing that has remained the biggest mystery among a sea of already murky waters. Only one.

                James and Saunders’s big stunt.

                The one that got them suspended. 

                The one that brought everything to a head. 

                The one that took place in Hogsmeade.

                The Carringtons live in Hogsmeade.

                The exacts of it all are still a bit hazy, of course. I haven’t any idea whether the Carringtons were simply witnesses or somehow enmeshed in the whole affair or what. I don’t know whether James’s injury stemmed from all of it, either, though Saunders obviously associates the two. I don’t know a lot of things, but I know enough. And for the first time in a _long_ time, I haven’t any desire to figure out the rest. I really, truly haven’t.

                Because...well, because what if she’s _really_ right? About all of it, I mean. Everything.

                What if...what if when I find out, I _do_ judge him? Whatever it is. What if it _is_ the last straw? I mean, even though I’m not entirely certain he’s ever really even pulled the second or third straw? What then?

                Merlin. I’m not _that_ awful, am I?

                I’d like to think I’m not. Even sitting here thinking on it now–angry, confused, bitter–there isn’t anything I can imagine James doing that I wouldn’t, in time, be able to forgive him for. Because even if it’s the worst–and with my imagination, you _know_ my mind roves through the _worst_ –I can’t conceive of James doing anything horrific in anything other than extremely extenuating circumstances. And even then, it was undoubtedly accidental and most _certainly_ worse in his head than it ever was for the people around him. And the Carringtons have obviously forgiven him. Corrine was entirely affectionate with him, almost motherly. Unless _they_ don’t know the extent of it, either? But then why would James feel so strange around them? And why would Sirius say that James felt like he needed to prove himself to them?

                One mystery down, forty to go. It’s like plucking hairs–nip one, twelve more appear. At this rate, I’ll be growing a beard by December.

                I just...wish it wasn’t this hard. These things shouldn’t _be_ this hard.

                Bugger.

**_________________________________**

**Still Still Later, Still Still in the Library**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 302

 

                Is it just me, or is getting rather hot in here?

                Ugh.

                _Ugh_.

**_________________________________**

**Still Still Still Later, Still Still Still in the Library**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 302

 

                My whole body... _Merlin,_ I'm dizzy.

                Maybe I oug

**_________________________________**

**Later (?), Library**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 302

 

                Great.

                _Great_.

                Just bloody _effing_ great.

                Did I honestly just _faint_? Is that really what just happened? I was awake one moment, then the next...Merlin, I don't even know.  But no one just falls asleep that rapidly, do they? Unless they’re like, narcoleptic. Or Sleeping Beauty. I think I'm more likely to be the first than the second. So that's lovely. Narcolepsy. Yet another disorder to add to the ever-growing list. 

                Fabulous. Just _fabulous_.

                And now I feel even _more_ like rubbish. I might as well be dead. Someone put a call into the funeral home. It will undoubtedly not be long. 

                I have to get out of here. This place is _not_ healthy.

**_________________________________**

**Much Later, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 302

 

                I didn’t know where else to go except back to Gryffindor Tower, even though I didn’t really want to run the risk of meeting Saunders in the dormitory–or actually _anyone_ in the dormitory save maybe Winnie, though she was probably still with Mum in Surrey. I considered briefly taking a nice walk about the castle, but that hadn’t exactly worked out too well for me the last time and besides, I wasn’t certain my woozy body would even make it back up to the Tower, much less through a jaunt about the castle. The Room of Requirement was also an option, but I didn’t want to taint the memories of yesterday with my vile, nasty mood, and so that was nicked off the list, as well. In the end, I trudged back to the Tower feeling like there was cement weighing down my feet and a whole mariachi band playing willy-nilly inside my head. By the time I reached the Fat Lady, there was nothing I wanted to do more than just drop into bed and forget this day had ever happened.

                That was, of course, only the plan, though. The reality...

                My eyes were growing bleary and the bag hanging off my shoulder was beginning to feel like it was filled with stones when I took my first steps into the common room and did a cautionary first sweep. I wanted to be prepared, to know who I was going to have to barge through on my way to my dormitory, damn the consequences. And though the results that that first sweep yielded weren’t the _worst_ they could possibly be...well, at first they didn’t seem quite far from it, either.

                Because of course–of _course_ –whose familiar head of hair would I immediately spot poking up from under the arm of nearest couch where he was lying sprawled atop the long sofa reading a book, but James’s.

                Naturally.

                _Naturally_.

                But the thing is...I _could_ have got away if I’d wanted to. Honestly, I really could have done. If I’d used my last spurt of energy to hightail it from the portrait hole to the girls’ staircase, I’d’ve been gone too quickly for him to do anything about it. Even if he spotted me and called out, I could have pretended not to hear him and rushed for my room. It could have worked. It _would_ have worked. I would have got away.

                But these things–these “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve”�s–are mighty peculiar. Because even though I had more or less just spent the past several hours wishing that I might avoid James Potter for the next twenty or thirty years...apparently, that wasn’t as concrete a desire as I’d imagined. Because as soon as I saw him lying there, all innocently reading with no idea what was going on or what I’d recently heard or even that I was standing there behind him...there was no stopping my feet. Almost without thinking–actually, _really_ without thinking, because the whole bloody common room was packed with people and I didn’t even care that they were probably all watching me and whispering into ears and behind their hands–I wobbled straight for the couch, dropped my heavy bag unceremoniously to the floor, toed off my shoes, and more or less just plopped myself right down there on top of him.

                Yes, that’s right. Just _curled_ myself there against him like a needy cat looking for a stroke. And I didn’t even care. I really, truly didn't.

                And James–oh, my James–went right along with it.

                “Hey,”� he said, shifting his book over to make room for my head and immediately lifting a hand to my hair. “I was sitting there, you know.”�

                “I think I’m dying,”� I told him pitifully, burying my face in his neck. “ _Dying_.”�

                “Transfiguration can’t kill you, Lily,”� was the response he gave–less than satisfactory, but the sympathetic kiss atop my forehead was a pleasant consolation.

                Suddenly, I felt a bit like crying.

                “Firstly, that’s never _actually_ been proven.”� I squeezed my eyes shut and just breathed him in. “Studies should be conducted. But that’s not even what I meant. I’m _literally_ dying. I just collapsed in the library.”�

                James’s entire body jerked. “You just _what_?”�

                _Objectively_ , Lily. _Objectively_.

                “Oh, all _right_. I suppose it wasn’t as dramatic as that." I felt him almost instantly ease. "I was sitting in an armchair. And I just sort of slumped. But I was _functioning_ one moment and it was all black the next and then it suddenly wasn’t again. Dy- _ing_.”�

                Regardless of my obviously exceptionally sorry state, my hasty re-explanation found James chuckling instead of sobbing. Perhaps he’d already decided that I was so obviously _not_ worth it and wouldn’t even mourn my death. Possibly he was even looking forward to it. He'd finally be free.

                “So let me get this straight." His hand skimmed gently down my back. “You...fell asleep in the library. Fatally.”�

                Sometimes I really hate him.

                “I _fainted_ in the library. Terribly. _Horrifically_. Without rhyme or reason.”�

                “Grace told me you were feeling poorly all day. _That’s_ not a reason?”�

                “Quit talking to Grace about me,”� I muttered. “She knows too much.”�

                James laughed, but who was joking? I was too exhausted to tell him so, but I let my dissatisfied _hmph_ speak for itself. I know I shouldn’t have been doing what I was doing for so many reasons, but I honestly couldn’t help it. Perhaps that’s why I kept making things difficult and pulling strings and running him round in circles, even when I _knew_ I was doing it. Because no matter what he does or how livid I am or how much I know I’m not worth it...James Potter is just one of those people who you can’t let go of. And when you’re around him, you don’t want to.

                I’d barely been lying there two minutes, just barely let him start making me forget all about my wretched afternoon, when already I could feel my eyelids drooping again.

                Damn it. _Damn_ it.

                “Wake me up before seven,”� I whispered, surprisingly on top of things regardless of my poor state. “Tutoring. Seven. ‘Kay?”�

                “Our tutoring is at eight. But I told you this afternoon, I have detention. We’ll do it tomorrow.”�

                “Prefect’s meeting tomorrow,”� I muttered. “And you didn’t tell me that. When did you tell me that?”�

                “After Transfiguration.”� He didn’t sound the least bit surprised by my confused denial. “I _knew_ you weren’t listening to me. All you kept saying was, ‘I’m going to the library. I’m going to the library.’”�

                I didn’t even remember that. “I _did_ go to the library."

                “You _should_ be going to Pomfrey,”� James said, and though I couldn’t possibly open my eyes to look at him, I could practically _hear_ the censured look he was sticking me with. “Nap in the library or not, you _do_ look pale. Go to the Hospital Wing, Infallible.”�

                “I can’t. Pomfrey’s going to yell at me." Even the mere possibility of it was too exhausting to contemplate. “I’m exhausting my body. _You’re_ exhausted my body. And I don’t eat or sleep properly and I talk to my mates too much and everything’s going to hell in a handbasket and Poppy is mean. Even though we’re mates. She’s a mean mate.”�

                “I’m sorry I’m exhausting your body,”� was all James got out of that garbled mess. Naturally. “Sort of.”�

                Idiot.

                Or maybe that's me. Maybe _I'm_ the idiot.

                “Seven,”� I ordered with the last bit of authority I could muster. “Wake me.”�

                “I just told you–”�

                “MJ at seven. Not you. Wake me. Promise?”�

                “Lil–”�

                “ _Promise_?”�

                Even my entirely hazy brain was able to register that James was not happy with such a dictate. But I suppose my whinging or my patheticness or the fact that I was so obviously not worth it so he had to give me _something_ wore him down, because despite his obvious misgivings, he eventually conceded.

                “Yeah, all right,”� he sighed, the displeasure cutting his words short. “I’ll wake you.”�

                I murmured some kind of thanks–or at least, I _think_ I did. Snuggling closer against James’s chest, the slip from consciousness into unconsciousness came almost immediately. He’d only just barely muttered out his agreement when the whole world went pleasantly black. 

                Until, of course, it wasn’t anymore.

                At first, I didn’t really notice that anything was off. I reckon that might’ve just been due to those awkward hazy moments after you’ve just woken up and you’ve got to regain all your bearings because you don’t know where you are or what’s going on or if that most recent dream was _actually_ a dream, but all the same, it was a few moments of peace. I hadn’t any mad dreams to grapple with, but one part of my mind was all, “Hmm. Couch. Common room. _Snuggly_ ,”� while the other was all, “Guh. Head. Stomach. _Ugh_.”� I fought off the urge to open my eyes for as long as was physically possible–I was too comfortable, too knackered, too... _everything_ to bother with something as silly as waking up. I might very well have just given in to my impulses and drifted all unawares back off to sleep, but even in my hazy-sleep stupor, something...there was _something_...

                James.

                Where was James?

                My eyes snapped open.

                Grace sat on the loveseat across from me, her feet propped up on the coffee table between us, flipping through the latest issue of _Quidditch Weekly_. After a moment, her eyes met mine over the magazine pages.

                “Morning, poppet,”� she grinned.

                “Time s’it?”� I slurred, only then realising that there was a pillow beneath my head and a quilt draped over my lower-half. They shifted as I did. “James?”�

                Grace lifted her nose into the air and played at her outrage with a heavy hand. “ _I’m_ the one sitting vigil at your bedside, and yet all you ask for is a bloody watch and your detention-rat-of-a-boytoy? I am _wounded_ , Lily Evans. Positively _devastated_ by this slight.”�

                “I love you, Gracie,”� I replied dutifully, but there were bigger issues at hand. “Where’d he go?”�

                Grace gave a contented _hmph_ , but proved decidedly unhelpful when she answered, “Dunno. Dashed off a bit ago and told me to make sure you didn’t die in the meantime. I think you gave him a fright with your mad illness talk.”�

                “It’s not mad illness talk. I _am_ ill.”� It was comforting to know that at least _someone_ was finally taking my ailments seriously. No _thanks_ , Gracie. “And you haven’t any idea the sort of day I’ve had.”�

                “I know you’ve been wallowing in a Classic Lily Pit of Despair since lunch,”� Grace replied, and I knew she actually meant business when she folded up her magazine and dropped it on her lap. Her eyes searched my face. “What gives, Melancholy Marie? And don’t give me any of this ill rubbish. You’ve enough stubbornness to build yourself an iron constitution if you wanted. What’s up?”�

                I wanted to tell her. Honestly, at that moment, with my nap having loosened my tongue and the afternoon spent stressing having done nothing but made things inordinately worse, I couldn’t imagine anything better than curling up on the couch with Grace and bitching and _bitching_ about what a vile shrew Elisabeth Saunders was and how the world would be a better place without her and then just sobbing until I couldn't sob any more. I knew I couldn’t tell Grace all of it–to do so would have risked divulging far more than I was presently willing to hazard, even in my depleted state–but I could confess enough to keep both of us content. I might even be able to con her into fetching Emma. Or a bowl of rice. Or _both_.

                But there was a time and a place for such things. I had the latter–a couch–but the former...

                “All right. But first, I actually _do_ need the time. I have tutoring with MJ at seven. James was supposed to wake me. How long do we have?”�

                Grace’s eyebrows drifted slowly upwards. “Er...seven?”�

                “Yes, seven.”� My heart jumped a beat. “Why? Grace? Why? What time is it?”�

                I saw the answer in her face before she even said the words.

                Fuck.

                _Fuck_.

                “Er...you know, only seven past seven, so really–”�

                “Oh, _buggering_ –what the _sodding_ _hell_ is _wrong_ with him?”� I screeched, and was off the couch in an instant. I grappled furiously with the quilt that had suddenly become more hindrance than comfort as it caught around my ankles and threatened to take me down. I fought through it with blind rage. “He was supposed to– _Merlin_ –I can’t _believe_ him–”�

                “Lil, calm down–”�

                “ _No_ , I’m not going to _calm down_! I swear, I’m going to–”�

                But I couldn’t even finish the sentence, I was so livid.

                How _could_ he...I mean, he _promised_!

                I don’t even remember slipping on my shoes or straightening out my clothes or most of my enraged trip from Gryffindor Tower down to the library. All I could see was red, just this _burning_ overwhelming anger that James had chosen now– _now_ , of all times!–to revert back to Arsehole MJ Defamer and decided to take matters into his own hands that _did not_ _belong_ in his bloody hands! I didn’t care what his reasons were or weren’t, or even if he cared to share them with me or not. He did _not_ have the right to lie to me. I was so _sick_ of him lying to me. And maybe this was something little and what I was _really_ concerned with was something so much bigger, but at that point, they all just blended together in one big mess of ugly. And _that’s_ all I could focus on, that big, ugly mess.

                It must have been the adrenaline that kept me on my feet and stomping so furiously through the doors of the library, drawing the attention of most of the people residing within (though honestly, now that I think about it, I’m not certain whether that was due to the stomping or the fact that I undoubtedly looked like death walking). I ignored the attention, didn’t even really register it until it was too late and the damage was done and I was too livid to care. The only thing that jolted me for a moment was seeing that MJ was still seated at our usual table, waiting despite my growing lateness.

                And standing right there next to him with his back towards me, was James.

                Maybe I lost it a little then.

                “ _Get_. Out. Of. _Here_ ,”� I hissed furiously, because even incensed as I was, only an idiot shouts while in Pince’s domain and I was no idiot. I resigned myself to letting my murderous look do the yelling. “We’ll talk later. Go. _Now._ ”�

                “What are you doing?”� James had the audacity to ask, and when he placed a hand on my arm, I immediately jerked away. His eyes narrowed. “Lily–”�

                “ _Go_ ,”� I gritted, and because I knew that if I kept staring at him–at his familiar face, so shocked and outraged and acting as if _I_ was the one in the wrong when all that today had proven was that _he_ was the one who was wrong about _so many things_ –I was going to lose it. I was going to say things I shouldn’t– _couldn’t_ –say and even in my boiling temper, I knew that was not something I wanted. So I tore my eyes away from his and focused instead on MJ, who I’d never seen looking more like he wouldn’t mind the ground opening up and swallowing him whole. I deliberately softened my taut features, trying to fix whatever damage that James had done. “I’m so sorry, MJ,”� I apologised quickly, taking a step closer. “I’ve been feeling wretched all day and fell asleep–"

                “Which is what I was just _telling_ him,”� James interrupted, grabbing hold of my arm again. “You shouldn’t _be_ here, Lily. Go back to your dorm. Sleep. You haven’t–”�

                “I _asked_ you to _go_ ,”� I snapped and _damn it_ , it was pure _torture_ to keep my voice low. I tried to jerk off his hand again, but James was holding fast. That just riled me _more_. I stuck him with my worst glare. “I know it’s _exceptionally_ difficult for you to actually listen to the things I say, to actually _care_ about what the things you say mean or how they _affect_ other people or that I might not actually _fit_ into your every horrid expectation because I'm not–"

                Oh, _bugger_ it.

                "What the hell are you on about?" James was looking baffled. I couldn't even blame him for it.

                "Erm..." Bugger, bugger, _bugger_. I grappled for an answer– _any_ answer–and am not entirely proud to admit that I fell back on the sorriest out available to me. I immediately lifted a hand to my forehead and put on my most pathetic of expressions. "I can't _deal_ with right now, all right? I feel like shite, I have to help MJ, and I don't want to fight with you. So you can you just leave? _Please_?"

                Yeah, all right

                So I exploited my illness.

                I know. I deserve every morning of toilet-hugging I get.

                James looked torn. "Lil...look, I'm sorry for not waking you, but you've even said it yourself! You're feeling rubbish! And I _came_ here to tell Rosier. I didn't just leave him sitting here! I could have done! I _thought_ about it!"

                I glanced briefly at the clock hanging over Pince's desk–quarter past. "Well, you either took your sweet time in getting here or this was the longest 'She's feeling unwell' on record." I glanced quickly down at MJ, who was still staring determinedly down at the tabletop. "What did he say to you, MJ?"

                The third year's shaggy head popped up, those blue eyes of his blinking wide and owlishly at me. "Er...say...that's...what he said. He said what he said he did. That you were ill. When you sneeze, all of your bodily functions stop," he added, reverting back to something more comfortable. "Even your heart stops. Did you know that?"

                "What?" James asked.

                "Fascinating," I murmured.

                MJ just nodded, then shot his gaze back down to the table.

                Hell.

                Hell, hell, _hell_.

                "I'm really hoping that you weren't in here terrorizing him," I told James softly, keeping my temper in check because some part of me–some strangely rational, niggling sensible part of me–was able to look down at the situation from above and realise that this was _not_ about James's failure in waking me or even about his possible conversation with MJ. I didn't want to think about what it _was_ about because I wasn't about to let myself fall back into that Classic Lily Pit of Despair if I could help it, but that didn't change the fact that it wasn't fair to crucify him for one thing in replacement of another. That wasn't helping anyone.

                Because the truth of it was, I hated– _hated–_ Elisabeth Saunders. I hate what she does, I hate what she says, and I hate the fact that I'm never quite certain whether I'm hating her and those things because she's right and they're true or because she's wrong and they're not. 

                One day–perhaps even one day _very_ soon–I needed to have a proper conversation with her. And I _really_ needed to have a proper conversation with James. But right then was not the time for either. Right then, I couldn't just vent out my frustrations with Saunders on MJ and James simply because they were there and I wanted to make myself feel better. In the end, _I_ was the only one who was going to end up suffering, and with my body still refusing to cooperate with the better sides of a healthy disposition, I was already suffering enough. I didn't need more of it. I really, truly didn't

                I was still cross–I couldn't possibly get rid of it _all_ –but I felt enough of the fire fade out of me that I was able to turn to James and stick him with a serious enough look that I _knew_ he had to listen to me. He seemed worried, his face lined and his eyes narrowed critically as he carefully scanned my face for a sign of something, though I haven't the faintest what. I let out a short breath, but was determined to shake off the remnants of my afternoon bitterness so that I didn't _really_ botch this up.

                "Please, just go," I told him quietly, my whole body feeling tense. "I'm going to spend the hour with MJ, then I'm going straight upstairs, all right? I can't...we can't do this right now. Just...go. _Please_."

                He didn't like hearing that. "Lily, I didn't–"

                "James. _Please_."

                I think it was the final 'please' that did it. He didn't look happy about it, but he gripped a frustrated hand through his hair, set his lips into a grim line and gave a curt nod. I had to hold back my sigh of relief because honestly, I'm not certain what I might have done had he put up a fight. All of my emotions were far too close to the surface for my comfort and with my traitor-of-a-mouth, I had no guarantees that those emotions wouldn't abruptly pop out at the most inopportune moment. It was both a relief _and_ a reprieve that he actually listened.

                "Fine. Fine," he said, and dropped his hand back down to his side in defeat. "We'll talk later–we'll talk later?"

                Um, _no_. "Yeah, we'll talk later," I lied.

                James gave another curt nod, then shot me one last searching look before turning on his heel and striding straight for the library doors. I was grateful that he didn't bother looking back.

                Hell. When did everything become so bloody _complicated_ again?

                "I am so sorry about all that," I told MJ, and it was more than a slight relief to be able to get off my feet and collapse into the chair across from him, even when I knew there were still strenuous conversations to be had. MJ was still staring resolutely at the tabletop. "All right, MJ? Look, whatever he said–what _did_ he really say?"

                "Nothing," MJ answered quickly, barely lifting his head. Too quickly. "There are more chickens than people in the world. Did you know that?"

                Great. So now _everyone_ was lying to me?

 

                "MJ, please. I really want to know." It might have been a bit underhanded, but I stuck him with my most pleading and desperate of looks. "What did he say to you?"

                "That you were ill," came the quiet reply, and if I weren't in such dire straights, I might have stopped him at the sad, stricken look that came over his face then. But I'm an awful person so I didn't and he kept going. "And then he asked about Thom. And Jonah."

                Oh, god.

                _More_ people I don't know?

                "Er...and that's...?"

                MJ looked confused. "Thom Dunn. And Jonah Riess. The Hufflepuffs? You know, from the other morning–"

                "Oh!" Well, _that_ was a relief. At least, sort of. I'd entirely forgotten about James's fit from this morning. That seemed _ages_ ago. "Right. We saw you at breakfast this morning. Jonah's the blonde one, then? The boy you were sitting next to?"

                MJ nodded. "He likes _Damien: Dragon-Dueler_ , as well. Plus, he's not so keen on Charms. So, er..."

                "You're mates," I finished, and I'll be damned, found my first smile of _quite_ some time. I wanted to hug him or kiss him or just...pinch his _cheeks_. Victory! Friendship! Huzzah! "That's _brilliant_ , MJ. Really, really brilliant. I'm so glad."

                "They're nice," MJ offered, and perhaps the hair twiddling is a family trait, because he stuck a hand in his hair just as James does and gave it a quick scruff. He glanced at me tentatively. "I reckon...I reckon you were right. About not giving them a chance. Maybe."

                "It can be hard, trusting people," I answered quietly, after a moment. "But sometimes...sometimes it's worth it. Even if it's scary. Even if things aren't perfect all the time. You know?"

                MJ nodded again.

                I wringed my hands in my lap, staring at my fretful fingers and feeling the first turnings of guilt building in my stomach.

                I wasn't a hypocrite. I knew that what I was saying to MJ...eventually, I had to take my own advice. It wasn't as easy as that, but was _anything_ in my life easy? Why should this thing with James be any different? Especially when it was so...so...

                Well, you know.

                So big.

                So there.

                So...worth it.

                I tried to focus on MJ after that, tried to shake off my fatigue, my rubbish health condition _and_ my James troubles long enough to help MJ with his Expanding Charms, but it wasn't easy. We were barely ten minutes into the tutoring before I had to stop speaking to rest my eyes for a moment, hoping the ache in my head might go away. With all my anger and adrenaline gone, there was nothing to fall back upon to keep my body from focusing on how much it _didn't_ want to be doing...well, anything. Except sleeping. And more sleeping. And perhaps with a touch of sleeping.

                Ugh. Bloody _hell_.

                "People can take cat naps with their eyes open," MJ said after I'd finally pried my eyes open, much to every fibre of my being's ultimate displeasure. "Sometimes they don't even know it. Did you know that?"

                Hmmm. Cat nap.

                "My exam isn't for another few weeks." He was already gathering up his books. "We don't need to–"

                "No, no, don't. It's not–"

                "James might've been right," MJ said, and the fact that he'd brought up James again at all was a sure sign that my state was obviously a cause for concern. MJ looked distinctly anxious. "Perhaps the Hospital Wing–"

                "Oh, no. It's not that bad. Really. Promise." But even as I shook my head and spouted out my denials, I knew this wasn't working. My pride fizzled, but I reckon James _had_ been right. My vision seemed to be spotting and my stomach was protesting vehemently and I could barely concentrate on breathing, much less Expanding Charms. It was pitiful, but it was the reality of the situation. I felt awful–both personally _and_ for dragging MJ into it, as well.

                "I'm so sorry, MJ. We'll reschedule. Sometime soon. I just...my whole body aches and–"

                "S'all right." MJ even mustered up a slight smile. "I'll keep practicing."

                He was being so wonderfully nice about the whole thing and I honestly would have loved to sit there and fawn over him a bit more, but there was no way my body was going to allow that. I _did_ manage to get a few more thanks and accolades in there, but mostly I was just stumbling to my feet and hoping they kept me up. I must have made a wonderful show of control because MJ only offered to help me up to the Tower three or four times before he let me go off on my own...where I then proceeded to bumble and stumble up the stairs to the seventh-floor. Getting into the dorm is actually just one big blur and if I didn't want to get all of this down, I'd undoubtedly be sleeping right now. But I _do_ want to get it down and I can't just be sleeping all the time, so I suppose a few more minutes won't kill anyone.

                So basically, the whole day's just been a bloody mess.

                I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. What was I expecting, after a day like yesterday? The fates of the world are not that kind. They take their jobs very seriously and if there's a debt to be repaid, they're going to repay it. I figure I've at _least_ three more similarly horrific days to make up for my not-so-horrific yesterday. If I make it out alive, it may actually be worth it.

                Hm. Worth it.

                Funny little turn of phrase, isn't it? One that can be surprisingly damaging.

                Because, you know, maybe _I'm_ not worth it. And maybe, actually, _James_ isn't worth it, either. But together...

                Well, maybe we can be worth it together. As a unit. Two damaged goods making one worthy showing. You never know. It could happen.

                I just–

                Oh, bloody _hell_.

                If this is a letter from Mum, that woman has the most _awful_ timing.

**_________________________________**

**Latest, 7th-Year Girls’ Dormitory**  
Observant Lily: Day 44  
Total Observations: 303

_Lil–_

 

_I don't know if you're still cross with me (you're probably still cross with me), but it's barely quarter to and you're already back in your dorm. I'm worried. Just tell me you're all right, yeah? Even if you're still cross. Just a 'fine' will do–I mean, more than that would be nice, but I'll take the 'fine'._

 

_I'm sorry for not waking you. And I'm sorry for talking with Rosier. Mostly I'm sorry for ticking you off again. I never mean to, but it always seems to happen, anyway. I reckon I might have some bad karma, as well. Perhaps it's rubbing off?_

 

_J._

 

\--

                **James,**

 

**Fine. Left tutoring early. Tired. Feeling rubbish.**

 

**Karma doesn't rub off.**

 

**L**

 

**\--**

 

_L–_

 

_Well, that was a dozen more words than I was expecting._

 

_Still cross?_

 

_J._

 

\--

                **J,**

 

**I don't know. Part of me wants to be–reckons I _ought_ to be–but I suppose you're lucky my head's all in shambles. It's too much effort to sort it all out.**

 

**It's just hard to understand you sometimes. That's not to say that _I'm_ some open book or anything, so I suppose I haven't any right to nag about it, but...oh, I don't know. I'm not even making sense. Have I mentioned my head hurts? Actually, not just my head. My whole person. Ignore me. I'm talking nonsense.**

 

**I just miss yesterday. Things seemed much simpler yesterday, didn't they? Don't you miss yesterday?**

 

**L**

\--

_Maybe yesterday doesn't have to be lost just yet._

 

_Have attached package. Open it._

 

_J._

\--

**Is that...James Potter, _please_ tell me that you did not just slice up your peppermint fudge into fudge rice!**

\--

                _Do you like it?_

\--

                **That isn't the _point!_ That was yours!**

 

**I _do_ like my rose, though. I've put it with my others. They're all on my bedside table.**

 

**\--**

 

                _Yours, mine...this from the witch who's taken my lucky scarf hostage?_

 

_Also, I have a cat. Not here–he lives the high life in Cardiff. Wouldn't leave even if you bribed him with cream–but if we're still Getting to Know one another, I reckoned it's something to know._

 

\--

**Those are two totally different things. I'm buying you more. I know how to sneak into Hogsmeade now, you know. _Quite_ the deviant, I am.**

 

**I like cats.**

 

**Not that a deviant such as myself would care about such things...but don't you have detention?**

 

\--

_Shit._

 

_What are the chances McGonagall_ doesn't _kill me?_

\--

                **Slim to none. But for what it's worth, I don't think I'm cross with you anymore.**

 

**Am off to bed. Have fun in detention. Try not to let McGonagall kill you. Decent potentially-considering-boyfriends are so hard to come by.**

 

**Sorry I'm a mess. But you're a bit of a mess, too, so I think it'll be all right.**

 

**Night.**


	25. October 30th: The View from the Ground

**Author's Note** : Thanks go to everyone who has waited for this. You guys are amazing and I could wax lyrical about it forever, but then we'd be here two more years. Double (triple/quadruple) thanks go to Clara and Olivia, fearless betas and all around astounding people. I don't know how you guys put up with me, but thanks for doing it.

 

**Brief Recap** : After a fabulous—though at times, slightly curious—date, James and Lily are left a bit in limbo after Lily overhears James and Elisabeth Saunders talking in the Owlery. It is clear that Liz is privy to the secrets that James still refuses to tell Lily, not to mention the fact that Liz does not mince words when confronting James about his seemingly tenuous and perhaps unhealthy relationship with Lily. Matters are made worse when Lily falls asleep before her tutoring with MJ, and instead of waking her, James goes to talk to MJ himself. Lily still doesn’t know what’s really going on there, just like she doesn’t know what’s going on with MJ’s brother, Evan, and his band of mysterious potion makers. Also, Lily’s sort of sick all the time. It’s rubbish.

  
___________________________

"I bet a funny thing about driving a car off a cliff is, while you're in midair, you still hit those brakes.  Hey, better try the emergency brake!"

\- Jack Handey

___________________________ 

 

**Thursday, October 30th, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 304**

 

                Fifteen minutes.

                I have fifteen minutes.

                Because in fifteen minutes, Grace’s obnoxiously awful alarm clock rings and she moans and groans and slams the thing to the floor in an act of angered fatigue. A few minutes later, the clock howls again, but now she _has_ to get up because her sorry treatment of said clock has sent the poor thing farther away on the floor than her arm can feasibly reach, so unless she wants the rest of the dorm howling at her as well, rising to silence the noise-maker is required. She does so loudly, with much flair and grouchy dramatics, but is nonetheless up and about for good. This happens like clockwork, a permanent fifteen minute fixture on select days each week, never altered or otherwise modified from the previously solidified precedent.

                Which means that I have fifteen minutes.

                Fifteen minutes in which to decide whether or not I’m going to Quidditch practice. Because after fifteen minutes, I reckon it's safe to say that I will not have the luxury of a choice.

                So that’s fifteen minutes in which to discern:

  1. If I am spiritually/emotionally/psychologically/etc ready to endure Quidditch practice.
  2. If any spiritual/emotional/psychological/etc damage I will inevitably incur as a result of said Quidditch practice is worth it.
  3. If I am still cross with the single person who would _make_ aforementioned spiritual/emotional/psychological/etc damages I incur from aforementioned Quidditch practice worth it.
  4. If I am _not_ cross with said person, why is that?
  5. If I _am_ cross with said person, why also is that?
  6. If I am physically able to get out of bed.



                Which is quite a lot to figure out in only fifteen minutes.

                Thirteen now.

                Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit.

                And all this when I feel like...well, a bit as if my insides are preparing to eat themselves, actually. And not even politely. There are no forks and knives at this festive dinner. This is cannibalism, pure and simple. Lots of blood and gore and inhumane gorging _on my person_.

                Then again, perhaps that’s just the prospect of Quidditch.

                Twelve minutes. Fucking hell.

____________________

**Three minutes later, 7th Year Girls’ Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 304**

 

Wait a second.

                Was that...

                Did she just...

                Oh, _bollocks_.

____________________

**Six minutes later, Owlery  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 305**

 

 ** Ten Reasons Why One Might Find Oneself in the Owlery at an Undisclosed Early Morning Hour  
** **A List Compiled by Lily C. Evans**

1) To post a letter. As social beings, we humans occasionally enjoy interacting via written word and owl messenger. And what better way to ensure a quick reciprocity concerning the aforementioned written word than to send it off at the earliest of hours?

2) For a visit. One should never neglect one's pet, after all—er, even if one's pet is not exactly _in_ the Owlery at the moment, but presumably still in Surrey where you sent her off yesterday. But that hardly signifies. It's the thought that counts.

3) To rescue a friend. Specifically, a friend in book form. Chances are, you won't be _too_ late in this rescuing endeavour, even if you've abandoned your book friend there all night. Book friends are apparently highly resilient. I mean, there might be a _bit_ of a smudge of something towards the bottom of the spine, but that's nothing a good Scourgify can't fix. Mr. Abbott is sure to forgive you, considering the circumstances. (Madam Pince could be a different story.)

4) To avoid a friend. Specifically, a friend whose bloody internal clock has never chosen a worse time to suffer a deviation. Because she _was_ stirring. I've had to suffer through the process of Grace Reynolds waking up enough times to know the signs. There were most definitely mumbles and tossing and turning. So what choice did I have? To stay would have meant I _had_ no choice, and I couldn't have that. All I wanted was my bloody fifteen minutes. And I will get them, even if that means fleeing. I refuse to call that the coward's way out.

5) Because you really like towers.

6) Alternatively, because you're frightened of towers, and what better time to conquer a fear?

7) Because you really like the smell of owl droppings in the morning.

8) Because you really like the fact that hay floors can cover up the evidence of any unfortunate upchuck accidents that may come with an early morning rubbish disposition and the smell of owl droppings in the morning.

9) Because you're a masochist. Because when push comes to shove, you find yourself with two options: going forward or staying back. And for some asinine reason, it just seems _wrong_ to move forward this morning. So you go back. Back to a point where misery was at its most paramount. And if that isn't the most masochistic thing ever conceived, I don't know what is.

10) Because even though you're masochistic, you're also contemplative. And somehow, it seems vital that you be contemplative in the very place that seems to embody your present contemplations. Because even though it seems somehow wrong to move forward, it doesn't necessarily seem _right_ to be staying back, either. And maybe that's because you haven't the faintest idea what exactly—or _who_ exactly—is the problem, or maybe it's because you know at the end of the day, _you're_ as much of the problem as anyone else could ever rightly be, so what's the point of being cross with anyone else? But yet here you are, tucked away in the Owlery like a right bitter hermit, when part of you—maybe even a _large_ part of you—knows you should be elsewhere. And maybe if you'd had time to sort this all through fifteen minutes ago, decisions would've been different. But you didn't, so they're not, and here we are.

**The Reason One, Lily C. Evans, Finds Herself in the Owlery at an Undisclosed Early Morning Hour?:**

Definitely #5. Convenient for jumping.

____________________

**A Bit Later, Still in the Owlery  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 305**

 

                It's early yet. I mean, _hypothetically_ , I could still...

                No.

                _No_.

                No?

____________________

**More Bits, Still in the Owlery  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 305**

 

                If I go now, I'm practically telling him that he can do whatever he pleases and still be rewarded for it. You know: "Oh, no worries, Potter. Yes, please, do go on and disregard my every wish and request and do as your damaged heart/impossibly hard head tells you. Never mind me. Not all that important anyway, my wants/needs/thoughts/hopes/dreams. Please watch me as I disregard all my better judgments and wiser inclinations and cheer you on as you fly about doing something that I don't quite understand, but which I'm told I should swoon over."

                Is _that_ the kind of message I really want to be sending, here on the brink of official relationshiphood?

____________________

**Even More Bits, Still in the Owlery  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 305**

 

Then again...perhaps I'd be telling him that no matter what asinine things he does, I'm not going to scare off so easily? You know: "Oh, no worries, James. Yes, you've done foolish things. You're utterly irrational about your poor, innocent cousin who just so happens to be a protégé of mine. You have conversations with your ex-paramour that make me want to curl into a fetal position and sob a bit (a lot). But here I am anyway, disregarding my better judgments and wiser inclinations and cheering you on as you fly about doing something that I don't quite understand, but which I'm told I should swoon over."

                Is _that_ really the kind of message I want to be sending, here on the brink of official relationshiphood?

                Er...

                Well, yeah, actually. It rather is.

 

____________________

**Quite a Lot of Bits, Still in the Owlery  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 305**

 

 **Addendum #1 to Aforementioned List re: One's Presence in the Owlery)** For the spacious and spectacular view. The Owlery's open windows provide brilliant panoramic views of the Hogwarts grounds, you know—and I mean _all_ of the Hogwarts grounds. Some examples, you ask? Oh, you know. The Forbidden Forest. The greenhouses. The road to Hogsmeade. Oh. And did I happen to mention the Quidditch pitch?

                Well, this is certainly an interesting development.

                Is that...

                Hm.

                How difficult do you think it is to transfigure binoculars?

____________________

**Much Later, Still in the Owlery  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 312**

 

Observation #306) As it turns out, binoculars are apparently one of the few items that _aren't_ impossible to transfigure. I mean, sure, they may not be the most technologically advanced or stunningly beautiful binoculars ever to grace the world, but they _work_. Functionality over presentation, etc etc.

Observation #307) With the aforementioned binoculars, the miniscule specks that previously seemed to be hovering about the Quidditch pitch like gnats about a left out picnic suddenly seem to have taken proper shape. They are now tiny toy sportsmen (and women) zooming about the stands.

Observation #308) Some of these tiny toy sportsmen (and women) appear fitter than others. Quite, quite fit.

Observation #309) I am suddenly starting to understand the Quidditch gear fetish.

Observation #310) Quidditch practice entails quite a bit of flying about in linear and looping patterns. One would think that the tiny toy sports(wo)men would get quite dizzy, but apparently they do not. Or at least, no one has yet plunged off their broom to a most certain grizzly death in a fit of befuddled spinning dazedness.

Observation #311) Even though Quidditch practice _is_ rather exactly what you thought it would be—repetitive, boring, tedious, confusing, etc—there is nonetheless a certain...contentment, in watching. Because it isn't repetitive/boring/tedious/confusing/etc to other people. And even if you're still not quite certain whether you're cross with these other people, or whether you even have a _right_ to be cross with these other people...there is still a rightness in at least conceding to this middle ground. Because you're _there,_ but also _not_ there. And that ambiguity provides much comfort to a torn and conflicted soul.

Observation #312) I wish I had some waffles.

____________________

**Later, Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 312**

 

                It's maddening to think it now, but I actually departed the Owlery under the impression that today might not turn out to be yet another tribute to my miserable life. I mean, all things considered, I hadn't done _too_ terribly thus far: I'd successfully rescued Mr. Abbott from his Hell of Owl Droppings; I'd miraculously managed to evade all kinds of people who may have made my life a bit more miserable; I'd creatively discovered a way to attend Quidditch practice without _actually_ attending Quidditch practice; I was feeling less like I was about to vomit up a few dozen organs at any given moment—and all of this without even having my morning waffles! So is it really so mental that I might have, despite all odds, been feeling rather well? Yes, there were still things out there just waiting to rip my momentary contentment to tattered shreds, but for the first time in quite some time, I didn't feel as if all hope was lost.

                But what did I get for all my optimistic pains?

                Fifteen bloody minutes of grand, peaceful delusion.

                (Popular interval, isn't it?)

                I was still floating delusionally on the cusp of minute number fourteen when I reached the Charms corridor just after breakfast ended, unwisely believing that I might actually get to enjoy my daily dose of Fil without the agonies of karma getting in the way. Most of Year 7 was dawdling outside the classroom, presumably trying to avoid lessons for as long as possible. With no such reservations, I was just about to turn into the room when I spotted Emma and Gracie rounding the far corner of the corridor.

                And even from that distance, I could immediately tell something was off.

                They were walking slowly, their heads huddled together. Grace seemed to be situated permanently at Emma's ear, her mouth moving at an alarmingly rapid rate. Emma was nodding along in that way Emma does when she's listening but not _really_ listening to the often exceptionally dim things we have to say. I was about to call out and inquire just what dim thing it was this time when Emma suddenly lifted her head and her gaze caught mine.

                Her sudden grimace could've soured milk.

                Oh, hell.

                "What's going on?" I asked, concerned, but not yet panicked. I met them halfway down the corridor, still fixated on Emma's pained expression. I glanced towards Gracie for answers, but she only shoved a bony elbow into Emma's midsection and immediately looked away.

                " _Tell her,"_ she hissed.

Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit _._

                "Tell me what?"

                Emma sighed wearily. I might have been glad to see the grim expression fade if she hadn't then pushed her shoulders back, stuck me with a decidedly put-off stare, and went, "Grace is not speaking with you."

                Grace is...

                Oh, good _god_.

                "I'm sorry? She's what?"

                "Not speaking with you," Emma repeated, sounding nearly as enthused the second time as she had the first (read: _not_ ). Her mouth opened to continue, but Grace gave another forceful yank on her arm and the furious whispering began again. Sighing, Emma dutifully began to relay: "Lily Evans, you are an awful slag and a poor excuse of a human being with pasty skin and manky hair and no sense of loyalty. You are...oh, for Merlin's sake, Grace Reynolds, I'm not saying that!"

                Grace shot Emma a look of pure disgust, but she must have reckoned her point was made even allowing for Emma's censoring because she deigned to flick her mutinous gaze over to me for a second, stuck her nose in the air, then stomped off towards the classroom. She didn't even have the decency to ask people to shift aside as she went, and victims of her warpath cried their outrage. Grace just kept stomping until she disappeared through the door.

                It's too early for this.

                Really, just too sodding _early_.

                "Should I even ask?" I muttered.

                Emma shook her head. "I honestly don't know what they are all in such a huff about. _I_ heard you say at least thirty times that you weren't going to practice today. You'd think it was some kind of mind-blowing surprise."

                ...

                "Practice?" I parroted. _"'They?'"_

                "Grace, mostly," Emma said, but by the way she began fiddling with her shirt and suddenly couldn't meet my eyes, I knew there was decidedly more to the story. I let my expectant silence serve as a prompting retort, and after a moment, she continued reluctantly, "Well, I suppose Marley wasn't too pleased, either. Apparently Sophie Cleese's boyfriend isn't the brightest with Timing Charms and he made a mess of the trials. Something about counting in Finnish, I don't really know—"

                I could give fuck-all about Sophie Cleese's stupid Finnish boyfriend and _were we honestly talking about this?_

                " _Emma_ ," I said.

                "He really didn't seem that angry, Lil," she finally confessed, the placeholding pronoun needing no further explanation. "Honestly, he didn't. He was just sort of...quiet."

                James.

                Quiet.

                Shit.

                "He had a lot of papers with him," she went on, a desperate attempt at comfort, I knew, because I imagine _my_ face was suddenly looking rather grim now. "The trial results, I think. Maybe he was just distracted? Quiet with Quidditch contemplations? That's possible, isn't it?"

                I wanted to believe her. Truly, I did. I saw the logic in it—the possibilities, just as she said—and wished I didn't know James well enough to understand that there was no way in hell he'd been quiet with anything other than angst. A Quiet James was not a Contemplative James. A Quiet James meant a Brooding James, and if James was brooding, I highly doubt it was because Sophie Cleese's Finnish boyfriend hadn't properly swotted up on his Timing Charms.

                But even knowing this—that James was brooding and that not going to practice hadn't always felt entirely right and that my whole day was slowly but surely hopping on the morning express to Mess-upon-Disaster...

                I couldn't regret it.

                I _didn't_ regret it.

                I didn't _have_ to have gone to practice. I truly, honestly didn't.

                Emma was right. I _had_ said thousands upon thousands of times that I wasn't going. And even though I was glad to not have left last night on an entirely awful note, if James had taken that as some kind of awardable encounter instead of a desperate attempt on my part to not let everything we've somehow built fall into a state of utter ruin simply because he couldn't control his misguided prejudices or the angry half-truths his spiteful ex-girlfriend cared to spout out...well, then I was not the only one basking in delusions.

                I was not wrong.

                I may have not been entirely _right_ , but I was not wrong.

                And that's the truth of it.

                But the truth didn't seem to change anything about my present realities. Emma was still watching me warily, perhaps waiting to see if I was going to plunge off into my usual pits of despair. Then I wondered if she thought I ought have done.

                "Do you think I should have gone?" I asked.

                Her lips pursed. "You obviously felt like you shouldn't have done."

                "That's not what I asked."

                She pulled a face, the sort that was equal parts exasperation and sympathy. "Honestly, Lil? I haven't the foggiest. You keep so much of this to yourself. I never know half of what's going on with the pair of you. And that's fine—you know how I am about privacy—but you were the one who kept telling me I had to talk to Mac or things were going to fall apart, weren't you? So maybe it's time you listen to your own advice?"

                There is nothing more grating than having your own words thrown back in your face. It is bothersome and awful and possibly evil, depending on the scale you're using. But much as I firmly believed that, I couldn't quite deny that Emma had a point. Yes, James and I had sort of reached a not-so-volatile peace accord in paltry notes last night. Yes, I thought that was an excellent step. But I never...I mean, I _tell_ him things, but I don't...

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_. If I can't even form proper thoughts in here, how am I supposed to express any of them to _him_?

                The realisation was rather distressing.

                I wanted to bash my head against the nearest hard surface. Also, to sulk. "It's not actually that simple, is it?" I sighed.

                Emma threaded her arm through mine and gave my hand an affectionate pat. "Of course not. But none of your plans are ever actually that simple, so you're used to such things by now, yeah?"

                Hmph. Rude.

                Also true, but mostly rude.

                "I'll talk to him," I decided, though—all right, _fine_ —perhaps _slightly_ in an attempt to save face in the aftermath of the not-so-stunning realisation that I'm utter shite at formulating anything productive and everyone knows it. But Emma didn't need to hear that. "It'll be fine. We'll have a nice, long chat, him and I. Perhaps I'll remind him that I _never_ said I was going to practice and that he doesn't own me and can't expect me to cater to his every whim, especially when he's been a bit of a ponce lately. And that will be that."

                "You'll say that to him?" Emma asked.

                "Yes."

                "You're certain?"

                "Of course I'm certain!"

                "Well here's your chance, then. He's just turned down the corridor."

                Oh, _bugger_.

                And, I admit—there were probably more dignified responses I could've had just then than to have swiveled about like a flailing maniac, forcing Emma to swivel along with me because our arms were still linked and where I went, she went, and so the whole thing turned into quite the group production. In fact, there were _definitely_ more dignified responses. But I was caught rather off guard and the swivel thing seemed necessary and Emma got over it after her initial fright, so really, what's the fuss about? No harm, no foul.

                Because, of course, there he was. Lingering down the other end of the corridor with Peter, their two heads bent together, diligently consulting a few sheets of parchment.

                My heart began to pound.

                "What was that you said about all my plans being complete rubbish?" I asked faintly.

                Emma had the gall to laugh.

                "Not complete rubbish. Just generally slightly distorted from their original intent." She gave my arm another brief pat before snaking out of my death grip. "Go on, then. Though before you go"—she reached down into her rucksack and pulled out an envelope, which she promptly offered to me—"here. Winnie came to breakfast with this. Grace snatched it before she could fly off again, but I was able to snatch it from _her_ before she could place it on a platter of waffles and set the entire thing aflame—even though she _knows_ we banned ritualistic sacrifices after that whole Bobby Hines affair." Here, Emma's eyes lifted to the ceiling and she let out a sigh. "Honestly. You'd think that girl would learn."

                I nodded sympathetically, taking Mum's note—or I presumed it was Mum's note. Who else bothers to send me post?—and decided it probably wasn't best to mention that Gracie and I had secretly unbanned ritualistic sacrifices after deciding that the whole Bobby Hines affair was actually loads more hilarious than it ever was damaging.

                I mean, he got another broom. I don't know what he was so cross about.

                "Many thanks," I told Emma, sticking the note in my bag. I cautiously darted another look over at James, who was moving closer, but was still rather immersed in his conversation with Peter. "Wish me luck."

                "Good luck!"

                Emma disappeared into the classroom. I turned in the opposite direction, setting my shoulders back and refusing to give myself any amount of time to think up an excuse not to do what I knew I ought to. Before my more flakish tendencies could get a proper word in, I forced my feet to cross the needed distance down the corridor.

                It didn't take him very long to notice me.

                "Hullo," I said, smiling brightly. James's head lifted, but all he did was blink. I turned to Peter and gave him a friendly greeting, as well. "Hullo, Peter. You look chipper this morning."

                "Morning, yes. Thanks." His voice was overly loud. He was also a bit flushed despite the nip in the corridor and seemed utterly determined not to meet my eyes. Pushing down the beginning threads of dread pooling in my stomach, I can't say I was particularly surprised when he began muttering something about Charms, gave a strange sort of gesture towards the classroom, then hurried off.

                All in all, I'd give him a two for execution.

                You know, for effort.

                "Subtle," I muttered, watching him go.

                "You're talking to me," James said.

                I turned to him, confused. "Sorry?"

                His mouth had a decidedly dour look about it. His eyes kept darting between me and the sheets of parchment, distracted or disinterested or simply playing at it, I couldn't tell. His specs kept slipping down his nose. "I didn't think you were speaking with me," he said.

                "Why wouldn't I be speaking with you?"

                "You're angry." He said it as a statement, not a question. His eyes focused on the parchment once more and I grabbed the hand holding the slips of paper and forced it down, waiting for his gaze to dart back up to mine. It did, though sluggishly, reluctantly. It wasn't quite a slap in the face, but it almost felt like one.

                "I'm not angry with you," I said, punctuating each word. "I told you that last night."

                "You said you thought that _maybe_ you might not be cross," he corrected. "Then you said we're a mess."

                "Yes, _us_. You and I, separate entities. Not you and I, a pair."

                "How is that better?"

                Even if I'd had a proper answer—which, damn him, I didn't. Or at least, not one that would make any bit of sense without divulging a whole slew of things I couldn't possibly divulge—I knew the entire endeavor was futile. He wasn't listening to me, had already made up his mind. And while I recognised the out he was attempting to hand to me, realised this was his way of making sense of things, making it all right that I hadn't gone to practice, had called us a mess, had done whatever else it was he thought I did...I didn't _want_ an out. He'd got it all bloody wrong. And I wasn't sure he even cared enough to be corrected.

                Emma had been right.

                Quiet James.

                Brooding James.

                _Angry_ James.

                " _You're_ angry," I said, no more a question than his had been.

                Something flashed in his eyes. "Why would I be angry?"

                _"Why?"_ I saw the challenge there, the crack in the armour. He was waiting for me to answer, to try to defend myself, and truly, I don't know why the bloody hell my temper had to go and choose _that_ particular moment to get its dander up, to feel all piqued and affronted and incensed with the audacity of it all. Because what I _ought_ to have done then was just tell him that I was sorry for not going to his stupid practice this morning and all about the dodgy binoculars and my newfound appreciation for Quidditch kits and give my devoted promise to teach the Finnish proper English numbers and everything would've been...well, if not all right, then at least better.

                But, no. My traitor-of-a-mouth, defying its usual penchant for the slaggish and milk-driven, came out with this instead:

                "Honestly? I haven't the faintest. In fact, I can't think of anyone _less_ entitled to be angry right now than you. So I'm certain that means you aren't."

                Lovely, mouth.

                Really lovely.

                It would've taken a real dunce not to notice the way James twisted his hand out of mine then.

                "Brilliant," he said. "So no one's angry. Glad we cleared that up."

                "I'm glad, too," I lied, still not bright enough to see beyond my own wounded pride and stubborn temper to take control of my bloody mouth and realise how utterly _crap_ this was ending. Because ending it was, rather abruptly too, and it wasn't until James brought up his parchment again and bit off a clipped excuse about looking them over before lessons that it finally began to dawn on me that I had just run out of time to fix this. He was leaving and the time to speak was through. By then, he had already strode past me, his face an impassive mask of latent fury and other emotions I couldn't even bring myself to consider. Worse, I was still too temper-filled to care.

                Until now.

                Barely nine o'clock and I've already made a grand mess of things.

                Is that a record?

____________________

**Later, Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 313**

 

But really, what's he got to be cross about, anyway?

                I mean, if we're making a bulleted list, I've got my fair share of grievances and they're nothing too shabby compared to his. I could be angry for weeks and weeks and years and weeks if I were so inclined. So what if I didn't go to his stupid bloody practice? He _lied_ to me. He lied to me about the Carringtons, he lied to me about Saunders, and then he went and told me he was going to wake me up, didn't, then went off to mercilessly confront poor MJ and obviously gave him such a fright that even my little protégée felt the need to lie to me and say that James had just been telling him I was too sick to tutor! And it doesn't even matter that I _was_ too sick to tutor. That is decidedly not the point. The point is all the lies, lies, _lies._

                So what is he in a tiff about? He's got no right. No right at _all_.

____________________

**Still Later, Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 313**

 

I mean...okay, I do _lie_ to him sometimes, technically. But not in the way he lies to _me_. He's never point-blank asked, "Hey, Lil, did you happen to overhear my conversation with Liz the Slag in the Owlery yesterday?" or "By chance has Sirius ever divulged many of the secrets I am so painstakingly keeping to myself so that I may tell you in my own time, bringing us closer on a spiritual and emotional level, protecting my delicate heart from the fear of shame and rejection in the meantime?" If he did and I feigned utter and complete ignorance, then _that_ would be lying. But he hasn't. So I didn't. I'm in the clear.

                Obviously.

____________________

**Later, Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 314**

 

Merlin, I feel sick.

                Ugh.

____________________

**Later, Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 314**

 

                But you know what? Now that I'm really considering this, a temporary temper-filled break from certain potentially-considering-boyfriends probably isn't such a poor idea right now anyway. I mean, have we all forgotten that a particularly vile Transfiguration exam is set to commence in t-minus four days? Four! And what exactly have I done to prepare? Oh, yes, that would be, hm, right, _nothing_. Such a fine scholar, I am.

                And I know one might think that a certain stubborn someone might play a vital role in this aforementioned revising, being my tutor and all, but one would be wrong. So very, very wrong. Because I don't need him. Not even remotely. I will doubtless get even more revision done now that the very source of my constant dramatics and distractions has been eliminated from the equation. I'm perfectly capable of preparing for this exam on my own, thank you very much. And I _will_.

                In fact, I'll start right now, by listening raptly to McGonagall's lecture.

                Hurrah, huzzah!

____________________

**A Bit Later, Still in Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 314**

 

                I'm sorry…is she even speaking English?

 _Novo_ -what?

____________________

**A Bit More Later, Still Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 314**

 

_Dearest Professor McGonagall,_

_I feel like it's far past time the pair of us had a nice chat. You know, witch to witch. Gryffindor to Gryffindor. Because here's the thing, Min—you don't mind if I call you Min, do you?—while I am truly and eternally grateful that you were kind enough (reckless enough?) to keep me in your class this year…we obviously still have a few issues to work out. Like the fact that you've chosen to lecture today in Gobbledegook. I don't speak Gobbledegook, Min. I've tried—Grace and I actually had this stint in 3rd-year after Abbott caught us passing notes during class and then proceeded to proclaim Grace's adoration for Simon Langley to all of Year 3 after which we attempted to learn Gobbledegook in hopes that the linguistic barrier would prevent any such happenings in the future...but it didn't really work out too well. Turns out, Gobbledegook is quite a difficult language to learn. And while it may seem like everyone else in this classroom is comprehending your new dialect just fine, I think perhaps they are just very, very talented actors. So if you wouldn't mind very much, would it be such a hassle to revert back to our native tongue? Jolly good old English, the hearty and the strong? It's our heritage. Embrace it!_

_Also, if it wouldn't prove too difficult for you, could you also please quit calling on James Potter for answers to your Gobbledegook questions? I understand that the boy has an ear for languages and clearly is not having the same difficulties translating as the rest of us, but hearing his voice is hurting my head and making my eyes stray over to him and that is just not acceptable right now._

_So glad we had this chat, Min. Let's do it again sometime, shall we?_

_Many thanks and hugs,_

_Lily_

____________________

**Later, Lunch  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 315**

 

                Since McGonagall proved unswayable in the case of lecturing in English and I am remaining rightfully resolute on the issue of certain Gobbledegook-proficient arses, I decided to attempt sorting out at least _one_ unresolved issue in my present life.

                Which meant quite a bit of groveling.

                "Gracie, come _on_." I used my best wheedling voice, cornering her on her way down to lunch so as to strategically attack when she was hungry and thus more vulnerable. Gracie continued to stomp down the staircase, attempting to ignore my very sincere needling and constant dogging of her every step. But I was quite relentless. "If you refuse to talk to me, how am I supposed to know how outraged and displeased you are? Emma quit relaying your messages ages ago!"

                "And rightfully so!" Emma sniffed from behind us, shooting the back of Grace's head a stern look. "I'm not a Floo."

                "Emma, will you kindly inform Lily that no amount of paltry apologies will ever impress upon me to speak to her again?" Grace asked.

                " _Not_ a Floo! _Not!"_

                "You're making a grave mistake, Gracie," I said.

                "She's driving me mad, is what she's doing," Emma grumbled.

                "Emma, will you kindly—"

                "Oh, for Merlin's  _sake_ —"

                "Think about it, Grace!" I stepped dutifully between her and Emma, successfully preventing the carnage I'm rather certain Emma had been about to shed. Clean corridors are happy corridors. "If you're not speaking with me, you're going to have absolutely no say in the way I decide to sort things right with James when I inevitably choose to forgive him later on tonight for being such a monumental prat. But if you want no part in such things..."

                I left the words to linger, and Grace stopped walking. She turned on me, an eagle-eyed look and a grim frown darting my way.

                Honestly, she's so easy.

                "You can't handle that on your own."

                I lifted my hands into a helpless shrug. "Seems I'll have to. Emma will help."

                "Emma? _That_ Emma?" An incredulous finger pointed in our darling mate's direction. "The one we had to practically blackmail into speaking to her boyfriend?The one who considers revising a type of foreplay? _That_ Emma?"

                That Emma scowled. "I'm standing _right here_."

                "Yes, that Emma," I confirmed sadly, placing a sympathetic hand on Emma's shoulder. She was shooting  _me_ bitter looks now, but I could deal with that later. She's a much easier egg to crack. "The one currently attached to a bloke who doesn't like bread. The one who doesn't believe in ritualistic sacrifices. The one who never even  _attempted_ to learn Gobbledegook with you!"

                Grace's scowl faded slightly. "I'd forgotten about that," she said.

                "You took _one_ book out from the library and then gave up a half-hour later!" Emma cried, looking particularly fed up with the lot of us. When neither of us seemed particularly swayed by this logic, she threw her hands up and gave a good glower. "I'm going to find Mac. Good riddance, the both of you!"

                Then she stomped off in a manner akin to Grace's best attempts.

                Casualties of peace negotiations.

                Unfortunate.

                Once she was gone, Grace turned to me and snorted. "Honestly. And  _that's_ who you want to plan your big reconciliation with? Have I taught you  _nothing_?"

                "Does this mean you're speaking to me again?" I asked.

                Grace grunted noncommittally, but when she began walking again, her nose was no longer attempting to lay parallel with the ceiling and her pace was decidedly more tame.

                "I still cannot  _believe_ you skived practice," she fumed, unable to resist getting in one last shot. "But in the name of the greater good, I suppose I will have to swallow my outrage and move forward. You clearly cannot do a thing without me."

                "Clearly."

                "Plus, I am strongly considering ritualistically sacrificing Sophie Cleese's boyfriend. Never did like Finland much."

                "Yes, well, it's a truly terrible country."

                Grace smirked, the telltale sign that my groveling and manipulations had been a success and that all was forgiven. Everything else might still be going to hell in an handbasket, but at least Grace wasn't going to be grinning as she shoved me towards Satan and gleefully waved goodbye.

                I mean, for now.

                "So I suppose this means we're going to be sitting down by the fourth-years again," she said with a sigh, just as we reached the Entrance Hall. "Unless of course you just want to tell me what the pair of you are quibbling over this time so I can patch things up right now and have you snogging again before the House Elves manage to get the pumpkin juice on the table?"

                "I'm rather certain the House Elves already have the pumpkin juice on the table," I said, which wasn't an answer, but probably didn't need to be. Tempting as the offer was, I was still too resolute in my decision to be properly cross to acquiesce to the proposal. And if that meant an hour spent listening to Davey Thompson chat with his utensils as he ate his meal, then so be it.

                "No reconciliations yet," I said, firm in my choice. "These things are all about timing."

                "These things are all about _stupidity_ ," Grace replied, sighing testily. "You make everything infinitely more complicated than it needs to be."

                "Everything is already infinitely complicated," I replied. "And much as I know you're a strong believer in the 'snogging can cure anything' theory, I really don't think it applies here."

                "Perhaps you're just not doing it right."

                "Trust me. That's not the issue."

                Grace grinned. "Course it's not, Slaggy."

                But as we made our way into the Great Hall—stopping only briefly by the Ravenclaw table to suffocate Emma with apologies and kisses and our devoted promise never to slight her in any way, shape, or form again—I started thinking... _was_ I making this all infinitely more complicated than it needed to be? Was it perhaps just simply "complicated," and then I had to go and tack on the "infinitely" bit? I had a right to be cross. I _knew_ I did. But was it even worth it? Did I truly _want_ to be? Because at the end of the day, all being cross really gets you is more frown lines, less milk, and an hour spent listening to Davey Thompson consult with his fork about whether they should delve into their chicken pot pie or their vegetable helping first.

                Which is really just sad, because everyone knows it's obviously the vegetables.

                Hm.

                Hm, hm, hm, hm.

____________________

**Later Later, History of Magic  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 315**

 

** Lily Evans's To Do List for the Afternoon/Evening of 30/10/77 **

1) Attend lessons  
2) Pay attention in lessons (ish)  
3) Go to library  
4) Revise, revise, revise!  
5) Secretly attempt to discover whether Madam Pince is likely to contemplate homicide at the sight of slight smudge of something on Mr. Abbott's spine  
6) Revise, revise, REVISE!  
7) Prepare for Prefect's meeting this evening  
8) REVISE, REVISE, REVISE!  
9) During slight breaks in VERY IMPORTANT #4/#6/#8...perhaps contemplate crossness  
10) Eat/Sleep/Breathe/Don't Throw Up (See Pomfrey?)

____________________

**Even Later, Library  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 316**

 

                I am now entering Revise Mode. I have my notes, my books, extra parchment and quills, a few practice questions I needled Emma into compiling for me during History, a study table all to myself, and an unwavering determination to revise, revise, _revise_.

                I will annihilate this exam. _Annihilate_.

____________________

**Bit Later, Library  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

It sort of smells in here, doesn't it?

                I mean, not _badly_. It just sort of...smells. Like its own distinct library scent.

                Hm.

____________________

**Bit Bit Later, Library  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

                They shouldn't even allow second years in the library, though. There should be a strict 'No Year 2' sign just as you walk in. I mean, just look at them over there—could they make it any more obvious that they are completely ignoring their Herbology books and are instead doing quizzes out of _Witch Weekly_? For Merlin's sake, they're not even bothering to hide the magazines behind their books!

                Besides, that "What's Your Aura Colour?" quiz was complete codswallop. As if I could ever be an _orange_. I am so clearly a purple.

                Some people are just not mature enough to handle all that the library means and stands for.

____________________

**Bit Bit Bit Later, Library  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

                Oh!

                I've completely forgotten about Mum's letter!

                Must take study break to read it. I mean, I can't just _ignore_ it. This is my mother. She birthed me. Raised me. Reared me into the woman I am today. And truth be told, she has so little else in her life.

                Ah-ha! Found it!

____________________

**Later Later, Still in Library  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

                _Dearest Lily,_

 _I am always so delighted to receive your notes. I apologise for being generally unhelpful. However, being married to your father for far more years than I care to recount_ has _given me an interesting assortment of medical knowledge. I may not be an expert, but I do know a thing or two. So perhaps just consider it, hm?_

_Normally I would love to hear more about your lunch with James and tell you all about a girl called Carin who didn't know when to leave well enough alone...but I really think we need to discuss Petunia, my darling. In fact, I was a little surprised you didn't bring it up in your last note. I know you and your sister haven't got on as well since you went off to school. And I know that Vernon has never been your favourite person...but he makes your sister happy, Lily. When she told me she'd written you about the engagement and you'd said you'd be staying at a friend's house over winter holidays...I know you must be upset, but this is important to Petunia. We set the engagement party specifically during the holidays so that you could attend! And I hadn't even known you were planning on visiting friends during your holiday. We get to see you so rarely, and I miss you so terribly when you're gone. I just wish you'd reconsider. Invite Grace and Emma to come along if you'd like. Or perhaps James? I can buy some clotted cream from Harrod's. If Vernon's family is anything like him, they'd certainly appreciate it. (Though we may have to hide a tin or two.)_

_I love you very much, Lily, and I hope we can get this all sorted._

_Mum_

____________________

**Later Etc, Library Etc  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

I...

                She...

                _What?_

____________________

**Later Etc, Library Etc  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

                What do I even— _how_ can I...

                No.

                _No._

                I can't do this right now. I _can't_.

                I have to study. Focus on studying. It's fine. Everything's fine.

____________________

**Later Etc, Library Etc  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

 _1\. Name two of the three spells used to transfigure furniture (inanimate object to inanimate object) and compare the methods of casting.  
_ I don't know.

 _2\. What is "ethste sona" used for and name the one common wandwork mistake related to it.  
_ I don't _know_.

3\. _Name the best mate in the entire world who would create a practice test for you when she should be paying attention to Professor Binns.  
_ I DON'T KNOW.

____________________

**Later Etc, Library Etc  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 317**

 

                I think I'm going to be sick.

____________________

**Much Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 318**

 

                I tried to concentrate. Honestly, I did. I knew what I'd gone to the library to do, knew it was imperative that I do it, and also knew that if I stopped even for a moment, for even the slimmest of seconds, everything was going to fall apart. I had my books, I had my notes, I had Emmeline's practice test, and I had every reason in the world to lose myself in them. There was so much to focus on and so much to absorb and I stared and I tried and I just _kept trying_...but it was hopeless. It was so utterly _hopeless_ , and I think I knew that even before I began.

                Because every time I looked at the words on the page—any kind of words at all—an unholy sickening feeling rolled through my stomach and an entirely different batch of words began to swim before my eyes instead.

                ... _When she told me she'd written you about the engagement and you'd said you'd be staying at a friend's house over winter holidays..._

Written me.

                Petunia had written me.

                Or at least, that's what she'd told Mum. Not only that, but I'd apparently responded, and promptly declined the invitation to her engagement party.

                My sister had uninvited me to her engagement party through our mother.

                An engagement I hadn't even known _existed_.

                And I...

                I don't even know what to say. I don't know what to _do_. Should I tell Mum that no such letter exchange existed? That I hadn't even known Petunia _was_ engaged, much less that she was planning an engagement party for winter hols and that I apparently couldn't attend? But what would be the point? Petunia obviously knew what she was doing when she'd told Mum all that. She knew Mum would write to me about it. She knew the message would get across: I was to find somewhere else to go over winter holiday. I wasn't wanted at her engagement party. She didn't want me there.

                She doesn't want me there.

                And I...I mean, I _know_ Petunia doesn't...that my being a witch has always been an issue with her. When I told James that night in the Trophy Room that she hated me, I wasn't being overdramatic. If perhaps not hate, it's an emotion terribly close to it. We just...I don't fit into her polite boxes and I don't think she's ever forgiven me for that. Perhaps it started as jealousy—I'd been so excited to go to Hogwarts, and my parents were so fascinated by the whole thing—but over time, whatever envious emotion it once had been had more than thoroughly transformed into a heady resentment. She had never bothered to hide that.

                But _this_? Not inviting me to her own _engagement party_? People would wonder where I was. They'd ask. Petunia would _despise_ that. She hated drawing attention to that kind of thing more than possibly anything else. But her hatred of me obviously exceeded even her supreme distaste for any imperfection in her life because she was willing to endure the questions if it meant I wasn't there.

                Which is...

                Hell.

                Bloody double fucking hell.

                I don't even know. Just...how _could_ she? _How?_

                I sat there in the library, staring blindly down at Emma's practice test, the unanswered questions playing on a constant reel inside my head. And despite the fact that I hated myself for doing it, that I thought I'd grown past the point where these things affected me so much...I felt the telltale prickling at the back of my eyes, saw the words wavering in a decidedly different fashion on the page, and knew I wouldn't be able to hold anything back for long. I wiped blindly at my eyes and sucked in a breath, but only managed to grab a few books (with the dreaded post shoved between one's pages) before the pieces started to crack. Abandoning the rest of my things on the study table, I bolted from the library with all the finesse of a one-legged abraxan.

                Because, damn it, it _hurt_.

                I hated it, I wished it didn't—told myself it shouldn't, that there was no point in it—but it _hurt_ and I didn't know how to stop it.

                Did she think it wouldn't? Did she even care? And what did this mean? A year from now, was I supposed to conveniently disappear for the wedding, as well? Would I get another letter from Mum: "Really, Lily, this is the most important day of your sister's life. Can't you move your business trip to Australia back a week or so?"

                I don't know.

                I honestly don't know.

                All I know is that it _hurt_ in the worst possible way.

                I wish I could say that I left the library and miraculously managed to regain some desperately needed composure. It would have been nice. I think I deserved a bit of nice then, yeah? But even outside the claustrophobic walls of the library, my wayward emotions were still getting the better of me. The corridor was not the breath of fresh air I was hoping for, nor was it a particularly good refuge to hide in. I needed somewhere closed, a space where I wasn't at the mercy of running into every Jane, Jack, or Larry who had a hankering to visit Madam Pince. But it was hard to focus on finding such a place when every fibre of my being was still focused on simply keeping it together. So I just began to walk. Blindly, without direction. I let my feet do the work.

                Which was probably why, about halfway down the corridor, not fifteen seconds later, I promptly slammed into someone walking innocently in the opposite direction.

                It was the last straw.

                The last. Bloody. _Straw._

                " _Shit_." I fell instantly to my knees, the swear dropping from lips in a heated hiss. I began scraping blindly at my fallen belongings, my eyes watering and the litany of swear words raging on. "Shit. Fuck. _Shit._ Buggering, sodding, _fucking_ —"

                An impatient hand swiped at my own.

                "Unless you've suddenly decided to take up Muggle Studies," Sirius said flatly, "then I reckon that one's mine."

                I froze, my gaze darting up to see him—oh _god—_ standing there in front of me before immediately snapping back down to the Muggle Studies textbook that—yes, he was quite right—was in my hand and yet decidedly was not my own. Bloody hell. I couldn't even begin to contemplate the fright I probably looked. I tucked my chin fast against my chest as he crouched down to the floor along with me, hoping my quick ducking manoeuvre would be enough to hide my undoubtedly blotchy-faced, soggy-eyed veneer. I evened my breathing and shoved the textbook at him, gathering together the rest of my things with alarming speed. I just needed him to leave. _I_ needed to leave.

                "I think the rest is mine, so you can really—"

                He sucked in a harsh breath.

                "Oh, fucking hell, Evans," he groaned. "Not _again_."

                Bugger.

                "Not now, Sirius," I sniffed, seeing no real point in attempting to hide my distress now that he'd clearly already caught on. Lifting my gaggle of belongings, I rose quickly. "I'm not—"

                "What's it now?" he asked, following me to my feet. A flash of hesitation flickered across his face. "It's not...no one...the last time—"

                "It's fine. Nothing like last time." This much, at least, was true. I felt like I'd just taken a Bludger to the chest, but Evan Rosier and his awful mates had nothing to do with it. "I'm fine. Just leave off, all right?"

                "Evans—"

                "I said leave _off_."

                Merlin, I had to get out of there. I may not have been able to avoid this disastrous run-in, but no one said I had to stick around to see it to its mortifying end. Wiping sharply at my ever-leaking eyes, I strode past Sirius and made my escape with all the dignity I could muster.

                Except that it's not much of an escape when the disaster follows.

                "Look, if this is about James...he's not even really that cross, all right? Git's been in a mood since early yesterday. If you'd just—"

                "Not everything is about your stupid mate!" I snapped, foolishly attempting to outmatch his decidedly longer strides with my decidedly shorter ones. "Not that he's making things _easier_ , mind you, but if he wants to go sulk in his temper, he can just have right at it! I don't even bloody care anymore. Now leave me _alone._ "

                For a few seconds, I actually thought he might listen. I had a moment's reprieve, just a few precious seconds wherein I got to imagine that I might actually get to go off and have that frightfully long cry my body so desperately wanted, before the karmic backlash inevitably hit. I heard the exasperated sigh and the stubborn footsteps quickly followed.

                "I really wish I could, Evans," Sirius said tiredly. "Honestly. I truly wish I could."

                I stopped walking, not out of any particular desire to have him catch up with me, but simply because his mutterings were so utterly ludicrous, how could I _not_ stop?

                "What are you on about?" I asked. "If you want to leave, leave. You'll find no objections here!"

                "I can't," Sirius informed me glumly. "He'll know."

                "Who'll know?"

                "James." He lifted his hands into a defeated shrug, as if he too couldn't quite believe the codswallop that was coming out of his mouth. "I don't know how, I don't know why, but I leave you here looking like you've just heard your owl met the wrong end of a broomstick collision, and James'll know about it. And then I'm going to have to hear about it. And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have to hear about it."

                The pure stupidity of his whole spiel had me momentarily forgetting that I was on the verge of a breakdown and found me almost giving in to the equally absurd impulse to laugh in his face. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

                Sirius shrugged. "Doesn't make it any less true."

                "So what am I supposed to do? Have a cry on your shoulder?"

                He turned to me, looking positively horrified. "Fucking hell, I hope not."

                That _was_ enough to make me laugh, even if it did come out a wee bit wet and gaspy. I gave my eyes another absent swipe, then shook my head.

                "You can calm your manly nerves, all right? That scenario would be just as horrific for me as it would for you. And besides, you're in the clear." I gave a jerky kind of shrug as we began to walk again. "Even if by some chance James _did_ have this superpower you claim, I highly doubt he'd care much. We're not exactly on good terms right now."

                Sirius shook his head.

                "And then you wonder why he gets cross," he muttered, clearly disgruntled. Before I could properly retort, he'd already changed the subject. "So let's just get on with it, then. What's all this? Get an E on an exam? Forgot to answer a homework question? Heard Flitwick's got a bit of a sniffle?"

                "Is that all you really think affects my life? Your arsehole mate and lessons?"

                "On your good days."

                "Lovely. Really flattering, that. You know—"

                "At least you've quit blubbering now."

                I don't know what it was. Perhaps I'd finally cracked and just wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face. Perhaps I _had_ noticed that Fil sounded a bit stuffy in class this morning and resented the fact that some would poke fun for it. Or maybe it was simply because I'd been driving myself barmy with the maddening implications of Mum's note for the past hour and I just needed it _off_ —out and away from me and on to someone else. But whatever the reason, I somehow found myself plunging a hand amidst my pile of books, grabbing Mum's note from between the closed textbook pages, and waving it about like a bloody surrendering flag in Sirius's face.

                "Here!" I cried, shoving the note at him. "You really want to know what's wrong? Do you? Fine! Here! Have _bloody_ at it!"

                Sirius took the note with a nonchalance that proved even more infuriating than his goading quips had done, leaving me fuming and panting as he casually unfolded the bit of paper and began to read. As his eyes scanned the page, I was too mortified to watch him, turning and walking towards the nearest window where I dropped my random collection of books upon the ledge. Reprieved of their weight, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared defiantly outside at the grounds, willing my cheeks to quit flushing and my heart to cease slamming so frantically.

                "So what?" came his voice from behind me, a few seconds later. "You don't like the sod your sister's marrying? That's what all the hysterics are about?"

                "I didn't know my sister _was_ getting married," I corrected.

                "But your Mum said—"

                "I know what my Mum said."

                Sirius got quiet then, the loudest silence in the empty corridor. I turned to find him mulling that one over, watched as the pieces of the puzzle slowly began to fit together. When he finally had the whole picture, he gave a low whistle.

                "A class act, your sister," is what he said, handing the letter back. "Probably'll be a dead boring affair, anyway."

                "Probably," I agreed, but we both knew that was hardly the point. The corridor went quiet again, and I felt myself begin to blush.

                I shouldn't have shown him—why did I show him? He didn't care, we weren't really mates, and the only person who _did_ connect us currently wasn't speaking to me, which meant he probably cared even less. I am just a foolish, emotionally unstable cow who goes about unloading herself on any poor soul with the unfortunate luck to cross my path. Or get barreled into on it. No wonder my sister doesn't want me at her wedding. No wonder my potentially-considering-boyfriend doesn't trust me. No wonder—

                "You're stupid for letting her get to you, you know."

                The comment was so quiet, I almost didn't hear it. I turned, the words somehow breaking through the blasting sound of my own internal angst, and I lifted my head in surprise. "Sorry?"

                "You shouldn't let her get to you," Sirius said again, louder this time. "It doesn't matter."

                "She's my sister. How can you say it doesn't matter?"

                "Because it only matters if you let it." He said it as if that made a difference, and shot me a pointed look as he crossed over to the window and hoisted himself up on the ledge next to my books. He began digging in his trouser pocket and came back out with a cigarette. " _She_ clearly doesn't give fuck-all, so why should you?"

                "It doesn't work like that," I argued. "You don't understand."

                Sirius gave a short bark of laughter. "Me? Not understand? Oh, Evans. Haven't you heard? I practically _wrote_ this sob story."

                He looked away as he lit the cigarette, cupping his hand around small stick and bringing his wand to the waiting tip. I watched him silently, not knowing what to say, but perhaps wasn't meant to. A few moments later, he looked at me again. This time, his expression was nothing short of mocking.

                "My mother's got this family tree, right? Huge, extravagant thing. Every Black who's ever fucked another and somehow come out with a spawn is up there. Thing's got a whole bloody room to itself." He took a long drag from the cig here, let the smoke slowly stream out. "The night I left—was practically kicked out, mind you—I got a note from my brother. One line, seven words: 'Mother's burned your name off the tree.' He even sent along a photo." His head turned sharply, his expression hard as granite. "So don't _tell me_ I don't understand, Evans. If I had a cry every time my family treated me like shit, there wouldn't be enough time in the day to sleep."

                My stomach sank unpleasantly, the bitter words hanging in the air like a heady perfume. It wasn't the first time I'd realised that Sirius and I had more in common than I'd previously imagined, but it was the first time I'd had it shoved so forcefully in my face. I wished that we could've had something other than rotten and broken families to bond us—something like a fine appreciation for a nice quill, or a healthy competitive streak when it came to Gobstones—but it seems that's what this came down to.

                And even though it was hardly something to revel in—the fact that I'd gone and actually found someone with a greater understanding of the pure dysfunction of sibling relationships than even me—I have to admit, I felt almost...relieved. Because he _did_ understand. More than understand, even. He lived it as I lived it, and that was comforting in some strange way.

                I stared at him with interest, wondering at this new phenomenon.

                "How do you do it?" I asked, genuinely curious. "How do you make it not matter? How can you tell me all that and not want to scream? How can you hold a wand at your brother's neck and not even have your hand waver?"

                "Perspective," Sirius answered succinctly. "There's rubbish you can change, and there's rubbish you can't. Why keep fighting a lost battle?"

                "But you were close once, weren't you? With Regulus, I mean?" When this garnered no answer, I plodded on. "Petunia and I were, when we were younger. Maybe it's different being the younger sibling, but I worshiped her. Everything she did, I wanted to do. Everything she was, I wanted to be. And then I got my Hogwarts letter...and everything just went to shambles. She doesn't like magic. I think she might have been jealous at first, but then she just..." I trailed off, swallowing hard. I left the rest to a shrug, not wanting to go on. "Don't you ever think you might...that things could get better, though? Maybe not the way they were, but better?"

                "Perspective," Sirius said again, this time more forcefully. "Reg and I have two very different ones. Sounds like it's the same for you and your sister. You choose different paths, and no one's willing to bend."

                " _I_ am," I said. "I'm willing to bend."

                "So was I," Sirius admitted, and there was enough grimness in his tone to recognise that that was an inclination decidedly in the past tense. More surprising was that he didn't look sad by it. Just...subjected. "You can't change who you are," he told me. "Sometimes better isn't worth it."

                Fighting words, that. Better isn't worth it. Quite the statement, certainly. My first impulse was to argue, to insist that of _course_ better was worth it—how could better possibly not be worth it? But the argument died on my lips as the harsh logic seeped in.

                Because he was right. You _can't_ change who you are, and I don't think anything less than me returning to life as a Muggle would be enough to satisfy Petunia. And even _that_ might not do it. The truth is, I don't know what she wants or expects from me. And much as I claim I'm willing to bend, some things you just _can't_ bend, and others are just too much to ask.

                But where does that leave me then, hm? Less one sister? She's the only one I've got. I haven't much family to begin with—just Mum, Dad, Tunie, Aunt Mae, and Uncle Davy. I really can't afford to be losing any of them. But it doesn't seem I have much of a choice. At least, not the way that Sirius tells it. And while I know our situations are different, that in many ways he has it so much worse than I ever could, I had a feeling he wasn't so far off from the truth. This wasn't about the differences in our situations. It was about the similarities.

                "We planned her wedding once, you know," I said, biting down hard on my lip. "When we were younger. We were just playing—the guests were being served beans on toast, if I recall, and I think the Beatles were playing the reception—but we did plan it. Funny how that works, isn't it?"

                Sirius shook his head. "Why torture yourself?"

                "It still hurts," I said softly, sighing lightly, not all that surprised to find that the prickling had turned into actual tears and I was bordering on a mess again. "Even accepting all that...doesn't it still hurt?"

                "It's not _fun_ ," Sirius admitted, lifting the cig to his mouth again. "But so few things are these days."

                That cracked the smallest of smiles. It felt nice, even if I knew it was only a momentary thing. I let out a long breath. "So what am I supposed to do, then? About the engagement party, I mean. Not go?"

                At this, Sirius nearly choked.

                "Not _go_? Not...Evans, are you _mental_? Of course you go! You go, you wear white, you get tipsy, you hit on the groom and say all sorts of bloody inappropriate things, and you make her damned _justified_ in the fact that she didn't want you there—but you do it on your _own_ terms." He leaned back and took a drag from the cigarette, snorting out a stream of smoke. "Honestly, Evans. Not _go_."

                I gave a watery chuckle, swiping at the last of my tears and chuckling harder at the mere thought of such a scene, how utterly mortified Petunia would be. It might've served her right, but I only wish I had such spite.

                "Or I could just write the truth to my mother, let it all fall back on Petunia's head," I suggested, giving a guilty little shrug. "That's about as far as my retribution impulse goes, I fear."

                Sirius shook his head in mock disapproval, crushing out the end of his now stubby cigarette. "Really, Evans. And I thought I'd already properly corrupted you."

                "Not quite," I laughed, though I reckon he gets points for making formative cracks. I hugged my arms around my chest and sent him a small smile. "Thanks."

                "For what?"

                "For letting me have a cry on your shoulder. Metaphorically."

                Sirius snorted, jumping down from the window ledge and sticking me with a look. "Didn't have much of a choice, did I? I told you. He'd _know_."

                "And I told _you_ , he won't care. You didn't see him this morning. He was like ice."

                "So apologise."

                "I'm not the one who ought to apologise! He's got just as much to be sorry for!"

                "But he's in a mood. And when he's in a mood, he's not in any frame of mind to be sorry about anything. Besides, you don't _actually_ have to apologise. Not in words."

                I cocked an eyebrow. "Not in words?"

                The look he sent me then was nothing less than contemptuous.

                "If I really have to explain it to you, Evans," he muttered flatly, "then you have less imagination than I gave you credit for."

                Oh, bloody hell. I blushed furiously, but tried to play it off as if I were utterly unaffected. "Oh, that's lovely. He's being an arse, and I'm supposed to snog him for it? Only a bloke would find that logical."

                "At least this way, you get something out of it, too." Sirius grabbed his textbook off the pile of mine. "If you're doing it properly, anyway."

                "Are you questioning my snogging abilities?"

                "Trust me, Evans. I live with James. I know more about your snogging abilities than any innocent bloke really ought to."

                I gasped, grabbing my things off the ledge and scurrying along after him.

                "He does _not_ tell you that sort of thing!" I hissed.

                "No?"

                "I will _kill_ him."

                "It's only embarrassing if you're rubbish at it. Though, granted, James's a bit of a biased opinion."

                He was outright laughing at me now, and I really hadn't the gumption not to flush like a silly third year, so I was predictably red as anything. But I wasn't going down without a fight. He wanted to play this game? Fine. He wasn't the only one with dirty ammunition.

                "Well, fair is fair, I suppose. I mean, if Laura Darthern is to be believed, you have enough imagination for the both of us. Mixing business with pleasure, Mr. Barrister? Apparently she was unaware that your— _ahem_ —depositions were meant to remain confidential."

                For a moment, Sirius looked a bit stunned, as if I'd just jabbed him with a left hook when he'd been expecting it from the right. But his surprise quickly faded to bemusement, then _a_ musement, and then—huzzah!—grudging admiration.

                "Touché," he said, nodding with approval. "I have to quit underestimating you."

                I hummed a haughty agreement. "Too true."

                We continued walking then, which was when I realised that we were heading back in the direction of the library. True, I was no longer in a state where I needed to be alone in a dark, dreary room, but it was still a bit awkward to be returning to the place I had so recently run from as if the fires of hell were biting at my heels. I looked over at Sirius, a plan formulating.

                There was comfort in numbers, after all.

                "Where are you heading?" I asked.

                "Library. Had an essay due last week. Reckon I should probably get around to it."

                "Muggle Studies?" At his nod, I grinned. "Excellent. I'll write it for you."

                Sirius snorted. "Yeah, all right."

                "No, really, I will. You'll have to help me with Transfiguration first, but I'll do it after. A fair trade."

                Sirius looked suspicious. "Last time I tutored you, you tried to shove your wand up my nostril."

                "Yes, but I learned not to twist left, didn't I?"

                Sirius muttered dubiously, but it was only a matter of time before I cowed him into submission and we both knew it. Besides, who could give up the chance at a free Muggle Studies essay? Especially when I discovered it was on Muggle cinema, and that Sirius had decided to write his essay on—really, how _shocking_ —Alfred Hitchcock. I may not have been a fan of _The Birds_ , but I've seen _Rear Window_ more times than I can count, and his version of _Rebecca_ wasn't too shabby, either. With a little bit of help from the Hitchcock biography we finagled from Pince (really, who knew the Hogwarts library had such things?), I was practically an expert. And though Sirius was ever the surly tutor, he and his grumpy ways _did_ seem to get inside my head the way McGonagall's lessons never seemed to manage.

                And—wouldn't you know it? I now know how to properly transfigure a chair into properly working toaster!

                I mean, mostly. There was that one casualty, but we hid the mangled chair way back in the Care for Magical Creatures section where I doubt anyone will find it.

                And while I don't feel exactly _all right_ with this engagement party business...well, I think I'm still okay. Because there are some things you just can't change and I can always take comfort in the fact that while _I_ may not have the nerve to hit on Vernon or drunkenly shout inappropriate things throughout the party...well, there's always Uncle Davy.

                And now I think I deserve a nice nap before I have to get up and face both James and the Prefects at our meeting. Truth be told, after all of today's drama, I think I deserve it. Just a nice, short, quick kip should do the trick...

____________________

**Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 319**

 

                SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SO LATE SO LATE SO LATE

                WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?

____________________

**Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 45  
** **Total Observations: 319**

 

                All right, so I wasn't _that_ late. Not for the meeting, anyway.

                But James and I had agreed to meet a half-hour beforehand to formulate some kind of meeting strategy and not have to, you know, make it up as we went along, proving us the fraudulent Head Students that we actually are, and I was most certainly late for _that_. So when I finally woke up from my rather pleasant nap—still tired and groggy and a little nauseated honestly, really only wanting to snuggle back under my blankets and never come out again—the fact that I was ten minutes late meeting James seemed like a lot more of a situation. I didn't think. I just panicked and ran, not even bothering to fix my hair or straighten my clothes or even properly put on my shoes (now they're all creased in the heels from where I stepped into them and I _hate_ that). In the end, the whole thing got perhaps loads more dramatic than it really ought to have done.

                But honestly, this is me. What more can you expect?

                I made incredible time, all things considered. We were holding the meeting in the old History classroom on the 2nd floor, and it's no easy feat to get down there from Gryffindor Tower, let me tell you. Especially when your hair is sort of in your face and obstructing your vision and your shoes are clopping all over the place because they're not properly on and breathing's become a smidge more difficult considering you're full-out sprinting for glory and gold and such. But I did it, somewhat miraculously, because I am apparently quite superhuman when only partially awake and vaguely ill. With little to no warning, I came barging into the History classroom like the tornado came at Kansas.

                Poor Dorothy.

                Poor James.

                "I don't want to hear it!" was the breathy battle cry I let loose as I first rushed in, stomping into the room like a rampaging hippogriff. The general plan was start yelling before _he_ could start yelling, even as he stood by the professor's desk at the front of the room looking quite bemused by the frightful ruckus I was making. I might have realised that a bit sooner—that he was looking far more bewildered than belligerent, I mean—if I hadn't been so busy acting the mad harridan. "I know I'm late and I know you're angry but I'm here and I'm whole and I don't want to hear it, all right? I'm _here_."

                (I'm rather certain he was already aware I was there.)

                His eyes narrowed. "Lily, what—"

                "Quiet," I snapped, finally managing to march myself right up next to him. I ignored the strange look he was giving me, decided instead to continue screaming and hollering my guilt away. "I was _sleeping_ , all right? It's been a long day and I feel like rubbish and it was just supposed to be a sodding _nap_ , see, but it wasn't, because it's me, and this oversleeping thing is becoming rather routine with me—and I _know_ you're cross. You're cross because of the mess thing and because of the practice thing and because of whatever else thing you've managed to come up with in the last twelve hours, I don't really know, but I— _I_ —"

                My voice trailed away. Slowly— _finally_ —I took a moment out of my busy screeching schedule to actually _look_ at James as I hollered. And more importantly, to listen to him.

                Wait a second.

                Was he...

                "Are you...are you _laughing_ at me?

                James didn't answer—didn't have to, really, as the answer was more than obvious. He _was_ laughing—happily so, even. That was so far from the reaction I was expecting, so immensely removed from the utter chilly silence or biting jibes I had been preparing myself to receive, that I can't imagine it's so hard to understand why I was left reeling slightly.

                And that was _before_ he lifted his hand and gently swiped his fingers across my cheek.

                "You've still got pillow creases," he said, chuckling.                                            

                I blinked.

                Good lord.

                He's finally cracked.

                "I...er, yeah. Yes. That's...sleeping. Was sleeping. Me."

                It wasn't even proper English. It wasn't proper anything. But try as I might, I couldn't muster anything more coherent. The boy was _laughing_. He was laughing when he ought have been _yelling_. Why the bloody hell wasn't he yelling?

                "You're supposed to be angry," I murmured, baffled. "You were so angry. Why aren't you angry?"

                "Do you want me to be angry?" he asked.

                I stuck him with a look. "Of course not. But that doesn't change the fact that you _were_." I stared expectantly, waiting for him to recall this, but all I got in return was a thin, little smile, as if I were telling a mildly amusing anecdote. "This morning? In the corridor? Remember?"

                "You were angry, as well."

                "Only after you provoked me!" I truly wanted to pummel him. "And even then, I'd more or less talked myself out of it by lunch. _You_ could hardly stand to look at me."

                "Well now, that's just decidedly untrue." He grinned again. His fingers lifted once more, this time to tug at a bit of hair still hanging in my face. "The rumpled look suits you, by the way."

                I slapped his hand away, but my fingers inevitably found their way back up to my hair, feeling the knots and tangles and the bits of mess springing out at every conceivable angle. I let out a muffled swear, scraping quickly at the remnants of my once-proper plait. I began replaiting with furious yanks.

                "I don't understand you. You're a bloody ponce this morning, angry for a thousand barmy reasons that don't make any sense at all, but now when you've actually _got_ reason to be cross, you're laughing! Actually _laughing_. You're completely and utterly mental, do you know that? I'd planned this whole apology—"

                "You were going to apologise?" James asked, surprised.

                I tied off the end of my plait, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff. "Well, not in _words_."

                James's eyebrows lifted, but I was in no mood to explain the finer points of Sirius's slaggy suggestion. Part of me acknowledged that I should probably be glad about how things had turned out. I mean, James wasn't cross. He wasn't even cross that _I_ had been cross because I had shown up late. He'd totally just let me yell at him. He'd _laughed_ about it. Isn't that exactly what I'd wanted? Peace and harmony, etc? But despite how it sounded, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong. I didn't trust things that came so easily. James had been cross this morning— _really_ cross. Properly cross. And it wasn't like him to talk himself out of such a temper. Not without assistance, in any case. We ought to be talking this out— _yelling_ it out—but what was I supposed to do? Pick a row? Begin screeching again? How dim was that?

                No matter what I did, I couldn't win.

                The whole thing was rather exhausting.

                "Today," I started tiredly, placing my hands on the professor's desk behind me and hoisting myself up, "has been by _far_ one of the most _exhausting_ days of my life. So while I could keep arguing with you, I'm not going to. You're clearly not cooperating and I'm too bloody knackered to put the proper effort into it. So there. You win."

                James shifted until he standing just in front of me, neatly there against my knees. Merlin, I hadn't been this close to him in what felt like ages. I wanted to sift my fingers through his hair and squeeze.

                "Most people would be at least slightly more rested after a long nap," he said.

                I shook my head sadly. "I told you, Pomfrey says I'm exhausting my body. And is it any wonder, with the likes of you driving me spare?"

                James just hummed an absent agreement, even though this was really his moment to drop down to his knees and beg forgiveness for all the unnecessary tension and stress he brought to my everyday life. Instead, he busied himself with unfurling my disorderly shirt collar and then dutifully setting it right again.

                I covered his hands with mine, waiting for his gaze to lift. "So we're really all right?" I asked.

                "We're fine. Or _I'm_ fine, at least." He pressed a finger against the corner of my lips. "What else has you frowning?"

                _You_ , I wanted to say, because despite his reassurances, I still didn't believe him. But I couldn't say that without starting something up again and I'd already decided that that was an entirely fruitless endeavour. So I took my mouth in hand and stayed silent, trying to right my grimace. It wasn't particular amenable to my attempts at perkiness, however, clinging proudly to its pout, but I thought that rather understandable considering all it was up against. I mean, my body was giving out on me, my potentially-considering-boyfriend was driving me to drink, I had a huge exam four days from now that I was probably going to fail, and my sister had more or less disowned me through a note from our mother. Was it any wonder why I couldn't stop frowning? Guam couldn't have been shouting my name any louder.

                For a second, my mind lingered over that last life disaster, toying with the idea of bringing up Mum's letter, telling James about Petunia and her apparent engagement. It wasn't long before I set that idea aside, however, fidgeting uncomfortably at the mere thought. For one thing, there was a time and place for such conversations, and fifteen minutes before we were supposed to be laying down the law for a room full of Prefects was not ideal for either. For another...well, I wasn't by any means all _right_ with what Petunia had done, but talking with Sirius had somehow given me a bit of peace—one that I was unsurprisingly unwilling to give up. It seemed mad at first, having Sirius play the role of comfort and confidant, but mulling it over, I reckon it actually did make the most sense. And it isn't that I thought James wouldn't be properly sympathetic...but he was an only child. I'm not certain he'd be able to fully grasp the complexity of it all.

                But mostly...well, it was like I'd said that night in the Trophy Room. Petunia was a Big Thing. She was _my_ Big Thing and even though I really was working on the trust issues, the last thing James and I needed now were more problems. We stirred up enough of that on our own, thanks muchly.

                "I had Sirius tutoring me in Transfiguration again today," I told him instead, thinking that reason enough to explain my sorry facial expression. "His teaching methods aren't all that friendly, but I reckon they work. I can do that chair spell now. Er, sort of."

                "How'd you manage that?" James asked, impressed. "The tutoring, I mean. Not the chair spell."

                "I ran into him outside the library." I omitted the fact that it had been quite a _literal_ run-in, and that I had been on the verge of hysterics at the time. "I had to write his Muggle Studies essay in exchange, but that wasn't so terrible."

                "So that's what has you so on edge? Transfiguration?"

                "And Alfred Hitchcock." I shook my head in mock disapproval. "We've really got to get you and Sirius back inside a cinema. This obsession with _The Birds_ can't be healthy."

                James smiled at that, but it was really more of a lip twitch than a fitting grin and this strange flash of something skidded over his face a moment before he covered it up again. I wondered at that, but it really wasn't so difficult to discern why. I mean, it had to be odd for him, learning that Sirius and I were doing things without him. Even dull academic things. He really _was_ our main thread of connection. But odd as it was, it wasn't really a _bad_ thing, and I reckon James must have decided much the same because the look was gone as fast as it'd come and then he was back to his normal self.

                _Quite_ his normal self, actually.

                Naturally.

                "So." His body seemed to shift closer, if that was even possible. "What was this about an apology without words?"

                Oh, for Merlin's _sake_. "That wasn't—"

                But really, I don't know why I even bothered protesting. When a cow needs milking, there is just no stopping it.

                And who am I to mess with nature, hm?

                No one, clearly, but I unfortunately can't say the same for Chris Lynch, who conveniently decided to arrive to the meeting a few calcium-filled minutes later—Remus, Carrie Lloyd, and a few other Gryffindor Prefects trailing along behind him. His loud, guffawing laugh heralded their entrance.

                "Oh, cracking guidance, faithful leaders! Quick, where's the book? Or a camera? Who has the book or a camera?"

                It took some hemming and hawing, but Remus _did_ eventually hand over _What Not to Do When Dealing With Prefects_ as I hopped off the desk, blushing furiously and sputtering out garbled explanations. James just sort of laughed along with the rest of them, the sodding unflappable bastard. We'd thankfully managed to get Chris to shut up about the whole thing by the time the other Prefects began to arrive, but the damn cocky Keeper had his snarky leering grin on the entire meeting and only a blind man would've missed it. And he wasn't the only one, either. Remus had looked decidedly amused as he'd handed the book over to Chris and refused to tell us what had been written (though I imagine it was something along the lines of "Head Students might find it useful to keep practical demonstrations of what to look out for during patrols to themselves."). Carrie Lloyd couldn't quite meet my gaze and Mary MacDonald couldn't look away, as if James and I snogging was the most shocking thing she'd seen in decades.

                To say I spent most of the meeting on the verge of flustered beyond reason would be a slight understatement.

                But that was nothing compared to what happened _after_ the meeting.

                For all my blatant embarrassment and the complete and utter lack of planning that went into it, the actual meeting bit really didn't go too poorly. With the exception of Gil McCoy and Juliette Hoyt, two of the swottiest 5th year Prefects I've ever seen, no one much paid attention to our lectures on rounds, house points and the desperate plea to keep an eye out for the 2nd years' latest game—something they called Dragons and which thus far had resulted in the brutal destruction of no less than five suits of armour and a very distressed portrait of Silus Sillington—but that was hardly unusual. By the time the meeting ended and James and I had wisely stepped aside as the Prefects-turned-ravaging-cannibals fought each other in their desperate attempts to secure decent round dates for next month, I even thought it acceptable to give ourselves a congratulatory pat on the back.

                "Well, that didn't go off too horribly, considering the scant effort we put into its planning," I muttered to James as we watched the madness unfold, grinning.

                "Scant effort?" He gave a gasp of mock offense. "Speak for yourself, Infallible. _I_ had that Dragons speech planned for weeks. Fine-tuned it and everything."

                "'The game must end'? _That_ took you weeks?"

                James nodded solemnly. "And so it must."

                I rolled my eyes as he laughed, would've told him that his weeks of planning left a little something to be desired if Gil hadn't chosen that exact moment to corner us with his burning need to expunge upon every little detail he'd ever managed to acquire about the issue known as Dragons and how he singlehandedly intended to take it down. By the end of his tirade (which, one must admit, was very thorough, if slightly disturbing), I was a bit bleary-eyed. I'm not certain whether James was merely amused or faintly sickened.

                "They're second years, McCoy, not an armed battalion of rebel rousers," he said.

                Gil sniffed haughtily, his stubby nose raised at what seemed to be a rather permanent angle. "That's just how it starts. Today it's a few suits of armour, a frightened portrait—but what of _tomorrow_? They must be stopped!"

                I cleared my throat, aiming for diplomacy. "I agree. But you have to admit, your methods sound a bit...er, drastic."

                Gil stared incredulously. "Potter said it best, Lily. The game must _end_."

                I glanced over at James. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

                Merlin's beard. Was I ever this bad?

                "We'll consider your suggestions," I said instead, because the madman was obviously expecting some kind of response and James was in no position to give one (not without snorting in Gil's face, at least). Left to my own devices, I went for the encouraging approach. I dropped a supportive hand upon Gil's shoulder and gave a few hearty pats. "It's just like my mother always says: when you've got a view from the ground, there's no place to go but up! We'll go up from here, Gil. We really will."

                Gil nodded contentedly, seeming to take Mum's wise words as comforting confirmation to the genius of his plans (which included locking up all second years for an hours-long interrogation, just for a snippet). That didn't stop him from getting in one last condescending sniff before he walked off, but I reckon that was about as good as things got with Gil McCoy. I tried desperately not to chuckle or scream, intent upon turning to James and unleashing a bushel load of jeering comments I'd been holding back, but I never quite got the chance. Before I could even mutter a "Merlin help us all," I was distracted by the expression I caught frozen upon James's face.

                He looked supremely odd, and more than a bit staggered. He gaped as if someone had just kicked him—worse, had kicked him when he'd been expecting a hug. With his eyes glued on mine, my amusement immediately faded.

                "What is it?" I asked.

                He hesitated. "I...I've heard that before."

                "Heard what? Placating lies?"

                "No, the saying."

                "The—Oh. Mum's, you mean?" I laughed, because he was looking so serious and it really wasn't anything serious at all. "Have you, then? Hmph. I thought that was a patented Caro Evans original. Apparently she filched it from somewhere else."

                James shook his head. "No, I heard it from you."

                "From me?" That wasn't so hard to believe. Live with Caroline Evans for seventeen years, and you inevitably ended up sounding exactly like her. I had a dozen more sayings just like that one in my arsenal, and they were undoubtedly let loose quite frequently. But James was staring at me as if he was expecting some big "Ah-ha!" moment from this, as if his scant smattering of words and supremely significant looks were enough for me to discern whatever it was he was trying to get across. But he might as well have been speaking in code— _was_ speaking in code, really—because I hadn't the faintest what was going on.

                "That's...brilliant?" I tried, seeing if that made a difference. It didn't. "I don't really...why are you staring at me like that? What is it?"

                James didn't answer, speech apparently seeming to fail him—a decidedly unusual occurrence for the normally quite glib bloke. I stood silently, waiting for the explanation to come, but it never really did. After a few seconds, James simply shook his head and seemed to shake off the strange conversation, as well. His face cleared and his shoulders jerked into a jaunty shrug.

                He chuckled haplessly. "Sorry. Can't really remember, either. No matter."

                No matter?

                My arse, no matter.

                "James, what are you—"

                But I never got to finish my questioning. Before I could even begin to badger him on it, Carrie Lloyd chose that opportune moment to step on up and interrupt us.

                "Eh- _hm_.” Her decidedly unsubtle throat clearing cut over my words. Both James and I turned towards her.

"What is it, Carrie?" I snapped, not feeling particularly friendly.

                "Here," she said, thrusting a piece of folded parchment at us. "This is for you."

                For me? My eyebrows shot instantly up to my hairline, eyeing the proffered bit of parchment with a healthy dose of wariness. I couldn't for the life of me guess what a folded bit of parchment from Carrie Lloyd might contain, but I didn't imagine it could be anything good.

                But just as I reached to take it, Carrie instantly snatched her hand back.

                "Not for _you_ ," she said, looking at me in disgust. Her head jerked towards James. "For _him_."

                My head swiveled round to James, perhaps more surprised than I really ought have been to hear that. But of course the note was for him. He and Carrie at least associated on occasion, whereas our relationship existed solely in the tights-filching, awkward-loo-sharing territory. Still, it was certainly curious, which is why I was expecting James to be as intrigued about it as I was, arm extended in preparation to appease said intrigue, more than willing to share it with others (me) to ease their curiosity too. Instead, I found him standing almost frozen, his lips thinning grimly as he eyed Carrie's offering with obvious suspicion.

                "What is it?" he asked.

                Carrie began to twirl her hair. "Erm, you know...like...ah...hm..."

                James's expression darkened.

                "Carrie—"

                "I don't know what it is!" she cried, the confession bursting out of her in breathy spurt. She dithered about, her words jumbled. "She just said to give it to you, all right? But she's like, _really_ sorry and everything, James. You haven't any idea. She's in such a state. So if you'd just—"

                " _No_." The word came so clipped, so fast, I almost missed it. But James's voice was loud enough and hard as granite when he spoke again. There was no missing _that_. "Take it back," he said. "I don't care."

                "But—"

                " _No_."

                Carrie looked shocked, at a complete and utter loss as to what to do, but I could hardly blame her considering I was staring at James in much the same way. I stood there silently, watching the James I'd met this morning make his first eveningtime appearance, arriving in full, furious force. As Carrie squeaked and sputtered, his expression remained firm and icy, utterly unrelenting.

                And even though I _knew_ who they were talking about—what other 'she' could they possibly be talking about?—I somehow found myself feeling slightly...worried. And not just for him, either. For her, too.

                Merlin help me, maybe I should have stayed in the Owlery longer.

                "What am I supposed to tell her?" Carrie finally asked, her face a furrowing mass of nerves and desperation.

                "Don't tell her anything," James replied, not wavering an inch. "She shouldn't have involved you in the first place."

                "But if you just read it—"

                James's glare became nothing less than chilling, and Carrie withered under its vehemence. Even the bravest of Gryffindors would have had difficulty standing up to it, but Carrie didn't even try. With one last pleading look, she slunk off out of the classroom, undelivered missive still in hand.

                For a few moments, James and I just stood there.

                "That was...interesting," I finally offered, deliberately keeping my voice light and airy. I glanced up at him again, surprised to find that his glasses hadn't fogged over in the cold. He wouldn't even look at me. "Are you going to—"

                "Leave it," he bit off curtly. "It doesn't matter."

                "Oh, no?" The statement was such a mockery, I wanted to laugh. "Seems quite the opposite to me. What's happened?"

                "Nothing happened. Just—"

                "You're fighting with Elisabeth," I said, seeing little point in beating round the bush. I ignored how hard my heart was pounding, how clammy my palms were getting. "Since when? Yesterday?"

                James's hand lifted to his hair. He began to swipe and pull. "Maybe."

                I caught his hand with mine, ceasing the nervous ruffling. "Seemed rather definite to me."

                His expression turned pained, almost annoyed, but if he thought I was letting this one go, he had another think coming. I needed answers. _Needed_ them. Because I was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

                It seems so stupid now, but I hadn't even thought about the repercussions for James and Saunders after yesterday's Owlery debacle. I'd been so wrapped up in the repercussions for me, me, me, wallowing in my pit of uncertainty and unwanted realities, that I hadn't even stopped to realise that the last thing I'd heard James say was that he was leaving, and how deadly furious he'd sounded. But even _I_ couldn't deny that some of the things Elisabeth had said after that had had rings of truth to them. I'd just assumed James had felt the same and the conversation had continued, with James's temper tapered by Saunders's reasoning.

                But what if it hadn't?

                Or if it had, what if things hadn't improved?

                Clearly I'd missed something.

                Something rather significant.

                The room was clearing out and the only Prefects left were a few fifth-years grumbling about their shabby round slots and Remus, who was lingering by the door waiting for us. I suppose James and I must have been radiating some kind of tension though, because Remus lifted an ever-perceptive eyebrow in question. I gave my head a subtle jerk towards the corridor and Remus nodded in understanding. A moment later, he'd disappeared out of the classroom. Then it was just James and me.

                I turned back to him, determined.

                "Just tell me one thing. Is the row about me?"

                "It's about Liz and me," James said, but he'd hesitated a second too long before answering. "She crossed a line. That's it."

                "That's _not_ it," I snapped, angry at the obvious dishonesty. "Quit trying to shrug me off! You're clearly lying. If it had nothing to do with me, you wouldn't be acting like this. And I—"

                The words were on the tip of my tongue: _And I know, because I heard you rowing yesterday_. They were there, but I swallowed them down before my traitor-of-a-mouth could betray me yet again. Because even though I'd get the upper hand in terms of proving he was spouting false, in the long run, it would hardly be worth it. I didn't know how James would react, knowing I'd been eavesdropping, but I knew it wouldn't be good. If the positions had been reversed, I'd have been perfectly livid. What I'd overheard had been telling enough, and I had no way of knowing what else had come after it, or even before it. I wouldn't blame him for not believing me if I told him I'd left when I had, or arrived when I did. None of that conversation was mine to know, and even though there were so many things I wished I could say to him about it, I have the uneasy feeling that this would be one secret I'd be taking to the grave.

                But for now, I needed to say _something_. James wouldn't have it otherwise.

                "And you what?" he asked, when I didn't finish.

                I swallowed hard. "And I know you're lying because of the way _she's_ acting. You should've seen her this afternoon. If looks could kill."

                "She always looks at you that way."

                I glared. "Actually, she doesn't. But thanks."

                James let out an exasperated sigh, but I wasn't about to ease his frustration. I crossed my arms over my chest and continued to glower. He wasn't getting out of this one. Not a chance.

                "Why do you even care?" he finally asked, giving me a bit of a glower himself. "You should be happy. You've no love lost for Liz. For weeks you've been telling me to lay off her. So now I am!"

                "I care because I care about _you_ , idiot!" Though Merlin help me, sometimes I didn't even know _why_. "Look, if this is _actually_ just about the two of you...fine. Go be as cross as you like. Who am I to tell you otherwise? But if this is...if this is about me, if you're angry with her— _this_ angry with her—out of some bothersome strand of loyalty to me, then it needs to stop, all right? And I can't believe I'm saying that either, but as much as I hate it and I don't completely understand it, she's important to you. You're friends. And I don't want you losing friends on my account. So unless she tied you to a chair and tried to force herself on you..."

                I paused expectantly, and James's lips twitched.

                "Not recently," he said.

                Arse.

                "Well, saving that, I think you should talk to her. And that doesn't have to be through Messenger Carrie Lloyd and her ill-timed note deliveries, but it should be sooner rather than later and probably after you've talked yourself out of your temper because I've come to realise that there really is no talking logic to you when you're in a temper. No offense."

                James snorted, but I noticed he didn't claim it wasn't true. I myself was left a bit contemplative after that whole spiel, not having known that that was what I was going to say until I'd already gone and said it. But I found that I didn't regret the impulse. As much I hated Elisabeth Saunders— _hated_ her. With the fiery passion of a thousand suns—if yesterday had taught me anything, it was that she knew James in a way that few others did. She's honest with him in a way I don't think many others are. Even Sirius still babies him slightly, as if the wrong push will send him spiraling back to whatever he had been. And just because I'm not particularly keen on what Saunders has to say doesn't mean James doesn't need to hear it. For better or worse, maybe he does. And for better or worse, I think _I_ do, as well. Because the things she said...well, as murky as they made some things, they also helped make others _much_ clearer.

                Which sort of brought me to my next rather stunning thought.

                And really, it's funny the way these things happen sometimes, because I'm not certain there is any logical progression to explain the sudden realisation that occurred to me next. There we were, just standing there in that History classroom, James sighing and seeming to mull over my words, me watching him contemplatively and attempting to figure out where I went from here...and yet, suddenly, there it was. This idea. This fact. This abrupt, overwhelming _rightness_ that just seemed to radiate through me in the midst of all the other utter mess of wrong, as clear and undeniable as the sky is blue. And maybe it _was_ a little terrifying, and a little mental, and Merlin knows that recalling it now is still enough to get my heart hammering...but right then in that moment, I stopped thinking so hard about everything. And maybe that's just how the important things are done—as quick and as instantaneously as that. And while that's certainly not like me—at _all—_ apparently it _can_ be, because as simply and as easily as that, the truth of it seemed almost out of my hands.

                Because dear _Merlin_ , it was really time to get rid of the potentially-considering bit, wasn't it?

                James Potter ought to be my boyfriend.

                He really, really should.

                (IknowIknowIknow _What_ Lily _How_ Lily _Now_ Lilyyesyesyesyes _yes_ )

                "James—"

                "You're right," he said, having no idea what he'd just interrupted, Merlin help us both. "In some ways, you're right. But you're not right about all of it."

                Oh ruddy hell, were we still on this? My words died in my throat, the heavy sense of disappointment settling in when I swiftly realised (even through my daze of triumph and rightness) that while _I_ may have just jumped into the throes of random romantic epiphanies, I was sufficiently alone in that particular mindset. And who could blame him? It _had_ come from bloody nowhere, the inner workings of my mind a true wonder to behold. My pronouncement—which, all right, hadn't exactly been particularly _grandly_ planned or anything anyway. "James, be my boyfriend?" was rather the general gist of it—was abruptly put on hold. I hesitated, not because I no longer wanted to make it, but because James's attention was so _clearly_ still on other things and was I really meant to do this when—I blanched—all he was thinking about was clearly Saunders? The notion was more than enough to compromise my declaration.

                "What do you mean?" I asked instead, a bit choked.

                "Maybe...it _might_ have been a bit about you," he finally confessed, though who really needed it? "Lizzie and I...it's a lot more complicated than that. And I'm not just saying that because I'm in a temper. You _know_ how difficult she can be."

                Was he actually insulting her? Right moment or not, I couldn't possibly distract from _that._ "Yes, but difficult with _me_. Not with you."

                "What makes you think it's exclusive to you?" James asked, shaking his head. "She's...she's got a strong head. But sometimes her head's in the wrong place, you know? And she can't see the forest from the trees."

                He was preaching to the choir. "Okay."

                "And this _is_ about me," he felt it necessary to add, with a pointed look and a determined stare. "Me _and_ her. Just because you might have been a catalyst doesn't mean you're the issue."

                I reckon I could be both, but it didn't seem the time to argue. "All right."

                "And just so we're clear"—he got a bit glare-ish here—"I _am_ allowed to get cross on your account. Keep saying rubbish like that, and I'll be in a temper with you, too."

                He could get in a temper all he wanted. I'm sure he'd get over it once I told him he was my boyfriend.

                "You can get cross on my account up to a _point_ ," I conceded, stepping closer, "but you don't seem to do things in half-measure."

                Instead of taking that as a criticism, James seemed to take it as a compliment. He grunted smugly.

                But when he got quiet then, it became apparent to me that I wasn't going to be getting much more out of him, that whatever was going on between him and Saunders clearly involved one of James's thousands of secrets, none of which he was willing to divulge, and he was far too distracted by them to properly segue into more insight or even any kind of romantic pronouncement, even one he's been waiting eagerly for. But instead of getting weepy or annoyed about this, I simply chalked it up to a time issue and was thankful I'd at least got _something_ out of the conversation (which again, _stunning_. What have they been putting in our drinking water?). But seeing as the conversation still needed _some_ kind of a conclusion (and since he was quite lucky I was being so generous as is), I reckoned I deserved a _bit_ more for my trouble.

                "So you'll talk to her?" I asked.

                After a moment, James shrugged. "Maybe. Eventually. Not now."

                I nodded, thinking that was as good an answer as any. Besides, if James wanted to take his time forgiving Saunders for being a vile hag, _I_ certainly wasn't going to have a cry about it.

                And hey, maybe we _could_ get around to—

                "James—"

                "Ah, _bugger_." He cut me off as he glanced down at his watch, squinting at the small clock face. "I'm late for detention. Again. This was supposed to be my last night. Bloody not likely anymore."

                My heart sank in my chest. "Oh. Right."

                He grinned at my crestfallen expression, chucking me under the chin with his finger. "Don't fret, Infallible. I still get to spend my Halloween with you—though I can't say rounds are my idea of a perfect evening."

                "The Heads always take Halloween," I informed him glumly. "Besides, it can be sort of fun. At the very least, you get to catch everyone sneaking off to the Ravenclaw Halloween party and only send on the people you like."

                James laughed at that, but he was the only one willing to revel in the amusement. If I asked him to put off detention, he probably would—in fact, he'd undoubtedly applaud such a suggestion, thinking he'd finally achieved the impossible and turned me troublemaker—but is that really how I wanted this to go? Me blurting out that I'd really like to call him my significant other, with the threat of an angry McGonagall looming over our heads? I couldn't think of anything less romantic. And not that this needed to be A Big Romantic Moment or anything, but it at least deserved to be _A_ Moment. One not tainted by the sorry cloud of detention and destruction hanging over it.

                And besides, I probably ought to prepare something a little more eloquent than, "You? Me? No hyphenations?" James deserved as much, putting up with my antics for as long as he has. So perhaps this detention interruption was a good thing. All it had done was bought me a bit more time to prepare. That wasn't so horrible, was it?

                No.

                No, I really don't think it was.

                Hm.

                "Fine. Off with you, then." I waved him towards the door, slightly less disgruntled than I had been before. "Have your detention. I'll see you tomorrow."

                "Yeah?" He still looked far too pleased with my dejection than was really necessary, but I suppose I couldn't blame him. The boy needed to get his joys where he could find them. "Sure you won't miss me too much?"

                "I'll survive," I muttered, but damn well probably _would_ miss him and that was the point. "But you know who I'm sure is _really_ missing you? McGonagall."

                James grinned. "I _am_ one of her favourite people. But it wouldn't do to seem too eager. I can keep her waiting a few more minutes. Besides, everyone knows warm milk is just the ticket for a good night's sleep..."

                I rolled my eyes and shoved his face away as he tried to lower it, but James just laughed and remained relentless. I finally let him get a few, _tiny_ bursts of calcium in just to shut him up, but really, he didn't deserve a single one.

                "Now you're _really_ late," I scolded when he attempted to go back for seconds, always the glutton. "McGonagall is going to kill you. And I look really sallow in black, so I won't bother. Not even at your graveside."

                "Liar," he said, stealing one last kiss. "You'd hold vigil there. Candles and everything. And wear black for decades."

                "Think awfully highly of yourself, don't you?" I detangled my limbs from his. "It's quite sad."

                Then he went on and on about how if he wouldn't think highly of himself, who would? It's not like anyone cared a whit about him—except, oh wait, hadn't _I_ just said I cared quite a bit about him, just a few minutes before? I had, hadn't I? Well, what did I think of that?

                Arse.

                My boyfriend is going to be an arse.

                "Go!" I ordered, before he could wax lyrical about anything else. I was already blushing to the very tips of my hair. What more did the blighter want? "Get out of my sight."

                "Really, Infallible, you're such an easy mark." He was grinning from ear to ear now, but I had finally prodded him out into the corridor, so he could grin all he wanted. I grabbed the rounds calendar off the desk and then followed him out, closing the classroom door behind me.

                " _Go_." I turned deliberately in the opposite direction, just so I wouldn't have to walk with him. "Your chance of life is getting slimmer and slimmer the longer you dally."

                "Candles and everything!" he shouted down the hall as we parted ways. "And a _heartwrenching_ eulogy!"

                I flipped him a not-so-polite gesture over my shoulder, but the prat just laughed.

                Eventually I got up here, where I had to hear Grace rant and rave about what a traitorous cow I am for sorting things out with James without her intervention, but she doesn't realise I tuned her out about ten minutes ago and have been writing diligently in here instead.

                Besides, I think she'll calm down once she realises that she'll soon have a much bigger deal on her hands.

                Because starting tomorrow, Plan: Ask James to Be My Boyfriend commences.

                Merlin help me.

____________________

**Friday, October 31st (Halloween!), 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 319**

 

** Lily Evans's Four Steps to Acquiring Oneself a Boyfriend **

STEP #1) Find an Appropriate Candidate

                Some may believe that this first step is quite redundant in the planning of such an endeavour, but such people are obviously highly underestimating the supreme difficulty of such a task. I mean, let's face it—there are quite a few seemingly perfect duds out there. For example, one may spend many-a-month lusting after a certain dashing Hufflepuff, only to learn that said potential target is, in fact, the biggest, vilest pile of hippogriff droppings this world has ever seen. So one must be very careful with this step. But never fear, darling friends! You too will one day find your Appropriate Candidate, no matter how much hippogriff dung you have to trudge through first. Just slap on your wellies and keep stepping high. There is light at the end of the dung tunnel!

STEP #2) Gauge Appropriate Candidate's Amenability to Such a Position

                After the daunting task that is Step #1, your next initiative concerns itself with determining your Appropriate Candidate's willingness to cooperate in regards to a promotion (specifically, changing their candidacy to a more permanent position). Sometimes this may be very easy to discern. Other times, it may take a bit more effort. I have personally found that a hyphenation system (©) is a brilliant way to gauge this amenability. That way, one is not haphazardly catapulting from one extreme to another. There is a _progression,_ see? And if at any time an Appropriate Candidate does not feel comfortable with said progression, there is plenty of warning before one finds oneself in the sad state of having utterly failed in Acquiring Oneself a Boyfriend and all the misery, shame, chocolate and/or rice eating that comes along with it.

STEP #3) Determine an Opportune Time and Place (an Opportune Moment)

                One might imagine that after successfully completing Steps #1 and #2, the next appropriate action would be to immediately attack the Plan head-on and Acquire Oneself a Boyfriend...but one would be wrong. Terribly, _terribly_ wrong. Because above all things, Acquiring Oneself a Boyfriend is about _timing_ and _opportunity_. One cannot simply _lunge_ into this. There is a proper time and place for Acquiring Oneself a Boyfriend and if one is not careful, the inability to recognise a particular moment as such can result in only failure (See: Step #2, re: misery, shame, etc). So before embarking on the actual Acquiring, ask yourself these two important questions:

                1) Does this seem like a good _time_ to Acquire Oneself a Boyfriend?

                2) Does this seem like a good _place_ to Acquire Oneself a Boyfriend?

If your answers to both these questions are yes, please proceed to Step #4. You have found an Opportune Moment! If either answer is no, I advise you to consider waiting. In the long run, you will be grateful.

(Addendum: If one finds one has poorly misjudged a moment as both a good time/place to Acquire Oneself a Boyfriend when it was, in fact, decidedly _not,_ moving to Guam is always an option.)

STEP #4) Acquire Yourself a Boyfriend!

                Congratulations! You have found yourself an Appropriate Candidate, determined his amenability, and positioned yourself at an Opportune Moment! It is now time to Acquire Yourself a Boyfriend! However, how you go about doing this is entirely dependent upon your unique Appropriate Candidate and circumstances. Are you the sort to find your Opportune Moment in a quiet spot and a private conversation? Is standing atop a table and shouting your intentions across a crowded hall more your style? Alternatively, are you simply content to snog your Appropriate Candidate into submission and have your ardent attentions speak for themselves? Whatever the case may be, state yourself clearly and with all possible earnestness. This is your time to shine. Embrace it.

____________________

**A Bit Later, Still 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 319**

 

Acquiring Oneself a Boyfriend Checklist:

Step #1) Check.

Step #2) Check.

Step #3) In-Progress.

____________________

**Later, Great Hall  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 319**

 

                Breakfast in the Great Hall is _so_ not the Opportune Time and Place to Acquire Oneself a Boyfriend.

                "I'm telling you, Ravenclaw has the edge! Parsons—"

                "What bloody good is Parsons if Slytherin already has three hundred points on the board? Ravenclaw's Chasers are useless—"

                "Oh, _please_ —"

                What exactly am I supposed to do? Loudly clear my throat and interject with a polite, "Pardon me—could the pair of you please quit discussing the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match because, firstly, I don't care, and secondly, I've something rather important to discuss with James? Oh, and by the by, Marls, could you also leave so we can discuss said something privately? Many thanks."

                Yeah, I don't think so.

                At least, not the second bit. The first bit I think I might actually have a go at because I really _don't_ care about the match tomorrow and if they don't stop talking about it I am going to fall asleep in my breakfast and I won't even be sorry if they get sprayed with the excess strawberry and syrup fallout.

                Hmph.

____________________

**Later, Ancient Runes  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 320**

 

                There was, unsurprisingly, not a single opportune moment to be found throughout the entirety of breakfast. I had tricked myself into believing that once the Hall began to fill up, I might be able to whisk James away to gauge his opinion on his possible promotion from potentially-considering to actually-in-reality boyfriendage, but these were foolish hopes. Quidditch proved the champion of the morning, trumping even the unfortunate spillage of an entire bowl of porridge at the Slytherin table, as well as the usual excitement surrounding All Hallows' Eve. The arrival of most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team quickly spawned even more talk of the upcoming match, forcing the rest of us non-Quidditch lunatics to find our own amusements. So while the crazies hemmed and hawed over the blasphemous suggestion that Slytherin's Blythe Dalton might be a better Keeper than Ravenclaw's Cormack Cordon (a duel to defend Cormack's honor was even suggested), we more sturdy of mind got to listen to Nearly Headless Nick rehearse his Deathday song for the feast tonight.

                Twelve times.

                Needless to say, it was a very long breakfast.

                When it eventually ended— _finally_ ended—I was shockingly no longer in the mood to Acquire Myself a Boyfriend. Still attempting to get Nick's rather off-key warbles out of my head, I let James traipse off to Arithmancy with Remus and Emma with nary a comment about our relationship status, and I took off towards Ancient Runes with Marley, who was heading in that direction to meet with Professor Crandy about some Defense assignment.

                "Sorry about that," she said, nodding bashfully towards the Great Hall as we began to file out. "Everyone gets really mad about the first matches. Sets up the season, you know?"

                "I hate Quidditch," I grumbled, because my head was still pounding and, really, what more was there to say? "Quidditch ruins everything."

                "Oh, come now. It's not _that_ bad," Marley laughed.

                I grunted noncommittally, even though one could obviously beg to differ. Part of me was tempted to inform her just what Quidditch had successfully ruined, but pride aside, I reckon that if I'd decided not to tell Grace and Emma about the plan to Acquire Myself a Boyfriend (not trusting the former to keep her bloody mouth shut, and uncertain if I could tolerate the latter's significant looks screaming "Did you do it? _Did you do it?_ " throughout the day), then it probably wouldn't be best to inform Marley either. So I kept it to myself, letting my grunt serve as my irritated response. Marley accepted the wordless reply with a grin.

                "Poor Lily," she murmured. "No eggs and ketchup for breakfast this morning, hm?"

                "Oh, shut it," I blustered, jabbing a pointed elbow in her direction. Marley just dodged and laughed, continuing to blather on about balanced breakfasts and poor dispositions as we climbed up the staircase towards the second floor. We'd just about reached our destination, turning out of the stairwell and off the second floor landing, when something up the next flight of stairs caught my attention.

                My steps slowed to a stop.

                "Lily, what are...oh."

                Marley stopped as well, the pair of us lingering on the landing. We were probably blocking all kinds of traffic, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My eyes narrowed on the scene above.

                Marley leaned into my side. "You tutor him, yeah?"

                I nodded—or at least, I think I nodded. I meant to have done. My focus wasn't really on Marley, though. How could it be, when MJ was standing at the top of the next landing, looking more closed off and miserable than I think I've ever seen him, Evan towering over him and holding his arm in what appeared to be a decidedly painful grip? Evan seemed to be whispering furiously.

                My feet had already begun to itch after spotting the curious tableau, but when Evan jerked MJ's arm particularly hard and the poor thing couldn't quite hold back the wince, I was instantly in movement.

                "Lily, wait!" Marley grabbed my arm, jerking my steps to a halt with a surprisingly firm hand. I whirled on her, intending to demand if she honestly expected me to just _stand_ _there_ while Evan terrorized MJ, but she wasn't even looking at me. I followed her gaze farther up the next staircase, where a blond boy was quickly making his way down the steps, his target obviously the same as mine had been. He'd just reached the Rosiers and was talking quickly with Evan when I turned back to Marley.

                "Who is that?" I asked.

                "Paul," Marley answered, still staring up the steps. "That's Paul."

                Paul? Paul who?

                Paul...

                Oh.

                _Oh._

                Paul _Rosier_.

                The third Rosier sibling.

                "Do we like Paul?" I asked quickly, my eyes immediately returning to the scene up the stairs. Paul had just tugged MJ loose of Evan's grip, but he was still talking solely to Evan.

                Marley made a strangled sound.

                "I don't _know_ ," she said, almost exasperated. "He would actually have to _speak_ to know that. Paul never speaks."

                Paul was certainly speaking _now_ , but I can't imagine pointing that out would have been the least bit productive. It seemed I was on my own in determining friend or foe. Unfortunately, there wasn't very much to go on. With his back to us and his words lost in the distance and noise, all I could discern about Paul Rosier was that he was tall, blond, and had just said something to his brother that caused Evan's gaze to snap up in surprise and then instantly whirl towards me.

                Damn it.

                Paul Rosier was a bloody _snitch_.

                Marley tugged at my arm. "Come on. Let's just leave it. MJ is fine."

                But I couldn't just leave it. There was no way. And especially not once I found myself in the midst of a glare battle with Evan. The pair of us glowered at one other with a ferocity unseen before, and I'd be damned if I was going to be the one to back down first. Fortunately, I didn't have to. A few seconds later, Evan pushed past his brother, successfully knocking Paul back a step, and started down the stairs towards me.

                As our paths crossed, he shoved roughly into my shoulder.

                "Nosy Mudblood _bitch_ ," he hissed.

                He kept walking. I ignored the slight soreness in my arm and refused to turn or follow him, even though there were a good handful of hexes already on the tip of tongue and a wand hand itching to help the process. His clipped steps faded behind us and I forced my fists to unclench.

                Marley tugged on my arm again. "Come on."

                I let her lead me off this time, but not before I'd got a good eyeful of MJ, who looked equal parts stunned and embarrassed to find me standing there, and Paul Rosier, who'd dropped what seemed to be a much lighter hand upon his brother's shoulder before carefully steering him up the stairs.

                Marley and I turned silently off the second floor landing.

                 "I don't know what that was about, but watch your step, Lily," she warned bleakly, her voice quiet. "The Rosiers are not a family to be tangled with."

                I didn't say it then, or even as we parted ways a few minutes later, but in my head, the thought couldn't have been any louder:

                Too late for that.

____________________

**Later, Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 320**

 

                Who does bloody Evan Rosier think he is, anyway? Nosy, he says? I'll give him nosy. That arse thinks he can just say and do whatever he likes and everyone ought to just leave him at it because he's some ruddy pureblooded prick who can hide behind Daddy and Mummy? HA. I'll teach him. Him and his stupid not-so-silent brother, if it turns out Mr. Paul is not as innocent as he seems. He's involved in that whole sodding Potions business after all, isn't he? And if that whole thing is actually as innocuous as Mac claims, then I'm a bloody dancing flobberworm. Give me some tap shoes and watch me go.

                How a sweet thing like MJ ended up in an awful family like that is beyond me. But I'll be damned if I'll just let Evan terrorize him. Not on my watch. I'm not afraid of him. Not a bloody chance.

____________________

**Later, Still in Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 320**

 

                But what? And how? It's all well and good not to give a fig about Evan and his sodding scare tactics, but where exactly am I to go from here? Is it even _possible_ to go on the offensive with this? Am I resigned to merely waiting for him to act and then counteracting in any way I can? That seems a sorry plan. I don't like the idea of sitting on my bum, twiddling my thumbs until Evan decides it's time to move. That gives him all the power, and Merlin knows the blighter's already got enough of that. But what are my other options?

                I don't know.

                I really just don't know.

____________________

**Later, Still Still in Charms  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 320**

 

                I have to find a weakness. Everyone's got a weakness. Even stuck-up, arsehole blighters like Evan Rosier. Mummy and Daddy may be many things, but even _they_ needed a heel to hold on to as they dunked baby Evan into the River Styx. Shoot at his foot, and down goes the dandy. So once I find his Achilles' heel, concocting an offensive strategy should be simple.

                But what the bloody hell is Evan Rosier's weakness? And how exactly is one meant to go about discovering it?

____________________

**Later, Defense  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 322**

 

Observation #321) When a witch is capable of producing the best Shield Charm in class regardless of the fact that her mind is presently almost completely occupied with her various plans and machinations, she deserves every bit of the twenty points Professor Crandy sees fit to bestow upon her.

Observation #322) I can be pretty bloody brilliant sometimes, can't I?

____________________

**Later, Lunch in the Great Hall  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 323**

 

                I could've easily spent the remainder of my morning brooding over the paradox that is Evan Rosier and his potential weaknesses, but still a bit smug over my recent Defense successes and unwilling to diminish those feelings with such sorry contemplations, I decided it really wasn't worth my while. Fussing over something that only time and a heavy dose of observation can resolve is an utterly futile endeavour and I refuse to participate. Sooner or later, Evan will falter and reveal his inner demons to me. Until that point, however, I can only watch and wait, hoping for the opening that will bring about his much needed demise.

                In the meantime, it isn't as if I don't have certain other imperative plans to focus my attention upon. Truth be told, all this Evan business was distracting me from what my attention really _ought_ to have been on—namely, the perilous task of Acquiring Myself a Boyfriend. With all of these other nefarious plans hatching, that particular venture was threatening to get lost in the shuffle. And while it was the rare person indeed who could make me as livid as Evan had done, I wasn't about to lose my potential boyfriend over it.

                My path was clear: Quit seething about Evan, and start swooning over James. 

                All in all, not too shabby a trade, I think.

                It's just plain unfortunate that the fates of the world did not seem to want to cooperate.

                "Hi," is what I started the whole debacle with, sliding up next to James as we filed out of Defense, heading down for lunch. I briefly considered threading my arm through his, but there were about a thousand other people streaming into the corridor alongside us and I didn't want them thinking I'd gone and Acquired Myself a Boyfriend before I actually had done. So I settled for smiling quite brightly at him instead.

                James grinned back.

                "Hullo." Showing no such foresight, he tossed a carefree arm about my shoulders and tugged me against him. "Brill job back there," he added, nodding at the Defense classroom. "Where'd you pick up that Shield extension?"

                "From a brilliantly wise fellow called George Abbott," I replied, slipping easily out of his grasp. I turned, beginning to walk backwards in front of him. "Recall Mr. George? The one you had quite a laugh teasing me over not so long ago? I hope you feel properly ashamed now."

                "Positively," James affirmed, but he was eyeing my shimmy out of his hold and new walking maneuver with obvious skepticism. A moment later, looking almost reluctant to bring it up, he asked, "What are you doing?"

                "Nothing." And that absolutely would have been the truth...you know, had I not _actually_ been attempting to inconspicuously gauge his opinions on the topic of Actually-in-Reality-Boyfriends without yet _actually_ -in-reality asking him to be my boyfriend. But telling him so would've contradicted the 'inconspicuous' bit ever so slightly, so the white lie was certainly excusable. Still, it didn't hurt to throw in a few more key, truthful words. "Walking. Talking to you."

                "Backwards and cryptically," James amended, and shot me a pointed look. "Which generally means you're up to something."

                Psh. What a suspicious Boyfriend I'm Acquiring Myself.

                An oddly perceptive, generally correct, but ultimately very suspicious boyfriend.

                "Your lack of faith in me is distinctly troubling," I said, continuing to backpedal. "We ought to have a discussion about it."

                "Can we also have a discussion about your refusal to let me so much as touch you in public?" he asked, dutifully following along. "That's troubling to me."

                Oh, bother. Is _that_ what he thought this was about? Silly, silly boy. If only he knew how _much_ I intend on touching him. It's a girlfriend's prerogative to thoroughly inspect the goods before she agrees to purchase, after all, and I am nothing if not a conscientious shopper.

                "We can add your sorry delusions into the agenda of the larger discussion," I allowed, because I can't imagine the topic ( _ehm_ , and practice) of touching not coming up in some way during such a discussion. I stifled a grin. "In fact, I am rather shocked that— _omph_!"

                Honestly? I am rather shocked that it took me so long to backpedal into another person.

                I've been getting quite good at the barreling-into-people thing this week.

                "Ow!" came Carrie Llyod's overly loud cry from behind us, and I felt her bony elbows scrambling for purchase behind me. "Bloody hell, Evans, watch where you're going!"

                I winced, turning instantly to apologise as Carrie carried on with much enthusiasm. It was a pill to swallow, but seeing as the crash _had_ been entirely my fault, I suppose Carrie was allowed to whinge as she saw fit.

                I was already resigned to that sorry fate, preparing my poor ears for the screeching onslaught, but because this is _my_ life and these things couldn't possibly ever be that simple, I turned about to find not only a scowling Carrie, but a decidedly wide-eyed Saunders standing just beside her.

                Saunders, who was completely ignoring Carrie and me in lieu of staring intently at James. And who, in a matter of moments, and with an almost painful expression on her face, had already began to step towards us.

                Oh, hell.

                "James—"

                It was as far as she got. The name had hardly even slipped from her lips before James had clamped a none-too-gentle hand about my wrist and gave a firm yank. I squeaked in surprise, expecting just about anything except for _that,_ but it was all I could manage before we were already fleeing down the corridor, escaping the scene with all the subtly of a hippogriff stampede.

                Saunders called his name again—Merlin, she sounded so _upset_ —but James didn't even pause. Before I quite knew how it had happened, I was stumbling after him halfway down the corridor, the errant bundle he'd absently grabbed on the go, Carrie and Saunders fading blips in the crowd behind us.

                Well, I suppose that answered a few questions I hadn't yet thought to have.

                But I was no one's errant bundle, thank you very much! I gritted my teeth and dug my feet into the stone floor.

                "James—"

                " _Don't_ , Lily." He lashed the words, sharp, snapped. "This isn't another one of your sorry cases to meddle in, all right? I'm not about to about to have it out with her in the middle of the sodding _corridor_ —"

                "Who bloody well said you had to?" I cried.

                That drew him up short. I skidded into him from behind, but sloppy footing kept me on my feet and I immediately jerked back. James turned, finally dropping my arm. People brushed past us—staring, probably—but I refused to look away from James. His expression was a strange mix of bashfulness and skepticism, as if he didn't quite trust that I was telling the truth, but knew he ought to be contrite if I was. That was so far from the on-his-knees, eternally repentant, groveling apology he bloody well _owed_ me that when he started to speak, I wouldn't let him.

                So much for an Opportune Moment.

                "Do whatever you like, all right?" I snapped, hugging my smarting wrist against my chest and glaring with everything I had. "But if you're so damn concerned with keeping me out of it, then just bloody well _tell_ me so instead of _dragging_ me from it. I'm not your damned satchel to be grabbed and yanked about!"

                James instantly flushed.

                "I hadn't meant..." The protest died on his lips. "Hell. I'm sorry, Lil. I didn't...I didn't hurt you, did I?"

                He hadn't, really—not the way he meant, anyway—but he also wasn't really sorry, and that was the real problem. Still, I accepted the facsimile of an apology with a quick shake of my head and an uncomfortable silence. James's hand began to reach towards me, I think to check the welfare of my maligned wrist himself, but he must have thought better of it because a moment later, it lifted to his hair instead. I crossed my arms over my chest and fidgeted restlessly on my feet, shooting a brief glance back over my shoulder. I didn't know where Carrie and Saunders had scuttled off to, but they were no longer lingering behind us. It hardly mattered. They didn't need to be there in person to have their presence still screaming between us.

                And even though I told myself to shut up, that they were gone and I ought to just leave it as it was before I made things unbearably worse, my traitor-of-a-mouth couldn't possibly. It _had_ to say something. It was a matter of necessity.

                "What _was_ that?" it asked, mystified. "She hadn't even done anything. Why did you—"

                "It was nothing," James replied quickly. "We rowed. I told you that last night."

                I scowled. "No, actually. Carrie Lloyd told me that. _You_ grudgingly confirmed it after flouncing off into a fit of temper you couldn't talk your way out of."

                Quite like, oh yes, _right now_.

                (I didn't say as much, but I thought it rather implied.)

                James frowned.

                "That's not—"

                "Isn't it?"

                His expression turned mulish, almost annoyed. I couldn't bring myself to care. I mean, even if he _hadn't_ just gone and made a sodding spectacle of himself, dragging me forcefully down the corridor in his fit of utter madness, his reaction to Saunders was enough to warrant some serious scrutiny. Things had been bad enough when Carrie had tried to hand off her note last night, but now? _This_? Call me a fool, but I'd honestly thought he'd been better. After we'd talked...I mean, I know he wasn't _all_ _right_ with the whole thing, but I thought he was at least past the point where he'd lose his head so completely. For Merlin's sake, we were standing in a bloody public _corridor_. What exactly did he think she was going to do? What could she possibly say?

                Probably no more than what she'd already said in the Owlery.

                But if that was the case...did James not want to hear it because her vile claims about me were too ludicrous to even acknowledge, much less hear again...or because the threads of truth ringing in them were too true to dismiss a second time around?

                Was _that_ the problem? Did James think she was right?

                I didn't want to dwell on it. My stomach was already churning.

                But damn it all, with those thoughts in my head, I couldn't just leave it at _that_ , either.

                "I get it, all right?" is what I forced out before James could go ahead and say something foolish, or maybe even something perfect, because either way, it didn't matter, it would all come out, just damn near _everything_ , because it was all already on the tip of my tongue and I sort of wanted to cry and vomit and snog him all at the same time, and I'm not entirely certain how that would work out, hygienically or semantically. "I understand. It's between the two of you. I won't get in the middle. I don't...well, yes, all right, perhaps I'd _like_ to, but I'm not completely without restraint. Clearly meddling in this is just going to make things infinitely worse. So I'll leave it. I really will. But before we end this, can I just very quickly point out that _that_ "—I hooked a thumb down the opposite end of the corridor—"was about the _un_ healthiest way of handling things I think I've ever seen? And mind you, this coming from a witch whose main method of confrontation is a nice kip up in her room for a weekend. So something to think on, yeah?"

                That won a crack of a smile, and more points to him that James even seemed reluctant to do so at my expense. It was a gesture received not without some relief, but we of the feeble mind and traitorous mouth have long understood that a self-deprecating sense of humour is really the only ticket to mild sanity, so there was no offense to be taken. He could grin all he liked.

                "No one quite understands the fine art of the elusive getaway as you do," he conceded, hand still playing at his hair. He gave a hapless shrug. "Perhaps I'm just a dodgy student."

                I grabbed his hand, stopped the fidgeting.

                "If that's the best you can do," I teased, determined to get a proper smile out of him, "then _quite_ the dodgy student, I'd say."

                That prompted a laugh, huzzah hurrah! And so what if it was still a bit strained? That's still eons better than what anyone could have predicted had they overheard our conversation only moments before. I kept his hand tight in mine, refusing to let go even if he'd wanted me to. Fortunately, he didn't seem so inclined.

                And I'm not stupid, all right? I know that there was more to say. I know that it always seems to be three steps forward and two steps back with him and while I was hardly one to be casting rocks from my lovely glass house, that didn't absolve him of his part in all this either. Whatever Elisabeth Saunders was or wasn't, she was unarguably an issue between us. There was no discounting that. But there was also no discounting that this was not the time to confront James about it. The boy was clearly still too edgy about whatever he had going on with her to even begin discussing it rationally, and I was sick of finding myself on the wrong end of his misplaced temper. In a few days, he'd cool off and realise how much of a git he was being. I could speak to him then. But now...

                Well, now was not the time.

                It was an entirely different Inopportune Moment, but no less inappropriate.

                Which meant I was now on the lookout for _two_ Opportune Moments.

                Brilliant. Because I wasn't already having enough difficulty finding one.

                We made our way down to lunch then, the scene with Elisabeth accepted if not entirely forgotten. James kept shooting me all these clearly-not-as-stealthy-as-he-thought-they-were looks, seemingly uncertain of whether I was going to lunge at him in delayed fury, but, wise boy that he is, not about to risk exploding the simmering potion by actually bringing the subject up again. I was quite fine with that, but it wasn't without some relief that we finally made it to the Gryffindor table. For once, the chaos residing therein was wholly welcomed. As I slipped into my seat beside Gracie, listening as Remus and Peter argued rather passionately about—of all things—mushy peas, things seemed _finally_ to be all right.

                Until, of course, they weren't.

                (Oh, dear. You didn't think this was over, did you? You poor, naive dears.)

                "Vile! _Blasphemy_!" Peter was shouting, his face the very picture of outraged disgust. "Mushy peas are the dragon's dung of the lunch sides world. They should be banned. _Outlawed_."

                "No one's forcing you to eat them," Remus put in, a phrase he'd repeated more than a few times since we'd sat down, but his docile tone worked strongly against the unmistakable way he grabbed the bowl of mushy peas and served himself another healthy portion, plopping the slush of green on the side of his plate closest to Peter.

                Peter began to howl like a banshee.

                "Your mates are very passionate about their peas," I muttered to James, who sat eating and conversing casually beside me, apparently quite used to such dramatics.

                "You think this is bad?" His voice lowered to a whisper. "Bring up vinegar and chips. You'll _really_ see some sparks fly then."

                "I'm personally mostly impressed by how many mushy peas Remus has managed to eat in the past fifteen minutes," Marley commented from across the table. Janie Finch and Laura Darthern had apparently started up some new spectacular row and in her attempts to escape the headache, Marley had come to join us 7th year compatriots for lunch. I don't think she avoided the headache, but there was a certain level of entertainment in it, at least. "He's served himself at least three portions now."

                "I don't think he's eating them," Emma speculated. "He's got his wand on the table. He's vanishing them."

                We all glanced curiously down the end of the table, unbeknownst to both Remus and Peter who were still having at it, and it was quickly decided that Remus Lupin was clearly a sly genius and we were all in awe of his stealth, cunning, and talents. We were quietly debating whether or not we had a moral obligation to inform Peter of the crafty wandwork occurring down his end of the table when, quite out of nowhere, a raucous shout interrupted our furtive plottings.

                "Well, it's official—Christmas holidays are ruined!"

                Sirius stomped his way towards the Gryffindor table, his shout carrying across the short distance as he plodded on through the Great Hall. Agitation read clearly in his gait and a bit of parchment flapped wildly about in his waving hand. In a room filled to the brim with dreary decorations and glowing pumpkins—not to mention Sir Nicholas's lunchtime rehearsal of his Deathday song—Grace's next comment did not seem overly harsh.

                "It's Halloween, arsehole."

                Sirius sneered. "Yes, I'm aware, thanks. But I wasn't talking to you. _Your_ hols are fine. It's _ours_ "—he waved the parchment-laden hand between James and himself—"that's just gone to shit."

                James lifted a questioning eyebrow at that, this information clearly new to him. In due time, Sirius presented him with the folded bit of parchment, which James took with equal parts exasperation and hesitation. But he hardly even managed to give the thing a glance before his hand dropped heavily down onto the table and his gaze shot back up to Sirius. His lips curled into a baleful scowl.

                "Will you quit opening up my bloody post?" he shouted. "My parents already send you more letters as is!"

                Sirius shrugged, unaffected. "My owl delivers it. It is, therefore, technically my post."

                "That's not even remotely correct," said Remus.

                "Possession is nine-tenths of the law," Peter put in helpfully.

                "I don't think that's precisely right, either," Emma said.

                As they continued to squabble amongst themselves, I glanced curiously over at James, who had bent his head to read the note. I didn't want to be such an obvious snoop, but I couldn't quite help myself from shooting a quick look at the letter, which was written in a firm, blocky hand.

                _Dear James,_ it said. _Good to hear that things have_ —

                It was as far as I got before James exploded.

                "Is she _mad_?" There was an ugly scraping sound as he darted to his feet, eyes still fixated on the lines of the note. His face had turned a molten red. "Is she out of her fucking _mind_? She can't host!"

                "Host, what?" I asked, my hand instantly lifting to his side.

                But James was too busy seething to answer. Fortunately, Sirius had no such qualm. His eyes focused on James, staring as if he was somewhat taken aback by the fervency of his mate's reaction. "New Year's Eve," he said.

                Bloody hell, _another_ holiday?

                "New Year's Eve?" From my other side, Grace leaned forward, her eyebrows furrowed. "The weekend? But the Meadowses are hosting this year, aren't they?"

                "Until good ol' Meadows Senior had the audacity to keel over last Saturday," Sirius answered, all of it still foreign to me. "Mrs. Meadows has declared herself too distraught to continue. So now—"

                "So now my bloody _mother_ has taken it upon herself to stand in!" James raged, glaring down at the piece of parchment as if he could glower it into reason. "Fucking stubborn, _insane_ woman."

                "Calm down, mate," Sirius said, and now there was no mistaking how perturbed he was by the vehemence of James's response. Whatever he'd been expecting from this, it hadn't been James's fury. "She's been talking about hosting for years. Means our holiday's just gone sour, but your dad says she's right thrilled."

                "You think she can handle this?" James snapped. "She'll bloody keel over herself in the attempt!"

                "The trials at Mungo's—"

                " _I don't care about the fucking trials at Mungo's_!"

                He was shaking now. I could feel it through the gentle hand I still had placed on his side. The conversation was moving too quickly and there were too many blanks in the story for me to truly follow, but I _did_ know that I don't think I've ever seen James as upset as he was just then. I grabbed his hand impulsively, tried to squeeze some comfort into the stone-like fist still clenching the parchment with a death grip, but it was as if he didn't even notice.

                "Hey," I said, stroking my hand gently up his arm. "Breathe. Sit down. It'll be all right."

                "I have to go," he said, barely even looking at me. His eyes were almost wild-like, darting about frantically. "I have to go."

                And then, before I could even murmur so much as the slightest word of concern, James was already in movement, over the bench and striding away from the table with incredible speed. We all watched as he disappeared through the rows of tables and out into the Entrance Hall, escaping from sight with the contentious letter still clenched in his hand.

                Silence settled over the table.

                Then I suppose _I_ might have lost it a bit.

                "Are you out of your mind?" I whirled on Sirius, completely and utterly enraged. "Have you completely lost all sense and reason? _That's_ how you choose to break this to him? _Really_?"

                "I didn't know he'd lose it like that," Sirius muttered, still staring at the spot where James had disappeared. He raked a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell."

                "What was it even about?" I asked, desperate for answers now. "Host what on New Year's Eve? Who are the Meadowses?"

                "It's that stupid weekend party Mum drags us to every year," Grace explained, and though the details were still a bit foggy, the bit of information at least provided a few pieces of the puzzle. "You know the one—bunch of Old Wizarding families holing themselves up in someone's house for a few days to ring in another year of social dominance? Deadly dull, usually."

                "Every year a different family hosts," Marley chimed in, apparently in on this, as well. "My great aunt goes occasionally. It's a big to-do."

                "A load of shite, is what it is," Sirius said, finally sliding into one of the empty spots across the table. He grabbed a cig from his pocket and lit up despite the fact that he'd undoubtedly be spotted by a staff member and get detention for it. "Self-gratifying Purebloods getting together to pat themselves on the back and discuss all the dodgy shit they've achieved that year. It's enough to make you want to vomit, but there's easily accessible alcohol and enough of us are in it together that it can occasionally be tolerable."

                "It's sort of a coup to be picked to host," Grace added. "A lot of stiff necks and politics involved."

                "So now the party's at James's?" Peter asked. "Cripes."

                "James's mum is older, and not so well," Remus told me quietly, leaning in close. "He doesn't really like to speak about it. It's why he's upset."

                I knew there was a lot more to it than that, but if Remus knew Sirius had told me as much, he wouldn't have felt the need to explain, so I reckoned that secret was still a two-person intrigue. I shot a quick look at Sirius just in case, but the pointed stare he immediately blasted me back with was enough to let me know we were still keeping it as such.

                Still, I had to do _something._ I couldn't just sit there.

                "I'm going after him," I said, rising to my feet.

                "No!"

                " _No._ "

                "Fucking hell."

                I stared aghast as all three Marauders gawked at me as if I'd just announced my intentions to climb atop the table and declare war on Dumbledore, their refusals—and Sirius's expected profanity—the very last thing I wanted to hear.

                "Someone needs to go after him!"

                "Not this again," Peter muttered.

                "Has Hogwarts taught you nothing, Evans?" Sirius asked irritably as Remus merely shook his head. "If you don't go about tickling sleeping dragons, what makes you think you ought to be _hounding_ an angry one?"

                "James is a human being, Sirius!"

                "A human being with the temperament of a touchy troll," Peter replied grimly. "You don't want to be trampled beneath."

                It was only my experiences over the past hour that had me pausing at that, the evidence too strong to completely ignore. I knew what James's temper was like—hell, I'd just been lamenting finding myself on the wrong end of it a mere half-hour before! But what were my options, really? I either went after him and risked whatever came after, or listened to those who knew him best and let him simmer and rage on his own. I was torn, conflicted. I remembered the last time this had happened, the "again" Peter was so blithely referring to. Letting him alone had been all right then, hadn't it? Granted, he'd had the fact that I went and told a roomful of bints that we were dating a few hours later to distract him from his woes that time, but I had some tricks up my sleeve now, too. If there was one thing that could guarantee James's distraction, it was my pronouncement of his impending Acquisition of a Girlfriend. Yes, I was still looking for an Opportune Moment, but I'd just have to be sure to find one later on today. If worse came to worst, I'd con Sirius into handing over the Map, corner James into the nearest broom cupboard, and snog him until he agreed to the Acquisition. It wasn't the cleanest or classiest of plans, but it was a last resort. I was not above a Plan B.

                But that all meant that I had to leave James alone now.

                Which I can do— _have_ been doing, thanks.

                Which is totally the proper thing.

                Right.

                Right?

 

Observation #323) It has never been so imperative to _find an Opportune Moment._

____________________

**Later, Transfiguration  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 323**

 

  _Dearest Min,_

 _Wasn't expecting another one of these so soon, eh? Well, never fear, dear girl. This is not another desperate petition in regards to your clear issue with language barriers in the classroom (although...truly? This is meant to be a_ review, _Min_. _Why, then, are you spewing out things I've never heard before? ) Rather, this is a desperate petition on behalf of one, James Potter._

 _I know that_ you _know that he's missing from this lesson, Min. Bit hard not to notice, when he is practically the only person who bothers answering your nonsensical questions, yeah? (Except I suppose for Jervis Rennet, but I think we can both go ahead and acknowledge that Jervis is not exactly the brightest unicorn in the flock and seems strangely determined to answer "The Rothgar Transfigurum" to just about everything in the hopes that one day, one question, he will be correct. Keep Calm and Carry On, Jervis.)_

 _But the thing is, Min...James is having himself a bit of a moment presently. He's all deadly cross with Liz Saunders because she's a vile cow and now he's all frantically worried over his mum who, as far as I can tell, is intending on throwing a party that James does_ not _want her to throw and it's all bearing down quite heavily on him this afternoon. And I know you may expect that the devil-may-care roué that you've come to know would be able to handle all of this with his usual breezy aplomb, but it is a little known truth that James Potter is, in fact, quite a bit emotionally unstable. More than a bit, actually. He's a few sandwiches short a picnic, that one._

_I'm not entirely certain of all the details and reasons behind this, but never worry, Min—as his soon-to-be Recently-Acquired-Girlfriend, I have taken it upon myself to see to all his physical/emotional/spiritual/psychological/etc needs. Which is why I'm writing you now. Also, because I intend to copy all of Emma's notes from this lesson anyway, so there is less of a point of me writing my own._

_So have a care if you could, Min, m'dear. Please do not stick an already fragile boy with the perilous punishment of additional detentions because he is presently incapable of handling the issues of his life. Also, that would make various evenings of snogging and groping very difficult and that is not what a soon-to-be Recently-Acquired-Girlfriend wants to hear._

_Thanks muchly, Min. I knew I could count on you._

_Best,  
_ _Lily_

____________________

**Later, Divination  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 324**

 

                Call me foolish, but I didn't find the idea of taking a slight, seven-floor detour down to the Muggle Studies classroom before Divination in the off chance that James had decided to return to afternoon lessons such an unbelievably mad scheme. In fact, I wouldn't call it a scheme at all—it was an endeavour at most, one sparked by a deep and unrelenting concern and care for my soon-to-be Acquired Boyfriend. And so what if everyone kept telling me I really ought to leave him be? So what if I'd be slightly late to my own class? There is no such thing as too big a sacrifice when it comes to matters of the heart. After weeks of telling me I was being all kinds of pansy-arsed and certifiable for running James a merry chase, you'd think everyone would be _thrilled_ by my taking the initiative.

                They were, to put it quite simply, _not_.

                "There is a time and a place, my dear Slaggy Sue," is what Grace said, juvenilely grabbing me by the back of the collar as I turned towards the staircases after Transfiguration. Her subsequent yank fairly choked me. "Do we really have to leash you?"

                "Shove off," I croaked, wriggling like a fish on a line. "I don't see why—"

                "We have Divination," Emma said, and though she was decidedly less dramatic about it, her words were no more supportive than Strangling Stella's. "And you heard what the boys said at lunch. James wasn't in Transfiguration—"

                "But that doesn't mean he absolutely won't turn up to Muggle Studies!" I cried, and threw a knobby elbow into Grace's gut. She let out a winded _oomph_ and finally let me loose. Ahh, freedom! "You never know. He might be suddenly overcome with the desperate need to be distracted by foreign, Muggle things."

                "Oh, yes," Grace grumbled, rubbing her stomach. "I see how that's _entirely_ probable."

                I chose not to answer, deciding a proper, menacing scowl would do just as well. Because, yes, perhaps that _wasn't_ the most obvious course for James to take, but neither was it _impossible_. Stranger things have certainly happened.

                I wanted to go then— _could've_ done, now that I'd finally squirmed free of Gracie's evil clutches—but the pointed looks the pair of them were sticking me with had me reluctantly hesitating as my feet prepared to speed off.

                It grated on my nerves and I certainly didn't appreciate her antics, but one had to admit that Grace Reynolds was the very last person who would ever attempt to foil a proper romantic ploy. And ever since her reunion with Mac, Emma wasn't particularly wary of grand gestures herself. Even as my fanciful heart yearned to be away, I had to grudgingly concede that if my plan had even the smallest amount of legitimacy, this probably wouldn't be the pair to discourage me from it

                But I hated hanging about and not knowing anything. I hated that James's solution to these things was to up and disappear, even as I realised how hypocritical that was. Doing nothing seemed in every way utter codswallop and no amount of time or logical thinking had me feeling any better about it.

                But it seems that sometimes a witch just has to let the potion brew the way it's going to brew, even if it eventually explodes in her face.

                "It's a shot in the dark at best, anyway, Lil," is what Grace said then, annoyingly practical all of a sudden. "And don't you have rounds tonight? You'll see him then for certain—and alone to boot! Whatever Rook Whore plans you have brewing can keep till then, yeah?"

                "I s'ppse," I murmured grudgingly, because she _did_ have a point. But more importantly, in my head, Grace's words had caused something else to spark, tick, click.

                Rounds.

                Tonight.

                Alone.

                I had rounds tonight alone with James.

                Bloody hell, how could I not have seen it before?

                Rounds! Tonight! Alone with James! All day long I'd been driving myself spare attempting to find an Opportune Moment, and there it'd been, sitting right there in front of my nose! For Merlin's sake, it practically _screamed_ Opportune Moment! It was hours off, yes, but this afternoon's events had probably spoiled any chance of having an afternoon Moment, anyway. If I waited until tonight, James would surely have cooled his temper and I'll have had time to think up some spectacular Acquiring speech. That seemed in every way a better plan than simply winging it. It was practically kismet.

                I would finally—finally!—get this drated Boyfriend business sorted out.

                Step #3) Check.

                I must have looked quite a sight then, abruptly grinning from ear to ear when just moments before I'd been sulking something fierce. That might have been a bit jarring for someone who wasn't so used to my mad larks, but Grace and Emma merely went along with it, distinctly unfazed. We proceeded on up to the North Tower, chatting amicably about how Grace was meant to avoid Chris Lynch and his unfortunate overwhelming need for her affections at the Ravenclaw Halloween party tonight. Though the romantic prospects of my evening seemed bright, that did not appear to be the case for everyone.

                We reached the North Tower landing to find most of our classmates still lingering in the corridor. The ladder wasn't down, which meant Professor Freeman was probably still rearranging the aura of the classroom or pre-molding the tea leaves to represent grisly predictions. That wasn't terribly unusual, but what _did_ catch my eye was a particularly pointed look I was receiving from a gentleman across the way.

                Hm. Curious.

                "Be right back," I told Grace and Emma, a moment before I started towards my intended target and called out, "What's with the grim stare, mon frère?"

                Rob's already stern frown deepened as I drew closer, a far cry from his usual merry grins. I would have been more concerned about this, but it didn't take very long to see the boy was clearly all bluster. The steep downturn of his lips was quite obviously counteracted by the poorly-hidden humour playing about his eyes. I knew a set-up when I saw one.

                Ambling forward, I stared at him curiously as he slowly shook his head, all dramatic disappointment.

                "Well, well. Look who's back from her recent skive." His eyebrows lifted. "Just like that, pussy cat?"

                "I'm endlessly contrite, dear rhyming knight!" I dropped my rucksack to the ground as I stopped in front of him, all apologies and overzealous remorse. "Didn't Grace give you my note?"

                The frown twitched. "There was a note, I confess. Rhymed to impress, even. Very witty, my pretty."

                I gave a quick curtsey. "I learned from the best."

                The twitches gave way to a real smile. It seems even Robbo-Rhymo is not immune to the universal male fallacy of flattery fixing everything, so once I elaborated a bit on his overwhelming cleverness and clear rhyming genius, all was quickly forgiven.

                "Where'd you skive off to, anyway?" he asked, smiling broadly once more. "Fun in the afternoon sun?"

                "Highly secret mission," I replied. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, etcetera, etcetera."

                "Sounds dangerous," Rob conceded. "I fancy my life, so you go on and keep mum, chum. But seems to me a lady of danger needs a night off every so oft, yeah? Coming to the Halloween bash tonight?"

                I shook my head sadly, but considering my recent epiphany about rounds and Opportune Moments, I can't say I was really particularly sad about it. Still, it was important to keep up appearances.

                "I have rounds," I told him, then sighed heavily. "A Head Girl's job is never done, my son."

                "But you can come after, can't you? How long can rounds possibly last?"

                I had tentative plans to be thoroughly acquainting myself with my new boyfriend come post-rounds (and, all right, mid-rounds, too. Possibly even pre-rounds), but since I couldn't exactly tell Rob that, I just lifted my hands in a helpless shrug and said, "And be the Prefect Killjoy? No thank you. I'm to bed afterwards."

                "What about tomorrow? Going to the Quidditch match?"

                This time, I didn't have to fake the wince. "Only if forcefully dragged."

                Rob clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Not a fan of sport, then?"

                "Not a fan of Quidditch," I corrected. "There are other sports in the world, I'll have you know."

                Rob waved this off with typical, wizard-prompted, Quidditch-obsessed, no-logic-no-sense nonchalance. "Perhaps you've just never experienced Quidditch the proper way. It's all about your company, lovely."

                And the things is...I suppose I should be less shocked by what happened next. Maybe should have expected it, even, because I am a bright girl and I know how these things work. I am no stranger to phenomena, after all, and there is perhaps no greater phenomenon in this finicky world of ours than the Wants What You Can't Have paradox; the one that establishes that the very moment—nay, the very _nanosecond_ —a witch has declared herself to be Officially Spoken For (or nearly so), a toxic pheromone is released into the air around her. The chemical lingers about until all in her vicinity are affected, suddenly viewing said witch with a new kind of rose-coloured glamour. It is a sick and disturbing enchantment, one no more true than the shabbiest of counterfeit love potions, but there it is nonetheless. And with my recent decisions regarding Acquiring Boyfriends and even more recent realisation concerning Opportune Moments, I was unwittingly releasing pheromones by the bushel load. Poor Rob Harms didn't stand a chance.

                Which, inevitably, is why he then said this:

                "Let me show you how it's done, my lost one." He dropped a hand on my arm, giving me a coaxing grin. "We'll go cheer on the mighty blue with the hearty crew, then celebrate our win with some grins and gin! Party hardy, eh?"

                I laughed, shaking my head. "Better than you have failed in converting me, my friend. I'm a lost cause."

                If we hadn't already been standing so close, I might not have noticed the way he shifted even closer, a subtle but pointed movement. But we were, so I did, and when his voice lowered and he went, "Say yes, highness," it didn't take a genius to figure out what exactly he was trying to get at with all of this.

                Bloody fucking _pheromones_.

                "Oh." I stepped back, surprised, even though I shouldn't have been for all the reasons I've been over already. Rob was still grinning, but I could only sputter. "You mean...you and me...like... _oh_. Um. Er, Rob..."

                To his favour, the pheromones did not turn Rob completely irrational. I may not have said much, but my face must have conveyed something about my feelings on the subject, because darling Rob suddenly dropped his hand from my arm, shot me a rueful grin and went, "Right. No matter. It was worth asking."

                No matter, except now I felt _horrible_.

                Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

                "It's just sort of complicated—"

                "It's Potter, right?" It was not accusatory, more resigned. "I've seen you lot together. I suppose I should have known. And there are some rumours...but you know how those things are. No one's really certain, especially with you two. But reckoned it was worth a shot just to ask."

                In retrospect, I should have just nodded and went along with that. It was the truth, after all, and how could you go wrong with the truth? But we all know that I'm a girl who has always been more of a 'the truth gets you in trouble' believer, and my mouth tends to agree, so all I could think then was that poor Rob had just been rejected and now I was about to make it even _worse_ by rejecting him in favour of someone else, and he was _so_ nice and clever and funny and I didn't want to send him barreling down the Sorry Straits of Bitterness and Self-Doubt, so I just sort of gestured vaguely and went:

                "No, no, no. James and I...you know, er, not really...um...things are just sort of mad right now? And complicated? I have a million things on my plate...Head Girl business and, er, life looming, and... I just don't think... _attending_ _Quidditch matches_ is really a grand idea right now, so..."

                Rob held up a hand, stopping me. "Say no more. I understand."

                "But you're spectacular, Robbo, really you are." I dropped a hand on his arm now, patting absently. "Truly. I just...situations...people...life events..."

                "Lily." He was laughing now, covering my hand with his. "It's fine. Really. No harm done, honeybun."

                As if on cue, Professor Freeman chose that exact moment to lower the tower ladder, apparently through with summoning the lesson spirits to our realm. As everyone made towards the ladder, I sort of stood there helplessly, trying to think of something that would make things less awkward. But Rob Harms really _is_ the loveliest of sorts, even when influenced by dreaded WWYCH pheromones, because he just sort of sighed really dramatically, lifted his hands in bemusement and went, "Well, since plans with you have gone afoul, seems Robbo-Rhymo's back on the prowl. What do you reckon? Are Penny O'Jene and Tim Ricks broken up again this week?"

                "I saw them snogging in the Entrance Hall the other day," I put in hesitantly, pleased that Rob seemed all right enough to be making jokes. I glanced about, saw that someone had apparently very helpfully dragged my rucksack with them on their way to the ladder because it was a good three feet from where I'd dropped it at my feet, and went to fetch it. Over my shoulder, I called to Rob, "But that was Saturday. Days ago. I say you've got at least a seventy-five percent chance they're on the outs again by now."

                "Saturday?" Rob groaned loudly. "That's nearly a week! They've probably broken up and gotten back together twice already. Rhyming and rotten timing, that's my lot in life. Tragic."

                I laughed at his forlorn look, and as we climbed up the ladder and proceeded towards our table in class, I was inordinately relieved to find that there didn't seem to be much awkwardness between us. I even helped Rob compose a long list of possible party/Quidditch dates, starting with Penny (if available) and ending with Freeman (if that desperate). Then I took up writing in here while Rob attempts to furtively change our star charts to reflect great fame and fortune. So far, he is apparently having great success with mine. I just have to be born four months later and in the year 1453. No big task, really.

                Actually, I should probably help him. Freeman keeps looking over here suspiciously. Perhaps she knows about her place on the list and is offended. Talk about tragic.

                I'll just pull out my notes...no, not those. Or that. Oh! Abbott's brochure! I forgot about that. To Do: Read. Where are those...ah-ha! Success!

                1453, here I come!

____________________

**Later, Still in Divination  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 324**

 

                Hey...

                Hm.

                Hm hm hm hm.

                I mean, I could...but how? And to _her_? Talk about a suicide mission. There is no _way_ I could possibly—

                Unless...

                Hm.

                Hm hm hm hm.

____________________

**Later Later, Still in Divination  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 325**

 

!!VERY VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE!!

NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU ASAP. VERY VERY IMPORTANT AND VERY VERY TOP SECRET. MENTION TO NO ONE. MEET ME AFTER DIVINATION BY THAT DUSTY ALCOVE NEAR SUPPLIES CUPBOARD. DO SO SURREPTITIOUSLY. I KNOW YOU'RE GOOD AT THAT.

LE

____________________

**Later Later, Dusty Alcove  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 325**

 

                Right, then. So let's just get this bit straight out of the way, shall we?

                I am, quite obviously, a genius.

                Now, I know what you're thinking. Lily Evans, a genius? Creator of the Chicken-Lizard? Chit who fancied herself in love with The Slime Formerly Known As Amos Diggory for more than a year? Gal who, even after 300+ Observations, is quite possibly even _less_ observant than when she started? _That_ Lily Evans?                 Cruel but fair points, all. I am what they say. And truthfully, I had to do a bit of a double-take over it myself. But when one stops to consider that age-old adage about the untenable link between genius and madness, it _does_ begin to make a slice of sense. In fact, put that way, it seems almost irresponsible for a lunatic of my caliber not to have given my own potential brilliance a moment's thought before.

                But no more, I tell you. Never again will I disregard my genius side in lieu of a clever quip about Bedlam or an insightful comment about the upcoming trends in straitjacket fashion. And it's all thanks to this—the _crème de la crème_ of my genius ideas—undeniable in its pure brilliance as it is in the complete and utter insanity that it _just may work_.

                Not that I have any guarantee of that, of course. But those chances have already improved significantly over the past half-hour, when the whole thing seemed a lot more likely to spectacularly implode. Because like all genius plans, this one hinges rather crucially on the aid of a second party contributor—one who, I admit, may not have been the _most_ dependable of choices.

                But that was nothing one aptly-worded, sufficiently-urgent, hastily-scrawled note couldn't solve.

                ...or that’s the hope I clung to, anyway, after deftly shaking Grace and Emma off my trail and heading for the alcove after Divination. One did not need to consult one’s tea leaves to discern that there was a good 75% chance I'd be left kicking my heels all alone in that dratted alcove till kingdom come. But curiosity is a compelling foe, and I was banking on the fact that I'd supplied an adequate amount of it to lure my potential partner-in-crime into my trap. Once there, the real work would begin, but it was the first step that somehow seemed the most crucial. I just had to get him there. Everything else would fall into place—I’d _make_ _it_ fall into place—as long as I first got him there.

                And call it luck, call it fate, call it some karmic monitor's job on the line because he clearly wasn't paying close enough attention to my daily goings-on, but somehow, someway...I did.

                "I don't know where he is," is the first thing Sirius said upon entering the alcove, my note a crumpled ball in his hand. "And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

                My head snapped up from where I'd be diligently picking at stray threads on my skirt, the feelings of triumph and elation over his arrival overwhelming any amount of proper annoyance over the way he'd gone about it. He'd come! I did it! Huzzah hurrah! A thousand points for Genius Lily! But I knew Sirius well enough to realise I’d be a fool to let him see how pleased I was. Immediately schooling my features into a mask of easy disinterest, I called on every suave particle in my occasionally-suave body and regarded him coolly.

                "Well, that's a bit rude of you." I hopped down from the window ledge I’d perched myself upon earlier, crossing my arms over my chest. "Good thing this isn't about that, then."

                Sirius shot me a dubious look. I would have rolled my eyes at that, but we had long since established that the arse was under the asinine impression that my entire life revolved solely around his best mate and our romantic goings-on, so it really wasn't worth the headache. I could fight that battle some other time.

                You know, preferably on an occasion when I _didn't_ desperately need his help.

                "Sheathe your loyal claws," I said, strolling forward. "I mean it. This isn't about James. Actually, it's about you."

                “Me.”

                "Yes, you." I stuck him with my brightest grin. "Well, you and our budding but nonetheless supremely strong friendship. Have I mentioned yet how very grateful I am for our chatyesterday? I felt decidedly better afterwards."

                "Well, that couldn't have been terribly difficult," Sirius muttered, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "You were one Quaffle-throw away from heaving yourself out the nearest window when I found you."

                Ah, and there was that patented Black charm. I bit back a few nasty retorts—Quaffle-throw, my _arse_ —and continued with an overeager smile, "Nonetheless. It's left me thinking...for our next bonding session—"

                " _Bonding_ session—"

                "—we really ought to do something _you_ enjoy." And before he could get out another snorting reply to that: "So how would you feel about helping me break a few school rules?"                 Sirius’s eyebrows lifted so high, they disappeared behind the stray bits of hair falling into his face. After a moment, he only parroted the words back at me. Blankly. Incredulously. "A few school rules?"                 I pursed my lips. "Actually, to be fair, I think they're technically laws."

                "Laws."

                "Technically."

                "Which laws?"

                "Er...breaking and entering and petty larceny?"

                The alcove went silent. For a second, Sirius just stared, the muted disbelief playing discernibly about his face. It was a pleasant reprieve from his usual smug swagger to be sure, but not exactly the reaction I was hoping for just then. My pulse was thumping wildly. I didn’t know what the bloody hell I was going to do if he said no. I had no Plan B. This was it. The Genius Plan, Step 1. Plan A, the sole and stalwart. He had to say yes. _Had_ to.

                Instead, he groaned.

                "Merlin above, Evans." A tired hand ran down his face. "What the bloody hell are you up to now?"

                My heart jumped in my chest. That wasn't a no. I mean, yes, all right, it wasn’t technically a _yes_ either, but it most definitely wasn't a no. A genius working with my kind of karma had to take what she could get. Whirling around, I lunged straight for the window ledge where I'd left my rucksack, fumbling in my excitement. I dug into the front pocket until I found the thin packet I'd stashed there earlier. I thrust it at him with little flourish.

                " _Auror Force: Potions Division_?" Sirius read, his gaze flickering from the brochure title up to me. "Fucking hell, Evans. You want to steal from _Aurors_?"

                Well, I suppose we can’t _all_ be geniuses.

                "Yes, because that sounds _completely_ feasible." I rolled my eyes, but when Sirius only continued to stare, I jabbed a pointed finger at the brochure. "Abbott gave that to me a few days ago. She thinks I should apply."

                "And what? You want my career advice? You don't have to steal that, Evans."

                How is it I always forget how much he makes me want to hit him? "Can we put the sarcasm aside for just a moment, please? This isn't even about the division. That's just...the excuse, I suppose."

                "Excuse for what?"

                "To get what I need." That was hardly a proper answer—Sirius's impatient look confirmed as much—but I'd gotten to the point of no return now, and I was working up the nerve to make the final plunge. There were certainly reasons to be cautious. I had no guarantee he'd agree to this—worse, I had no guarantee he wouldn't go off and spoil any chance of it happening at all when he didn't. I may have had a few trumps up my sleeve, but Sirius was nothing if not a wild card himself. There was no predicting what he might do. But what other choice did I have? I needed his help. I'd already waded too far in to try swimming for shore now. Besides, if I couldn't gather the gumption to go through with _this_ bit, how the bloody hell was I expecting to manage the rest?

                I couldn't. There was absolutely no chance.

                So I took a deep breath, threw my chips on the table...and jumped.

                "I want to steal a log book from Professor Abbott."

                There.

                That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

                “You want to what?" Sirius asked.

                "Abbott keeps a log book of all the potions classrooms she lets to students and the ingredients they use,” I told him. “I need to get into her office and steal it."

                "Are you _mad_?” (This seemed a rather redundant question. In my opinion, he didn't have to yell it.) "Are you absolutely barking _mad_? Fucking hell, Evans, you were better off stealing from the Aurors!"

                Well, now that was just silly.

                "It's important!" I cried, tracking him as he began to pace backwards. "She won't even know it's missing. I'm not _really_ going to steal it. I'm just going to charm a copy of it. I won’t really be breaking in either, for that matter. Abbott has afternoon office hours. I just need someone to get her out of her office for a moment while I’m still in there. You know, a diversion. I’ll do the rest."

                “That someone being me?” Sirius didn’t even bother waiting for my nod before scoffing in disgust. “Live bait. Flattering.”

                "Oh, _please_. Like you haven't done things like this a million times before!" That he'd even try to pretend otherwise was laughable. I was a Prefect, for Merlin's sake. I _literally_ wrote the reports. "It's not that difficult! Set off a few dung bombs. Lead Filch on a merry chase. Streak the halls naked, for all I care! You're the expert here! Think something up!"

                "I don't want to think something up! And why the bloody hell don't you just go when she's not in her office?" He may have been glaring, but I decided to take it as a good sign that he was at least asking semi-relevant questions. "Go in the dead of night," he suggested. "Break in then. Maybe you'll get lucky and she won't catch you and _kill_ you."

                "I can't. I don't even know where she keeps the log. I could be looking for ages and never find it." Which was the truth, rubbish as that was. It also wasn't the only problem. "Besides, Abbott isn't stupid. She'll have all sorts of locking charms and alarms on her office at night. But if I go when she's already there, I won't have to worry about that. I'd just need her to leave for a few moments."

                "Which is where the naked streaking comes in, I suppose?" Sirius grunted.

                Seeing little reason in dissembling (though naturally he'd latch on to that suggestion), I nodded.

                Sirius made one more noise of disgust before the alcove went silent again. And look—I know it was an entirely mental plan, all right? Understood and acknowledged. Abbott is possibly the scariest person in existence and the idea of stealing from or in any way compromising her was probably grounds enough to be committed. But that was all part of the paradox, yeah? You don't get genius without madness. I could only imagine the insane repercussions if it all went terribly wrong, but I also knew it'd be all kinds of brilliant if I could actually pull it off—not to mention all kinds of necessary if I was meant to get anywhere in solving even one of the endless mysteries that seems to be forever plaguing me.

                Because regardless of the day's copious events, I hadn't forgotten about Evan Rosier's infuriating existence and his heavy-handed manhandling this morning. And even though I'd thought I'd have to wait ages to discover a weakness in him, all it'd taken was a reminding glance at an innocent brochure and a few moments' deep contemplation to realise that I already _knew_ Evan's weakness. I'd always known it. It was the very thing that had set us so firmly at odds in the first place. What's more, I even had the makings of a plan—though I'd set it aside at the time after deeming it impossible. But it wasn't impossible. Not even nearly. Or not with a bit of help, at any rate.

                Speaking of which, Sirius was still staring intently at me, not speaking a word. I didn't know whether that fixed stare meant he was considering agreeing, or merely mulling over ways to end the whole plot altogether. It was unsettling, the question of it, but there was nothing much I could do. I wasn't above manipulation, but I would rather not have to sink to it. I like to think I wouldn't have if Sirius hadn't started shaking his head.

                "No," he said, his frown deepening. "It's a halfcocked plan at best. And whatever daft reason you've got for wanting to steal from a witch who could easily poison you in your sleep, it's not my problem. Find some other dolt to do your bidding. Ask James—"

                " _No_." I almost choked out the word. "Not James. I can't ask James. He can't even know about this."

                Really, suave particles? _Really_?

                "What do you mean, James can't know?" Sirius's eyes narrowed. It didn't take a genius to see the wheels in his head had begun to turn. "What—"

                "He can't help and he can't know," I repeated, resigned to blurting the truth now. I lifted my chin stubbornly. "And if you'll let me explain why not, I imagine you'll figure out why I want the log book, as well. And why you might reconsider helping me.".

                Sirius was already shaking his head. "Lily, no—"

                "Or don't you want to know exactly what your brother's got himself into with the Rosiers and their potionmaking?"

                (IknowIknowIknowlowblowlowblow _I'msorry_ )

                To his credit, Sirius's face betrayed nothing at my question. Once I left it hanging there, he only continued to stare at me, his expression no more heated or harshly critical than it had been moments before. And look, I'm not exactly proud of having done it, all right? It was devious and conniving and manipulative and using things against him that I would've _killed_ him for using against me, but there was a truth in it as well, wasn't there? I'd picked Sirius to help me for more than the simple reason that he knew his way around a cunning plan and had scruples tenuous enough to go along with one. He was one of the only people I could think of who had an equal stake in the outcome of this thievery as I did. Because if our conversation yesterday had proven anything, it was that Sirius Black was even more conflicted over his sibling relationship than I was. And that was certainly saying something.

                If it had been me, _I'd_ have wanted to know. That didn't exactly make me feel better about it, but it was justification enough to have done it.

                "Shite," Sirius finally muttered, and I had to fight off equal parts guilt and relief as his lips seemed to twitch faintly upwards. "Should've seen that coming. Devious one, aren't you?"

                "Tell me you haven't thought about it since that day in the dungeons," I challenged, a bit desperately. "Pretend all you like, but you still care. Regulus is still your brother and he's probably in over his head. You can help—"

                "Or I could make things worse," Sirius put in, not without a bit of pointed logic himself. He shook his head. "You have no idea what you're stumbling into, Evans. You think Reg's in over his head? Bollocks. You're practically drowning and you don't even know it."

                "So toss me a line!" I cried, frustrated now. "I'm going to sink or swim either way, but I'd certainly rather have your help."

                "The Rosiers—"

                "If you're going to tell me to let this go, just save it, all right? I've heard it all before. I don't care. The lot of them are up to something and I'm not going to just stand by and leave them at it! Now the only question is...are you?"

                It was meant as a challenge—a gauntlet thrown down on his much-revered honour—but I could only hope it pricked enough to make an impact. I was using every bit of ammunition in my arsenal—emotional manipulation, Gryffindor pride pinching, the haughtiest look I could muster—and perhaps I ought've been more cautious about that, but I wasn't. I couldn't be. Not when this was so important.

                 And whatever else he said, Sirius  _knew_ that. He was the one who'd gone and told Dumbledore about it that first day, wasn't he? There'd've been no reason at all to involve the headmaster unless Sirius thought the whole thing rather nefarious, as well. And what about Dumbledore himself? He'd  _agreed._ Why else would he warn James and me about keeping our eyes and ears open? He wouldn't have done. Not without reason. So really, I'm just acting on Dumbledore's orders. Super secret spy missions and all that. Who could fault me?

                No one, I decided firmly, even as I knew that there were perhaps a select few—one messy-haired, bespectacled sod in particular—who might disagree. But I wasn't going to worry about them— _him_ —now. All that mattered at that moment was whether or not the bloke in front of me was of the same mind.

                And honestly? Looking at him then, I truly had no idea.

                Until this:

                "What time's Abbott got office hours until?" The question came out on a sigh, and Sirius's face took on a grim cast. He went digging in his pocket for a cig. "How long've we got to pull this off?"

                We.

_We._

                He said 'we'!

                "So you'll do it?" I couldn't quite contain a little victory hop, though I tried to keep myself in check until I had official confirmation. "You're going to help?"

                "Haven't left me much choice, have you?" he muttered. "Be a bit like leaving a flobberworm alone in a dragon's lair."

                I wanted to hug him. And punch him. Either would do. I gave a little celebratory clap instead. "I'd kick you in the shin for that, but I'm too excited! You won't be sorry, I promise! I've thought this all though."

                "Yeah, we'll see," Sirius said, sounding nothing short of entirely dubious about that. He stuck the cig in his mouth and lit it. "Start from the beginning," he told me. "What exactly are you expecting to get from this book, anyway? Call me overcautious, but if I was cooking up some devil's brew for a Dark Lord, I don't reckon I'd doodle it down in my notebook for Abbott's enjoyment."

                Sirius didn't strike me as any kind of doodler, actually, but I suppose that was neither here nor there. "No, but they have to write _something_. And Mac said—"

                "Mac? Wait, Emma's bloke? What's he to do with any of this?"

                Bugger. I'd forgotten he didn't know about that. Actually, he didn't know much of anything. There hadn't been any need to keep him in the loop after that first afternoon. He probably thought the whole thing started and ended there. There was too much to explain and too little time. I decided to give him the abridged version, conscious of the fact that it was already half past and I couldn't be certain Abbott would linger about her office on a Friday—and it being Halloween to boot. Sirius listened without much comment, though he did give a few eyebrow cocks at what Emma had seen and Mac's subsequent explanations, and some understanding dawned when I recounted my conversation with Abbott about the logbook. I decided to throw in the incident this afternoon as well, figuring Evan's blatant hostility toward me could only go to further prove my point that we had stumbled upon something real. Sirius seemed to be mulling it all over as I finished.

                "So you want to see what they've been telling Abbott they've been doing," he said, drawing the proper conclusion. "Reckon they're foolish enough to leave a trail?"

                "Mac was involved in the beginning," I reminded him. "I wouldn't trust the rest of them to pass me the salt at dinner, but Mac? I honestly don't think he was lying. Whatever they're actually brewing, they can do it while still letting him believe it's this Mungo's potion."

                "Which tells us what?"

                I shrugged. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. It could all be some kind of decoy, but Mac said something about needing to continue the brewing at Hogwarts because it gave them access to ingredients they couldn't get elsewhere. Stands to reason we ought to find out what exactly those ingredients are, yeah?"

                For a second, I thought Sirius was going to tell me I was completely off. His eyes got this squinty-look to them and he tightened his lips into an almost sour expression. But what might on anyone else be a look of dour doubt was apparently Sirius Black's contemplative plotting face because a moment later, he gave me a rather decisive nod.

                "It's a solid first lead, in any case," he said, taking one last drag on his stubby fag before dropping it to the floor. He put it out with a swift twist of his toe. "But why go through all this effort to steal the book? Why not just prod Mac for the intel?"

                I grimaced. "I tried that. He clammed up faster than I could even say the word 'ingredients.'"

                Sirius's brow lifted. "And you're sure he's not in on it?"

                It was a fair question. And truthfully, I had no real way to know for certain that he wasn't. But my gut was saying he'd been telling me the truth that night outside of the portrait hole, and Emma was one of the most sensible people I knew. If she believed Mac, reason stood that he was probably being honest. But my gut wasn't exactly an irrefutable source, and some might claim being in love with the bloke had blinded Emma's reason just a tad. The facts could swing either way, really. Still, I was willing to give Mac the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.

                I gave Sirius a shrug. "Even if he is, that doesn't change things. They still had to tell Abbott something in that book. Which means we need it."

                Sirius grunted his consent. He lifted his arm to consult his watch—a rough, leather-banded one just like James's. He began to mutter to himself.

                "...half-past...should be...go there..."

                Er.

                "Twenty minutes," he finally seemed to decide, dropping his arm back down. His gaze flickered up to mine. "Outside the portrait hole. Meet me there. Should be enough time."

                "Enough time for what?"

                The question—a foolish one to ask Sirius Black, perhaps—prompted his very first smile of the afternoon.

                "To get things set," was all he'd say, even after I prodded for more answers. He gave a little wave as he made to exit the alcove, ignoring my questions. "See you in twenty, Evans."

                "Wait—"

                But he was already gone, leaving me alone in this dratted alcove, feeling triumphant, nervous, and altogether a bit terrified at the prospect of what exactly is going to occur in approximately...t-minus three minutes.

                Hmph.

                Look out, Rosier.

                I've got you in my sights now.

____________________

**Much Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 326**

 

                To say I was eager to begin would probably be a slight understatement. After the initial batch of nerves and terror had settled, I was really left with nothing but pumping adrenaline and a keen urgency for retribution—not exactly a cocktail for serenity. For a standard point of reference, it took me a mere matter of minutes to dash the not-particularly-unsubstantial trek from the Divination alcove over to Gryffindor Tower, so the evidence is really in the results. I managed to arrive just as Sirius was stepping out of the portrait hole, a fortuitous occurrence that I naturally decided to take as some kind of cosmically positive sign relating to the undeniable brilliance and predestined good-fortune of our forthcoming mission...until I realised that Sirius was holding the Map, and had thus probably just timed his exit with my dot's approach.

                Oh, well. No bother, really. I'll take a bit of fixed luck, too. I'm really not picky that way.

                "You've come prepared," I said, nodding towards the Map and the shiny fabric of James's invisibility cloak that he also had threaded through the crook of his arm. A troublemaker's ammo, he was ready and armed. I admit to slight skepticism. "Really reckon we'll need all that?"

                Sirius only nodded, apparently seeing no need to explain further. Resigned to such things by now, I saw little reason to inform him that I thought him a tad overcautious, especially not after he'd gone and passed the Map over to me.

                Ahh, my old friend. We meet again!

                And this time, I really _am_ up to no good.

                "Abbott's still in her office," Sirius reported, his expression more staid and business-like than I think I've ever encountered. It might have been a bit unnerving, if it wasn't already overwhelmingly reassuring. "Make certain she keeps put until we get down there, yeah?"

                I gave a responding salute, prompting only the slightest of eye rolls. Sirius turned and took off down the corridor, apparently ready to be on our way. I followed along obediently, glancing down at the Map to ascertain that Abbott was indeed still where she needed to be—'W. Abbott' present and accounted for!—but couldn't quite resist the urge to take another quick tally of the area around us. As these things are wont to happen, my thoughts strayed towards one particular dot bobbing somewhere about the parchment, and my eyes roamed the shifting ink until I found it resting stationary and solitary inside the boys' dormitory.

                Hm. Is that where he'd been all afternoon?

                "Did you see James?" I asked. "He's in your dormitory."

                Sirius kept walking. "I know."

                "And?"

                "And what?"

                "Don't give me 'and what'. You know what. How was he?"

                When I didn't get an immediate answer, I jerked a prodding elbow into his side, earning myself an annoyed glare. But Sirius must have known that he was playing a fool's game by trying to keep mum, because despite his reluctance, he did give an exasperated sigh and a proper answer.

                "Still sulking," was the unwilling admission, followed rather quickly by a derisive scoff. "Bloody ponce. Didn't so much as glance my way when I grabbed the cloak from his headboard. Loves playing the martyred and outraged, that one."

                "You shouldn't have done that at lunch," I said, calmer than when I'd told him much the same earlier this afternoon. "You should've known he'd react like that."

                "How?" Sirius bristled defensively. "It's a sodding _party_ , Evans. I thought it'd be a laugh, something to distract him from the bleeding funk _you_ had already helped him into. The way he lost it, you'd have thought I told him his mum had decided to march singlehandedly into battle, not order about a few dozen house elves as they tidy up his room for company!"

                "But James doesn't think that way. He's protective to a fault. You _know_ that."

                "This was different," Sirius insisted, shaking his head. "You and Saunders have him wound so tight, it was only a matter of time before it all unraveled. _That_ I should've known." He shot me a pointed look. "And before you go off and do something daft, I don't reckon he's quite done working it all loose yet, either. So don't go charging in thinking you can just snog him to rights, hear? For everyone's sake, leave off."

                Hmph. It might have been a mildly accurate assessment of my stellar mental prowess, but Sirius clearly didn't comprehend the dazzling power of my snogging abilities. Even so, his warning _did_ give me pause. If he was even remotely correct, the evening I had planned for James was suddenly looking a bit less Opportune. I'd thought I'd found the perfect Moment, but I suppose it was a tacit requirement that both parties be in the proper romantic mind frame. But would James _really_ be inclined to retain his sullen sulking in the face of Acquiring Himself a Girlfriend? Call it stirring my own cauldron, but I really couldn't imagine it. I finally felt _good_ about this thing between the pair of us. Now was not the time to be getting lost in the throes of an alleged inferiority complex. I was not about to lose confidence now.

                Or at least, not _all_ my confidence. I admit, certain recent events might have shaken me slightly. And speaking of...

                "What do you know about that, anyway? The Saunders thing, I mean." I tried to sound nonchalant, but I'm rather certain I failed miserably. Sirius's mocking brow quirk seemed to imply as much.

                "What do _you_ know about it?" he asked.

                "That he's angry," I answered. "Possibly _too_ angry. And I'm pretty certain the whole mess has something to do with me."

                "Self-involved much?"

                _Eavesdropper much_ , I wanted to correct, but even if Sirius and I _were_ blossomed into full-blown bestmateship, I couldn't possibly tell him about that. Instead, I just shrugged. "Doesn't make it any less true. Do you know what it's about?"

                "No." The answer came quickly—too quickly—and I immediately thought he must be lying. But then he went and gave me a little more, a seemingly truthful boon, so maybe it wasn't entirely false. "Came back yesterday afternoon seething about something—reckoned he'd had it out with you, so I didn't ask. Then Liz comes by the dorm looking to pass off some note while James was in detention. Remus hands it over when he got back and James kicks up a fuss and chucks it in the bin."

                "And you didn't fish it out?"

                Sirius stared. "No, I didn't _fish it out_. Merlin, Evans. You really are spare, aren't you?"

                Naturally. But better a crazy meddler with answers than a crazy failure without. "'Kicked up a fuss'. What does that mean? Was he angry?"

                Sirius seemed to consider that.

                "No, not angry," he finally decided. "More...defiant."

                Defiant? Oh hell. More and more, it was starting to feel like whatever was going on between James and Saunders, James felt he had something to prove—and that something was probably me. Worse, if he didn't feel there was at least some validity to the opposing side, he wouldn't feel the need to defend it so stringently.

                Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_.

                I did _not_ need this right now.

                "Well, don't you worry." I gave my hair a jaunty flip and lifted my chin an extra notch, playing out a haughty confidence I certainly didn't feel. "I've got a plan. Come tomorrow, James will be just fine. You'll see."

                Sirius groaned.

                "Did you not just hear me? No plans! Let him have the day to realise he's being a prat. You'll only make it worse." When this prompted no response, Sirius groaned again. " _Lily_."

                "Oh, calm down, would you? It'll be fine." When Sirius only looked more dubious, I stuck him with a good scowl. "Don't look at me like that. My plans are brilliant! You're going along with one right now, aren't you?"

                "Yeah. About that." By this point, we were rounding down the lower stairs to head into the dungeons, scooting by a couple of third-years who were hooting and hollering as they ran for the Entrance Hall. As they scurried past, Sirius pulled me off to the side of the corridor, his voice lowering. "Shockingly enough, your plan needed a little...help."

                Pardon?

                My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'help?'"

                "It was a fine effort to be sure," he assured me, going as far as to pat my arm in mock support. "But your amateur is showing. There were more holes in your plot than in one of Pete's old socks. You had a solid start, at least—you'll still be going into Abbott's office as planned. Only now, I'm going in with you."

                "What?" I jerked away, startled. "What are you on about? You can't go in with me. You're the diversion!"

                "The diversion is covered," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "And for all intents and purposes, you _will_ be going in alone. I'll be under this."

                As he lifted the invisibly cloak, I could only continue to stare in confusion. "You're going to be invisible? I don't understand. What's the point?"

                "Your plan only worked for one case scenario," Sirius explained, the indulgent teacher to the baffled student. "You can't pull a caper like that. _If_ the distraction goes off as planned and _if_ Abbott goes to investigate, who's to say she won't shuffle you out of her office along with her, locking the door behind you? You'll make yourself look like a suspicious ponce if you try to stay put. But if I'm still in there..."

                "You can still get the book," I finished, the pieces of his revised plan slowly falling together. I couldn't help but smile. "You really _are_ good at this."

                "Not my first dragon ride," Sirius agreed, smirking. "You've got good instincts. With time, we'll make an expert of you yet."

                Oh, brother.

                "I think I'll stick with my slightly subpar law-breaking and keep my Prefect badge, thanks." As we started to walk again, I could feel the spike of adrenaline beginning to brew once more. I may be reluctant to completely part with my good citizen ways, but I couldn't pretend this wasn't just slightly thrilling. "What's the new diversion, anyway?"

                "You'll see," was all Sirius would say, pushing on before I could argue. "I'll be watching the Map to make sure everything goes off properly. If anything's gone wrong and I have to leave the office, I'll tap your shoulder like this." He gave three decisive prods to my right shoulder. "Don't flinch."

                "Ooh, a secret code? You know what that means, don't you?" I grinned. "Next step, super secret friendship handshake."

                _Ha_.

                Sirius stared. "Don't make me regret this, Evans."

                "You mean you haven't done already? Merlin, our friendship really _is_ blossoming."

                Sirius didn't respond, but I like to think that's because he was too busy taking time to marvel at the wonder that is our beautiful new bond.

                We stopped walking just around the corner from Abbott's office, tucking ourselves behind the safety of the stone wall to regroup for mission commencing. Like a soldier preparing for battle, Sirius suddenly became supremely rigid and carefully alert. If I weren't feeling much the same, I might have laughed.

                "Everything looks in place," he murmured, taking the Map and consulting it carefully. "Abbott's alone in her office. You'll need to keep her talking five minutes, I reckon. Think you can manage?"

                "But what am I waiting for?" I asked. "You still haven't told me what the diversion is!"

                Sirius grinned, the flash of his teeth suddenly very bright. He brandished the cloak from over his arm, deftly throwing it about his shoulders.

                "You'll know it when you see it," his floating head said, a moment before that, too, disappeared.

                Honestly. He was as bad as James.

                I huffed in irritation, hoping that aptly relayed my feelings about the situation, before I too focused on the task ahead. Giving myself a good, quick talking to— _don't fuck this up, Evans!_ —I got ready to march into the fray.

                "Ready?" I hissed to the empty space beside me, hoping Sirius could hear.

                "Happy thieving, Evans," came his voice from behind me, and a phantom arm nudged me forward none-too-gently.

                I stumbled, shooting a glare over my shoulder. " _Wanker_."

                And on that positive note, Operation Logbook was in effect.

                And look...I won't pretend that my stomach didn't do a few nervous flip-flops, all right? Even as I tossed my shoulders back and determinedly rounded the corner towards Abbott's office, it was not without a healthy dose of trepidation. This was not my usual to-do. To pretend otherwise would be a sorry lie and probably laughable in its claim. This was foolishly reckless, plain and simple. I mean, this was Professor Abbott. If something somehow went terribly wrong, there was not a single doubt in my mind that she would end the pair of us in some catastrophic way—or rather, more likely just one of us, seeing as the other half of this nefarious duo would be happily invisible, and probably wouldn't change that fact in the face of danger.

                And yet, even with those very real consequences brewing in my head, there was nonetheless an equally as undeniable thrill to the escapade. I was excited. I was eager. The blood was pumping through my veins and I was ready. This was (well, _mostly_ ) my plan. I had thought it out, and I was the one executing it. If it worked, I'd be one step closer to making Evan Rosier sorry he'd ever been born. None of those were accomplishments to scoff at, yeah?

                So I would do this.

                I would do it, I would do it well, and even more than that, I would do it successfully.

                Hopefully.

                This was the mantra with which I approached Abbott's office, lingering in the doorway as the moment of truth finally arose. Raising my hand to her open door, I took one last deep breath ( _pleasedontfuckthisup pleasedontfuckthisup_ ) and I gave the hard wood a gentle rap.

                "Professor? Do you have a moment?"

                Abbott's head lifted at the interruption, not so much surprised as suddenly aware of my abrupt presence in her doorway. I'd been in her office a few times over the years, and it hadn't changed much. One side of the room was filled with bookshelves, brimming with thick tomes and worn texts from floor to ceiling. The other held shelves laden with potions ingredients and brewing kits, the tools of a Potions Master's trade. Between the two sat Abbott behind her massive desk, a stack of parchment that I'm assuming was some poor class's assignments resting to her right. As I waited for her beckoning, she dropped her red-inked quill to the desk and gave me an expectant look.

                "Evans. How can I help you?"

                Actually, I was hoping you wouldn't mind my swiping your logbook, Professor.

                Oh—and also? Please don't kill me.

                "I was hoping you wouldn't mind talking a bit more about this." I held up the Potions Division brochure I'd grabbed from my rucksack's pocket for just this occasion, implementing my prop with what I believe was stunningly deft cunning and compelling skill. I shot Abbott a smile. "If you have time."

                Abbott capped her inkwell and motioned to one of the chairs flanking her desk. "Sit."

                Huzzah! I was in! I murmured my perfunctory thanks and scuttled into the office, hoping Sirius was following along behind me. As Abbott waited for me to settle, I gave her my best oh-I'm-such-a-trustworthy-Head-Girl grin and began to recite the planned spiel I'd formulated earlier this afternoon.

                "Thank you again for giving this to me." I raised the brochure again. "I honestly hadn't given much thought to the Potions Division."

                "It's always wise for a witch to consider all her options," Abbott replied. "Graduation is closer than you think."

                I nodded. "Right. Well, anyway, I was skimming through it earlier...nothing particularly unexpected, of course, but the application process does seem a bit...intense."

                "No more involved than the Charms application, I would think," Abbott said.

                I nodded again. "Perhaps. But I feel decidedly more comfortable with my Charms than I do with my Potions." This, conveniently enough, was not even a lie. It still baffled me that Abbott could swallow this all without outright scoffing at the notion, that she actually thought me good enough to have this conversation without laughing in my face. I actually _had_ skimmed the brochure, and gaining a spot in the Division was no easy feat. The slip of this real truth brought a genuine sincerity to my performance, I think. "It's all a bit overwhelming," I said.

                At this, Abbott only lifted an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "The only way to grow more comfortable in your brewing is to continue with your experiments," she said. "You'll never take a place in the Division—or _any_ division—if you're only brewing during lessons."

                I had to stifle my triumphant grin, hardly believing my luck. Holy hell, could that've played out any better? A perfectly natural segue, right there for my taking! It was almost too much to imagine.

                "That's actually what I came here to talk to you about," I replied quickly. "When we spoke before, you mentioned being able to use classrooms and ingredients after lessons...something about a logbook...?"

                In my head, this was the point when Abbott gave a terse nod, reached into whatever drawer or pointed up to whichever shelf the logbook rested, and ta-dah! Mystery solved, mission practically accomplished, wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. I'd been basking in such good luck with all the rest of it that it almost didn't occur to me that it wouldn't happen exactly like that. But sure enough, Abbott didn't move a muscle and instead went, "What kind of brews are you considering?"

                Shit. What kind of brews was I considering? What a bloody obvious question. Why hadn't I thought to come up with some kind of potion or poultice that I was interested in before? Wouldn't I naturally have considered as much if I were really interested in the Potions Division? It was such a novice move, I could practically see Sirius slapping a hand over his face in shame.

                But there is a reason why I think a life of Auror crime-fighting and subterfuge is bright and ready in my future. No, I may not have planned this as well as I could've and that was a lesson to certainly learn, but when my _suave_ genes kick in, I _am_ more than a bit brilliant at thinking on my feet. In a matter of moments, I had come to some quick realizations: one, I needed to think of some kind of potions that I actually _knew_ something about; two, I had to get to it quickly. Sirius had said we had five minutes, and we'd already wasted two. If Abbott continued to evade my grand plans, she might not even pull out the logbook before the diversion—whatever it was—came to lure her out of the office. If that happened, I'd have to hope a hasty _Accio_ would be enough to summon the thing out of its hiding spot. That seemed a very poor plan considering I had no idea what the sodding book looked like or where I might be summoning it from, but it was the only Plan B I had. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

                And, truthfully? I've said it before and I'll say it again—Mr. George Abbott is the very heart and soul and light of my life. Because wouldn't you know it? I'd just come across some very interesting references to Potions in _Keep Your Guard_ just the other day, and I was more than ready to pull them out.

                One Abbott saving me from another. It was almost too perfect.

                "I was considering looking into medical potions," I answered after—all right—maybe a _tad_ bit of a prolonged pause. But it was nothing (I prayed) that couldn't be properly covered up with another overly-bright smile. "I suppose it runs in my family. My father's a doctor, see—er, a Muggle Healer, that is—and I was reading this book the other day that was talking about the kind of medical potions you'd need to use if you were hit with certain curses in the field...that'd fall under the Potions Division jurisdiction, wouldn't it?"

                Abbott nodded. "I would imagine so, yes."

                "He mentioned one in particular—the Halground Brew? It's used to slow down the effects of damaged organs. It's complicated, of course, but we _did_ do a bit on medical potions in class already, so at least I have some foundation there—"

                "As I recall," Abbott put in flatly, "you seemed to have some issues with the types of medical potions we went over in class."

                Oh, _hell_. Idiot, idiot, _idiot._ The Scandalous Assignment. How the bloody hell had I forgotten about the Scandalous Assignment? What kind of moron would bring up medical potions and not consider that Abbott would probably always connect me and medical potions with the memory of my letter disparaging the uselessness of the Grentlis Potion and that awful (if slightly hilarious) bet with James? She'd been a sport about it then, but maybe in hindsight she'd realised what an utter pretentious prat I'd been. I stared, frozen, wondering whether I was supposed to laugh or cry or just give up everything now and leave. All three were real possibilities.

                "Erm." I blushed something fierce, choking out a few useless sounds. "Well, you know...some _do_ seem more useful than others...not that...er, I mean..."

                At my obvious blundering, Abbott gave what I think is as close as she gets to a teasing smile.

                "I think medical potions are a strong selection," she said. Then: "Breathe, Evans."

                I did—noisily and with nothing short of utter relief, feeling like I'd just dodged a bullet. I couldn't quite bring myself to regret that whole letter fiasco—it's what really marked the start of James and me being mates, hadn't it?—but that didn't mean I couldn't bask in the pure stupidity and utter gall of it. Sitting before Abbott then, I got to relish in that full-force. Fortunately, there was the small matter of a devious plan and a logbook to steal to keep me from dwelling too completely. Otherwise, we might have been in trouble.

                "So...how do I start, then?" I asked quickly, more than a bit eager to change topics and get the plan back on track. "I don't know exactly what ingredients I'd need—maybe I'd have to order some things, I'm not certain. My schedule can get a bit hectic, but I'm thinking a couple of afternoons working in one of the classrooms would probably be best. So that...?"

                I left the prompting words hanging there, hoping Abbott would finally take up her cue and pull out the logbook from wherever she had it stashed. I didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but we couldn't be too far from Sirius's five minute marker. If she didn't get it now, I might very well have to resort to the _Accio_ and Pray, hoping my sheer will would be enough to prompt the book out of hiding.

                I was just starting to seriously sweat that predicament when Abbott—bless her _heart_ , that glorious, glorious girl—did indeed grab her wand from off her desk, gave it a bit of a flick, and _pop_! open went her desk's side drawer, just to her left.

                "Whatever you need," she said, "you jot down in here."

                I watched with no feeling short of jubilation—Huzzah! Success! I'd done it I'd done it I'd done it!—as Abbott reached into the drawer and pulled out an innocent looking brown book. It was long and slightly aged, but at that moment, I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life. My fingers clenched on the chair armrests, and I had to force myself not to grin like a lunatic or snatch the book straight out of her fingers before shouting and twirling about in victory.

                Stay cool, Evans. Stay _cool_.

                "That's the logbook you mentioned?" I asked innocently.

                Abbott nodded. "Whenever you have an afternoon you'd like to let a classroom, come and see me. We record it in here along with any ingredients you used for the day. Make certain to keep a careful tally of that. We keep diligent stock of what supplies are used. Understood?"

                She couldn't have any idea how happy I was to hear that. Diligent stock meant that Abbott _had_ to know what kind of ingredients Evan & Co. were fooling about with. It was the best we could hope for in terms of clues.

                "If something needs to be ordered"—Abbott flipped to the back of the logbook, where I could already see columns filled with a variety of different handwritings canvassing the page—"you write it here. Getting it will depend on what it is and how much of it you need, but we have strong relationships with various apothecaries nearby. You'll need a heavy amount of flounders fiber for Halground Brew. I'll talk with Mr. Gergheim in Hogsmeade to see if he has a supply."

                All I could do was nod, actually a bit surprised by how quickly this was all progressing. By this rate, Abbott would have my Potions Division application filled out by the end of the meeting.

                "Professor, I—"

                And that's when we heard it.

                I suppose the only way to describe it is a crash.

                A loud, metallic, _awful_ sounding crash.

                Double bloody fucking shit.

                What did Sirius _do_?

                Abbott was already halfway out of her seat. "What in _Merlin's_ name—"

                A second later, there was the distinctive clop of running footsteps along with the unmistakable sounds of boisterous yelling and delighted laughter. It wasn't long before no less than a dozen boys—younger, probably second or third years—came zooming past Abbott's office, their hooting and hollering echoing through the dungeon corridors.

                Abbott and I stared, wholly unprepared for such an onslaught of obvious mischief, but that was absolutely nothing compared to what happened next, when the corridor was suddenly filled with yet another very distinctive sound.

                " _YOU GET BACK HERE, YOU MISERABLE FIENDS!"_

There have been few times in my life when I can say that I was really and _genuinely_ shocked, when I honestly couldn't have possibly predicted the outcome of a certain conundrum or situation. Generally, even bizarre possibilities are at least _possibilities_ , and thus have been even vaguely considered. But I have to admit—seeing those boys scamper past Abbott's office like a pack of rabid beasts, then hearing the raucous battle cry of Gil McCoy booming down the corridor in their wake? I can honestly say that I was completely and utterly _thrown_. Without a doubt, entirely _floored._ As I slowly began to realise just what we were watching unfold, I had to force myself not to openly gape. It was that unbelievable.

                I took it all back.

                Sirius Black was a ruddy genius _._

                A brilliant, amazing, utterly _nodcock_ of a madman genius.

                "Dear Merlin," I muttered faintly, only moments before Gil McCoy came skidding to a halt in front of Professor Abbott's office, his normally neat hair windblown and sticking up in all directions. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his breathing obviously laboured.

                " _Professor_!" His eyes were wild and his voice cracked. "Don't you... _worry_! I've... _got_ 'em!"

                "What in Merlin's name is going on here, McCoy?" Abbott demanded. "What was that noise?"

                Gil was wheezing so hard, I knew I was going to have to answer for him. I literally had to bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done.

                "Dragons," I somehow got out. "It's Dragons, Professor."

                And despite the fact that he could barely breathe, was clearly out of sorts, and looked possibly on the verge of utter collapse, Gil's eyes suddenly darted straight to me, his face turning abruptly grim as he said, " _The game must end._ "

                _OhmygodDon'tLaughDon'tLaughDon'tLaughGoodLordAboveLilyPleaseDon'tLaugh_

                Down the corridor, the mob of second years continued to scream their victory.

                Gil's eyes went crazed again.

                Professor Abbott let out a long, disgusted sigh.

                "Lead on then, McCoy," she said. "Let's catch us some second years."

                I'd never seen Gil look so delighted, and I don't think there would have been anything that could've kept me from laughing like a right loon just then as the idiot began _literally_ bouncing from foot to foot in his eagerness to be off that it was almost a good thing that Abbott rose then and—oh good God, no no no no _no_ —shoved the logbook back in her side drawer, slamming the thing closed before grimly taking off towards Gil.

                Shit shit shit shit _shit_.

                Worse, I suddenly realised that _both_ of Sirius's pointed predications were about to come true, because there was absolutely no way I could get away with remaining in Abbott's office without looking like an utter ponce and completely giving myself away. Thankfully, Sirius had provided a safety net for that one, but I still had to find a way to extract myself from chasing after the second years with Gil and Abbott so that I could stay behind and get that drawer open.

                Following as slowly behind as I could manage, my mind grappled for an excuse, anything that could convincingly get Gil and Abbott far enough away that I could sneak back to the office without the pair of them seeing.

                And I'm not sure if it's just because I was having a particularly on day, or because the world felt a bit bad for the awful mess it was making of my recent life and felt the need to make up for it, or maybe because I was currently tagteaming it with a partner and Sirius's good fortune was somehow balancing out my bad, but once again...I had it.

                Good god...is _this_ what it felt like to have good karma?

                Mystifying.

                Easing Abbott's office door shut behind me—but _not_ , as I'm hoping no one noticed but me, completely clicking it closed—I watched as Abbott and Gil turned towards the right where the sounds of the Dragons game still echoed, and deliberately stepped towards the left.

                "I'll go fetch Mr. Filch," I told them, keeping my voice light and airy. "He's the one who's been dealing with most of this Dragons business. And I'm sure there might be a slight...mishap to clean up afterward."

                Gil nodded absently as Abbott shot me a look that I don't think I'd be wrong in saying implied a sort of outraged betrayal, but I'd left her little choice but to follow along behind the still practically vibrating Gil. As they took off down the corridor towards the continued noise, I turned in the other direction and ambled at a much slower pace towards the staircases, shooting quick looks over my shoulder to track their progress as I went.

                I gave them thirty seconds to round the corner before speeding back towards Abbott's office.

                I stuck my head inside. "Sirius?"

                There was a faint rattling sound before Sirius abruptly appeared, shedding the cloak and continuing to uselessly shimmy the slim handle attached to the logbook's prison-drawer.

                "Hope you know your unlocking spells, Evans," he reported grimly. "She's got this thing locked up tighter than Azkaban."

                Hell. I quickly joined Sirius at the side of the desk, reaching for my wand and regarding the locked drawer with narrow-eyed determination. It was certainly foolish to hope it could be so easy, but I muttered a hasty _Alohomora_ anyway, just to start.

                "Already tried that," Sirius said, shooting me a look that seemed to say, 'Why are you wasting my time?' "And _Patefacio._ And _Expositus Appreatus_. All useless."

                "Keep an eye on the Map," I ordered, kneeling down by the drawer, even though proximity meant absolutely nothing in terms of this kind of wandwork. Still, I felt better doing _something_. "Make sure Abbott and Gil stay where they need to. How the bloody hell did you manage to make that happen, anyway? Gil? The second years? It was nothing short of genius."

                "People are easily manipulated," Sirius said, and though that actually explained very little, I reckon it was still explanation enough. When I glanced up at him, he was smirking. "I thought for sure you were going to give us away. Your face was so red, you looked ready to explode."

                "I had to bite my tongue so hard I think I drew blood. I don't think I've ever wanted to laugh so much in my life."

                " _The game must end_ ," Sirius mimicked, then snorted. "Prongs would have _died_."

                "After he was through killing _us_ ," I muttered, attempting a couple of useless handle rattles myself. I stared at the drawer thoughtfully, trying to remember any and all unlocking spells that might even vaguely apply. I tried to remember the pattern of movement Abbott's hand had made when she'd opened it earlier, but I hadn't been paying proper attention and the spell was obviously non-verbal. "Shit."

                "Think, Evans. Charms are your thing, aren't they?"

                "Shockingly enough, I don't often find myself using Charms to break into locked drawers." I tried a simple revealing spell, but nothing happened. "This is more up _your_ alley."

                "Haven't I done enough?" Sirius asked. "This is _your_ plan. I'm spent. You make it happen."

                I grumbled something decidedly rude in his direction, but Sirius either didn't care or wasn't listening. It didn't matter much anyway, because I was already lost in scouring my mind again for any kind of spell that might help. Sirius was right. _No one_ knew Charms better than me. I had a proper arsenal of them in my head. I just needed to think. Think, think, think, _think_.

                I tried a few more simpler ones, not technically unlocking spells, but charms that might do the trick anyway. One of them seemed to shift some gears, but the lock snapped back in place in the end, and Sirius and I both groaned. I wished I had a hairpin to jimmy the thing the old-fashioned way, but somehow I thought Abbott would have accounted for that, too.

                "Looks like McCoy and Abbott have captured a few of them," Sirius reported, his eyes trained on the Map. "The rest are scattering to the wind. Bright boys."

                " _Idiot_ boys," I corrected, trying the gear-shifting spell again. Different moment, same result. "Hell. If I don't get over there soon, they might start to get suspicious."

                "You can say you were still looking for Filch. He's heading down there now himself, but from the back way. If you actually _were_ looking for him, you wouldn't have gone round there. You're fine. Just concentrate."

                "I'm _trying_." But I wasn't, not really. The panic had started to set in and I was getting sloppy. My mind skidded over various spells and I started trying things I _knew_ wouldn't work, but desperation was getting the best of me. What happened if we couldn't get the drawer open? All of this would be for nothing. Evan would win the day and I'd be left right back where I'd started—knowing the lot of them were up to something awful, but having no way to prove it or do anything about it. Could I come back tonight like Sirius had originally suggested? I could look up some unlocking spells in the meantime, just pray that I could get through both the door _and_ the drawer. It was a sorry plan, but I was starting to think it might be my only option. I didn't know what else to try. "Shit, shit, shit, _shit_."

                "Calm down," Sirius said, crouching down next to me. "You're useless if you panic. That's rule number one of marauding."

                "I'm not a Marauder!"

                "You're dating one," Sirius replied calmly. "You're mates with others. Rubs off, I reckon. You know this, Evans. Just let it happen."

                Just let it happen. Psh. What rubbish advice. If it was as simple as that, I would have sorted it all out the moment I crouched down. Instead, I'd searched my brain and come up with nothing. It was more than a bit disheartening to realise. But even as I let myself think that I'd reached the limit to my knowledge, another part of me rebelled.

                No. I _knew_ this. I _know_ I knew this. An unlocking spell. Opening. Something that opens. Or engages. Or shifts. Or moves—

                Oh my god.

                Oh my _god._

                Could it...

                _Hell._

                Sucking in a quick breath, I closed my eyes and called on the very fibers of my memory, trying desperately to recall what I'd read—Merlin, it was from some really bleak tome _ages_ ago, for some Charms extra credit Flitwick had assigned. I don't think I even completed the assignment. Not so shockingly, I could only remember bits and pieces, but it'd been something like round left and flick, hadn't it? And I knew the words. _That_ I could remember.

                I gave my wand an experimental wave. " _Agito_."

                There was a click, but not a successful one. I yanked the drawer handle and it still remained closed, but it had done _something_. I was close.

                "Try that again," Sirius said, sensing it too. "I think that might've been it."

                "I can't remember the exact wandwork," I confessed, trying another angle. There was another click, but still no open lock. I growled in frustration. "Come _on_."

                It took three more times—three _excruciatingly_ maddening, soul-crushing clicks—but finally— _finally_!—I gave a left swish angled up, a twisting flick, and _bam_. We were in.

                "Oh, thank bloody _Merlin_!" I cried, yanking out the drawer with probably a bit more urgency than was really necessary, but I'd just spent the better part of ten minutes living with the grim realities of failure, so I think I was allowed to be a bit overenthusiastic.

                "Nice work," Sirius said, sending me a grin that wasn't even a _bit_ sarcastic, and I decided that _that_ , even through all this, was surely the real victory of the day. He reached in quickly, taking the logbook out. "Please tell me you at least know the copying spell."

                "Of course." I took the book from him, holding it slightly away and giving the cover a deliberate swish and slide of my wand. Almost instantly, there were two. I grinned up in pure smugness. "And you thought my plan wouldn't work."

                "Your plan _didn't_ work," Sirius said, taking the copy. " _My_ plan did."

                "Shut up," I said, sliding the real logbook back in the drawer, feeling almost wrong to be shutting it closed again, but closed it went once more. "And don't you dare think I didn't notice what you said earlier. 'You're mates with others'. You've confessed it, Sirius Black. There's no escaping me now. We are the very best mates and you can't take it back!"

                "I didn't mean _me_ ," Sirius argued. "Remus and Peter—"

                "Lies, lies, lies," I sang smugly. "You can't escape me now!"

                Sirius muttered something under his breath, undoubtedly something very rude and off-colour lamenting his poor life and sorry present troublemaking companions, but I didn't hear and frankly didn't care because _my_ plan had succeeded and I was basking, wallowing, _floundering_ in the victory. We had done it! We had prevailed! Huzzah, hurrah, carpe diem! Whatever this book did or didn't reveal, I was finally on the proper track to be giving Evan Rosier exactly what he deserves and there was no victory as sweet as that.

                "Come on," I said, taking the Map from a still-muttering Sirius. "The sooner we're gone, the better."

                He nodded, trailing along behind me as we quickly made our way out of Abbott's office, taking care to close the door firmly behind us. I glanced down at the Map and saw Abbott, Gil, and Filch were still on the other side of the dungeons, two other dots—a 'L. Hoffman' and a 'P. Patel'—trapped precariously between them. Poor sods. I knew I'd have to join them soon, but as Sirius and I hurried away from Abbott's office, I reckoned I still had a few minutes to examine our loot. We headed towards the same corner we'd stashed ourselves behind earlier, a proper full-circle of success that I wasn't about to dismiss.

                When we stopped, I whirled on him, all giddy eagerness and expectantly opened palm.

                "Well, come on, then!" I said. "We've just risked life and limb. Might as well see if it was worth it."

                For a moment, Sirius shifted slightly and I could practically feel the heavy weight of the logbook resting in my hand. What would we find inside? I wanted so badly for all this intrigue and plotting to turn out right in the end, though karmically speaking, it seemed almost too much to hope. Abbott's talk about keeping careful stock of ingredients had seemed encouraging, but I wasn't about to assume it'd be the breakthrough I needed. Still, whatever we found, it'd be something, and something was better than the nothing I'd had before. As far as I was concerned, things only went up from here.

                But as I waited patiently for answers to questions I hadn't even properly formed yet, I was suddenly thrown by, not the hard weight of the thin logbook, but the significantly wispier feel of...silk?

                What?

                I glanced down at James's invisibility cloak, which Sirius had just placed in my outstretched hand. My eyes darted up to his, confused yet still amused.

                "Funny," I said, thrusting the material back at him. "Quit being a prat. We're going to look at it _together_ , for Merlin's sake."

                "We _will_ look at it together," Sirius agreed. "After."

                "After what?"

                "After you give this back to James."

                My amusement faded.

                "What?" I clutched the cloak he'd just thrust back at me to my chest mechanically, bewildered. "What do you mean, 'after I give this back to James'? I can't give this back to James. Don't you think he might be a tad bit suspicious by how I came to have it?"

                "Exactly," Sirius said, and I could only watch as he shrunk the logbook—my darling, glorious, saviour-of-a-breakthrough logbook—down to a compact size and tucked it neatly into his trouser pocket. "It's insurance."

                "Insurance for what?"

                "To make sure you tell him."

                Tell him?

                _Tell_ him?

                _What_?

                "Tell him what? About all this?" At Sirius's crisp nod, my mouth dropped open. "Are you _mad_? Are you absolutely barking _mad_? The whole bloody _point_ was for James not to find out! I told you that! You _knew_ that! I can't tell James! I'm _not_ telling James!"

                "Fine," Sirius replied, remarkably calm. "But if you don't tell him, I'm going to have to. And how do you reckon that's going to turn out?"

                I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I wanted to hit him, kick him, punch him in that stupid perfect nose of his and watch as it bled. Tell James? He wanted me to _tell James_? I had never heard something so completely and utterly stupid in my entire life.

                "Sirius," I said, hissing his name out through clenched teeth, trying to keep my cool. "Think about this. That wasn't the plan. James is going to go _ballistic_. He has absolutely no reason when it comes to the Rosiers. What's the point?"

                "The point," Sirius said, "is that you and I already have enough we're keeping from him. Prongs and I, we don't do that. And clever as you are, you won't be able to keep any of this secret for long, anyway. So either you tell him or I tell him, but I'm telling you now—if _I_ have to tell him, things are not going to turn out well for you."

                "This is not fair!" I cried, the panic already setting in. "Sirius, he's going to _kill_ me."

                "Kill you?" Sirius snorted. "Hardly! _Me,_ he's going to kill. You? He'll bluster a bit, maybe sulk for the night. Then he'll order you never to do anything like it again, you'll lie and agree, and off you'll go, snogging into the sunset until your next halfwit plan, in which case the whole thing will start over again. It's all sickeningly predictable."

                If this were the first straw, I might not disagree too much with Sirius's assessment. Yes, James would rage and protest. He probably would go off and brood for a day or two, letting no moment waste where he could be shooting me moody and disapproving looks. But he'd get over it eventually. If I told him I'd let things alone, if I let him barge his way into assessing the logbook too and making sure I wasn't doing anything more, he'd move past it. But the trouble was, we already _had_ done all that. We'd lived that same ugly pattern of events, multiple times, even. And though I'd never promised precisely not to pursue this, I think it's safe to say that James assumed I'd given in to his demands to leave things alone. Add that to the fact that we weren't exactly in the most prime of places right now anyway, and I'm not so certain James wouldn't be digging a second grave right there next to Sirius's. How was I supposed to fight against that?

                But things being as they are, it didn't seem I have much of choice. I glanced at Sirius, scanning his impassively stubborn face for any sign of relenting on this, but there was no leeway there. He was serious about this. If I didn't tell James, he would. And Sirius _couldn't_ be the one to tell him. If it came down to that, I could kiss Acquiring Myself a Boyfriend goodbye, say hullo to Acquiring Myself a Million Cats Forever and Ever.

                Shit.

                Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

                "Well?" Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, regarding me expectantly. "What's it to be, Evans? You talking, or am I?"

                "Why are you doing this?" I moaned, not above exploiting the heady dramatics if it meant getting him to relent. "Are you really that desperate to be rid of me? Am I truly that terrible?"

                "I'm _helping_ you," he said, the delusional little liar. He scoffed loudly. "The pair of you are one thicker than the next, you know that? He spends all his time protecting you and his sodding pansy-arsed ego from imaginary problems, while you go off catapulting yourself into mess after mess in some kind of sorry search for the wrong bloody answers. How about, I don't know, _talk_ to one another? Beats your current method of leaving trails of wreckage behind you and snogging it all away until it feels better, doesn't it?"

                Well.

                Not really, actually.

                But I'm thinking that probably was not his point.

                "Thank you for that lovely relationship analysis, Dr. Black," I muttered crossly, "but seeing as I've already gone and _catapulted_ myself into yet another mess—with _your_ help, might I add—don't you think it'd be better if I just...snogged my way out of this one, then began fresh in the morning?"

                "You heard my terms," Sirius replied stubbornly. "Snog on your own time."

                A _rrghhh_.

                "Merlin— _fine_!" Throwing my hands up in defeat, I crushed the cloak into a compact heap and then shoved the silky fabric unceremoniously into my rucksack. I cannot be held responsible for any possible collateral damage. "Fine, have it your bloody way. I'll tell him! But just so you know, you've just single-handedly _completely_ spoiled my night. Possibly my entire life. So when I'm living alone with a million cats and nothing to do, I'm going to train them to kill and then I'm siccing them on _you_. Consider yourself warned."

                "Oh dear," Sirius said. "Is this our first fight?"

                I didn't see the need to respond to that, only snarled something ugly and turned on my heel as the stupid smirk stretched his face. I was too cross then to really think about what Sirius's ultimatum meant, couldn't possibly have seen the forest for the trees as I had to take off to play my proper Head Girl part with Abbott and Gil. I barely had enough sense to call something threatening over my shoulder about how Sirius had better not even bloody think of opening up that logbook without me or I'd skip the whole cat plan and butcher him myself before his amused chuckles sent me stomping round the corner and straight back into distraction. But now that Abbott and Gil have been taken care of (with a stunning performance by yours truly, as well as a promise to continue my conversation with Abbott once I sorted out my schedule, and a surprisingly serious suggestion to Gil that he head to Pomfrey for some calming draught before he wet himself with excitement)...well, I'm starting to get rather worried.

                My perfect Opportune Moment is beginning to look like a train wreck waiting to happen.

                I mean, I suppose I _could_ put off telling James about the logbook until morning. Sirius didn't give any kind of timeframe on his stupid bloody ultimatum and I'll be delighted to remind him as much if he has the gall to say something about it tomorrow. By then, James will have had a good night's rest between him and his lunchtime dramas, will have likely Acquired Himself a (arguably) pretty fab Girlfriend in the meantime, and hey—it's even Quidditch tomorrow! James loves Quidditch! He'll probably be grinning from ear to ear!

                But...well, then I'd have to go and spoil his good mood. And after hearing what I'd been up to the afternoon before and had (strategically) decided not to tell him until after I'd already got him in my clutches...well, something tells me he might start looking into the return policy on Recently Acquired Girlfriends. It wouldn't be the shortest relationship I'd ever had (1968, Charlie Munfrey. Kissed me in our back garden while our mums were having tea, then was caught doing much the same with Tuney an hour later. I was, as expected, inordinately devastated), but it certainly wouldn't be my _finest_ effort. And I reckon I might have a tad bit more of an attachment to James than I did to Charlie Munfrey.

                Which leaves me back at square one—figuring out how the bloody hell I'm supposed to tell James tonight without completely destroying any trust or affection he's ever had for me.

                Ugh.

                Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh.

                I hate Sirius Black.

____________________

**Later, Dinner in the Great Hall  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 327**

 

 **Ten Reasons Why I, Lily Christine Evans, Cannot Possibly Be Expected to be Enjoying This Halloween Feast (Despite the Presence of Three** — **Count Them, _Three_** — **Different Types of Rice Currently Adorning the Table)**

1\. I adore Sir Nicholas. Really, I do. Of all the ghosts freely haunting this place, he is the cream of the crop, the very best. But I swear, if I have to hear that bloody Deathday song one more time, he will not be merely _nearly_ headless for much longer. Not to mention—

2\. —all anyone can bloody talk about is Ravenclaw's stupid Halloween party, which I am obviously unable to attend due to rotten Head Girl obligations. I wasn't so cross about this before seeing as I had quite the Opportune evening planned, but now that those prospects have taken a potential turn for the significantly worse, I feel I am not willing to listen to everyone's snogging betting pools and predictions about whether anyone can top last year's shenanigans when Penny O'Jene found Hyena Boy wiggling suggestive eyebrows at Kiki Molter and promptly charmed every pumpkin in the room to begin attacking him (doubtful. It was pretty hilarious). So I confess, I may be sulking a bit. But that is nothing compared to—

3\. —Chris Lynch, who has apparently decided to turn sulking into an art form. Grace finally put an official end to their mutual mauling this afternoon in order to free up other opportunities for herself in the betting pool tonight, and Chris is not taking it very well. His sulky sighs are growing louder than Sir Nicholas's singing. Which would matter, expect for—

4\. —the yelling. Dear Merlin, the _yelling._ The tense situation between Laura Darthern and Janie Finch that had sent Marley running to our end of the table earlier this afternoon has apparently escalated into total mutinous warfare once again. I have not heard so much wailing since June Mackey called Moaning Myrtle a stupid cow last spring and she didn't shut up for _days_. It is almost too much for one's poor ears to bear. Worse, it looks like there is little end to the yelling in sight, especially as—

5\. —both Laura and Janie's mediation counselors have apparently decided to skip dinner. Which is a real issue, seeing as—

6\. —one of these counselors cannot possibly be expected to properly Acquire and/or Kill Himself A Girlfriend on an empty stomach. While—

7\. —the other counselor had best have a proper explanation for why he's gone without his evening meal because _I swear to Merlin_ if the bloody fool has gone back on his word and spilled everything to James before I could, Hogwarts had better go ahead and build itself a graveyard because the body count in this place is really about to start piling up. Or that would be the plan, anyway, if—

8\. —murder sentences in Azkaban weren't so bloody long. So alternatively—

9\. —suicide is now a pretty conceivable option. Especially as—

10\. Rice can apparently not fix everything.

Observation #327) The world is a sad, sad place.

____________________

**Some Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 327**

 

                Cornered Gracie as she was consulting potential evening wardrobe choices from the dormitory closet:

                "Gracie, in your opinion, which is better to receive first—hypothetically—good news or bad news?"

                "Oh no," Grace moaned, glancing away from Emma's short, purple robes set only long enough to shoot me a pitying stare. "What've you done now, Slaggy?"

                "Nothing!" I wisely chose to ignore the snort that immediately followed this response. "This is hypothetical, remember? A random poll for general knowledge. So which is it? Good news or bad news?"

                "Well, do they _know_ they're getting both?" she questioned, quite wisely actually. "Because then I reckon you're all right either way—they'll tell you which they want first, and then they have only themselves to blame if it all goes sour. That's the whole point of laying it out that way, isn't it? But if they don't know good news is coming, they might throw tantrums at the bad and never let you get round to the good."

                "So the good news has to come first." I considered this. "Hm."

                "Does it even really matter?" Grace asked, turning round to quirk a pointed eyebrow my way. "No matter what you decide, somehow, someway, it's all going to turn wrong, isn't it? That's the Lily Evans way."

                Damn it.

____________________

**A Bit Later, Still in 7th Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 327**

 

                It's not going to go all wrong. It can't go all wrong. Grace is right—I'll give him the good news, be all, "Guess who's decided to officially take herself off the market, eh?" and he'll be so delighted and relieved and, yes, all right, fine, sufficiently snogged, that he won't even _care_ that I rather sort of maybe went against his explicit wishes and catapulted myself into another Rosier-themed conundrum.

                Right?

_Right?_

____________________

**Etc, Etc Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                Shit.

____________________

**Later , Etc Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                Everyone's leaving.

                Everyone's leaving for the party and I have to leave to meet James in ten minutes as well and I might've just vomited a bit in the loo and _what kind of mates abandon a girl when she is in these kinds of sorry straits? What kind of friendship is that, hm?_

____________________

**Too Soon Later, Etc Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                I can't just sit here anymore. I _can't_.

                You know what? No big deal. I'll head down and wait outside the portrait hole a bit early. I'm helping absolutely no one by fretting up here, making myself sick with worry, delaying the inevitable. I'll just go downstairs and it's out of my hands.

                This will be okay. It will all be okay.

                Right. I'm off.

____________________

**Later, Outside the Portrait Hole  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                He can't seriously be late right now.

                I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown, seriously contemplating tossing myself out the nearest window in order to avoid the unbearable consequences of _his_ irrational brain, and he's seriously going to be _late_ right now?

____________________

**Minutes Later, Still Outside the Portrait Hole  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                But...could he possibly have forgotten? Or just decided not to show up? Merlin knows he was in a vile enough mood for it, but that doesn't seem like James. He at least would have sent me a note if he was planning to skive. He's not the sort just to leave me waiting.

                It's only been fifteen minutes. Maybe I'm overreacting. Perhaps he's just lost track of time. Or maybe he's sleeping! I'm always sleeping! Maybe James is finally sleeping, too! I'll just bribe a first year to go check his room. He's probably in there, anyway.

                Yes, good plan, carry on.

____________________

**Same, Same  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                Damn it. How is he not in his room? Where the bloody hell could he be if not in his room? I mean, he couldn't have possibly gone to the party, could he've? Not when we have rounds. Not when he was in such a state. But maybe I ought to just—

                Oh, praise Merlin, _finally_.

                Where the bloody hell is he coming from?

____________________

**Late, 7th Floor Lavatory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                What did I do?

                Ohgodohgodohgod what did I just _do_?

____________________

**Late, 7th Floor Lavatory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 328**

 

                I...

                I can't—

                Shit, I'm going to be sick.

____________________

**Very Late, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 329**

 

                I never did find out where he was coming from. I suppose that seems decidedly beside the point after all this, but I'm thinking that the only proper way to get this down is to just tell it exactly as it happened, start to finish, beginning to end, and that's where I'd left off—wondering where he'd been coming from. As he came walking down the corridor—his pace decidedly _un_ hurried for a bloke who was nearly a half-hour past the time when he was meant to be meeting someone, I might add—that, naturally, was the first question to come to mind: where the bloody hell had he been?

                And it wasn't even that I hadn't asked—I had done. In fact, it was the very first thing that I _had_ asked, practically before he was even within earshot. But I was stressed and I was tired and I was still feeling at least 40% on my way to needing another quick kip in the loo to heave up a boot or an anchor or something, so I feel like a smidge of over-eagerness was wholly understandable given the circumstances, yeah?

                "Merlin above, where have you been? I was starting to get worried!"

                My question did not receive an answer. James simply continued to walk, his hands in his pockets and his robes billowing slightly behind him—had he been outside? I would've reached out to touch him, tried to find some answers in the chill of his skin, but he seemed so...closed off, that I didn't want to risk what it'd feel like if he actually flinched away. Looking at him then, such a reaction seemed a real possibility.

                And the thing is—it's not like I hadn't _known_ I could be in for something like this, all right? I did. Of course I did. I know how James works. I saw him this afternoon. His reaction had been extreme, even for him. And yes, all right, perhaps I didn't _quite_ think he'd still be this bad after having the past few hours to process everything, but I can be a bit too optimistic with things like that. I was so used to the endless karmic trials of life tearing me down that I forgot people don't naturally have the same quick misery rebound rate that I've learned to acquire. And James more than most loves to lose himself in his brooding and melancholy. It'd probably been entirely foolish to really expect anything otherwise.

                And call me mad, but even with him so completely shut down... I still didn't immediately think the night was completely unsalvageable. Blinded by 50% illness and 50% pure, unadulterated foolish hope, I was confident enough in whatever stood between us to think that I might be able to coax some semblance of peace back into him. Then I could start attempting to tackle my good news/bad news predicament.

                But first things first.

                "I really didn't think I was going to have to whip this out so early," I muttered, filling the empty silence by reaching into my rucksack (hoping he didn't notice the invisibility cloak I still had stashed at the bottom, Merlin help us all) and pulling out Mum's latest tin of fudge, "but it seems desperate times call for desperate measures."

                I shook the tin enticingly, then held it out to him with a grin. After staring at it a moment, James shook his head.

                "No, I'm all right," he said. "Thanks."

                No...fudge?

                Uh-oh.

                "Are you, though?" I asked, actually worried now. "All right, I mean? I know...I mean, this afternoon—"

                "Lily—"

                "We don't have to do this," I told him, ignoring the twinge of disappointment that rolled through me at the thought, even with all the drama I knew was waiting ahead. "I can't pretend to understand exactly what's going on, but I know it's been a mad day. If you're not up for it, I can just do the rounds myself. I'll probably just find a corner and keep out the way, anyway, with everyone running about for the party—"

                "No." His voice was soft, but sharp. My offer seemed to shake something out of him though, and he lifted his chin a notch as his face took on a determined set. "No, it's all right. I'm all right. Let's just go, yeah? Sorry I was late."

                "S'fine," I said, though it wasn't. "But are you sure—"

                "Yes."

                "James—"

                "I said I'm _fine_."

                But he wasn't. He absolutely, 100%, no-doubt-about-it was not fine. But what could I really do then, except just go along with it?

                So that's what I did. I followed him as he took off towards the staircases, biting my tongue and resolving to try to do whatever I could to placate him while he was still obviously lost in the throes of whatever bad humor he couldn't shake himself out of. I wasn't pleased about it, but it seemed clear to me then that no kind of Opportune Moment was about to present itself, so Acquiring Myself a Boyfriend was promptly nicked from the evening's agenda. So, I grimly decided, was fulfilling Sirius's ultimatum. Kicking James while he was down seemed in every way possible a poor idea, and even a stubborn arse like Sirius had to see that. My new plan for the evening was simply not to make things any worse. If I played my cards right, maybe I could even coax a smile or two out of him.

                Oh, the dreams of the young and the naive.

                But I was resilient, and I was determined, so as we set off towards the first floor to begin our cursory sweeps—strategically avoiding the second floor, where we knew the Ravenclaw party was now undoubtedly in full swing—I threw on the charm full-force. With a little editing, I was able to relay (rather hilariously, if I do say so myself) the Dragon-themed events of this afternoon, sparing no quarter when it came to describing Gil McCoy in all his frightening glory and the sad persecution of poor L. Hoffman and a P. Patel (who had officially been identified as Liam Hoffman and Patir Patel, two unfortunate Ravenclaw second years who were forced to bear all the burden for their abandoning, troublemaking mates). When I got to the "game must end" bit, I _was_ rewarded with a snort and a smile, but it was rather short-lived and I failed to garner a repeat performance. Still, the evening wasn't over yet and I had all the time in the world to fight for a comeback.

                We'd been at it for about an hour, lazily strolling through the corridors and docking points and evening plans from anyone we stumbled across who was below fifth year (did they _really_ think they'd make it into the party, anyway?) and all things considered, I'd say we weren't faring too poorly. James had remained mostly silent for the entirety of the evening, leaving me to fill the quiet with endless chatter, but that was all right. I could do endless chatter. I was even pretty brill at endless chatter. And even though I had yet to top the snort-and-smile, James had seemed to grow slightly less miserable as the minutes wore on. There was still something distinctly off about him—the only way I can think to describe it was that he was tense. Stoically, forcefully _tense_ , as if he were girding himself for battle—but as was the plan, he didn't seem to get any worse. I chose to take that as a victory.

                We'd quickly made it back up to the 6th floor and decided to take a bit of a break from our already half-arsed efforts. We headed towards the far side of the floor, dawdled by a little niche of windows where it was least likely anyone would come across the Head Boy and Girl skiving their duties. I hopped up on one of the windowsills and cracked open the tin of fudge again. This time, James took some when offered.

                Things were quiet as we nibbled, and I was frankly rather glad to give my poor, rambling voice a break. I was about to delve into the tin again, prolonging my chatter respite for just a few more moments, when James broke into the silence himself.

                "I have to talk to you," he said.

                I stopped nibbling, swallowing hard the chocolaty glob already in my mouth. It went down roughly, but successfully, and I watched as James's shoulders lifted a bit, his back easing straighter. He looked impassive, but strangely determined.

                "All right," I said slowly, confused but a bit relieved too. I'd about run out of things to say myself, and honestly, James's prolonged silence had really been starting to unnerve me. "What about?"

                James opened his mouth, then closed it. His lips twitched agitatedly, and he didn't continue. I watched him with growing apprehension.

                "James—"

                "I talked to Sirius," he said.

                _I talked to Sirius._

                He'd talked to Sirius.

                _He'd talked to Sirius_.

                Holy hell.

                "What?" My voice came out harsher than expected. " _What_?"

                "I talked to Sirius," James repeated. "And I—"

                "That dirty, lying _bastard_!" I hopped down from the ledge, effectively cutting off whatever it was James was going to say. "I can't believe him! I can't _bloody_ believe him! He told you! That little—I was _going_ to tell you myself! Look—" I crouched down to the ground, rummaging through my rucksack where I promptly grabbed James's cloak from the bottom and immediately rose, shoving it at his chest. His fingers caught it reflexively. "Look! See? I was going to bloody well give it back and tell you myself but then you showed up and were already looking like someone had killed your favourite pet and I _stupidly_ didn't want to make it any worse! Merlin, I _knew_ when the pair of you didn't show up for dinner that he'd gone and done it. I _knew_ it, but I didn't want to believe it. Stupid _arse_. Did he tell you I didn't steal the sodding thing alone, hm? It was _both_ of us in the office, thank you very much! I wasn't in this by myself! Did he tell you that?"

                At this point, I was all but panting, so lost in my dread and my rage and my _oh god he was going to kill me_ that I could hardly see straight. I couldn't believe it. I bloody well couldn't _believe_ it. Why the bloody fuck would Sirius have gone through all that codswallop about having me tell James if he was planning all along to immediately tell him himself? What was the point of that? He didn't even give me the _chance_. He didn't even leave open the _possibility_. I couldn't believe it.

                And maybe if I weren't so blinded by my fury, if I hadn't been so consumed by my utter and complete panic, I would have realised sooner rather than later that I was not the only one utterly thrown by this conversation.

                Turns out, James probably couldn't believe Sirius, either.

                "Where did you get this?" he asked slowly, lifting the cloak and staring at it as if he didn't recognise it. "Where did you—what are you talking about?"

                "What am I...what?" I froze, my stomach dropping clear straight to my toes. "What do you mean, what am I talking about? The...the logbook. This afternoon. You just said you talked to Sirius."

                "Yeah. Yesterday. About your sister. He told me about your sister." James held up the cloak again and shook it. "Now what the bloody fuck is this?"

                Oh my god.

                _Oh my god._

                "My...he _told you..._ " Oh hell, I was going to vomit. "He _told you_ about my _sister_?"

                "Lily," James gritted. "What. Is. _This_?"

                I ignored him, turning away and running a panicked hand through my hair. Oh god, he knew. He knew about Petunia. Sirius had told him about Mum's letter and Petunia. The thought sickened me, horrified me, left me so completely betrayed and embarrassed and _oh god he knew_. He knew he knew _he knew_.

                How _could_ he?

                "He had no right!" I cried, gasping for breath, feeling the pinching at my eyes but desperately trying not to cry. "He had no bloody right to tell you anything about it! That is _none_ of your bloody _business_ and if I wanted you to know, I would have bloody well told you myself!"

                "Then why the fucking hell didn't you?" James shouted back, apparently forgetting about the cloak in lieu of raging himself. He look was fierce. "You'll run off and talk to Sirius about it—someone you don't even _like,_ for fuck's sake—before even considering talking to me? Am I really that worthless to you? Are you really that determined to keep me out?"

                "Oh good god, _please_ don't tell me you're actually going to try to play the wounded one with this, right?" I laughed without humour. "Oh, that's bloody rich. That's really, sodding _rich_. James Potter, aghast because _I_ won't talk to _him_ about things. You're really twisted, do you know that? You have some kind of truly fucked up sense of entitlement to have the nerve to be cross about _that._ "

                "Maybe I would have, if it apparently wasn't the _only_ thing you were keeping from me." At this, he lifted the cloak again. He drew closer, his face red with fury. "So I'm going to ask again—what. Is. _This_?"

                "Your invisibility cloak," I answered peevishly, furious and annoyed and looking to incite him.

                It worked. " _Lily_ —"

                "Sirius and I conned our way into Abbott's office this afternoon to steal her logbook," I snapped, too enraged to be any gentler about it, _wanting_ to shock him, hurt him. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared defiantly. "That's why I was down there this afternoon before Gil. That's why I have your stupid cloak. Because we needed it to get the book."

                "Why," he asked, strangely calm, "did you need to steal her logbook?"

                _Lily shut up Lily shut up don't do it don't do it oh god don't do it._

                "Because everyone who works in a classroom after hours has to do it through her. Which means Evan did, too."

                And quite like that, James was not so calm anymore.

                Shocking.

                "What?" he roared. " _What_?"

                "Oh, come off it," I scoffed. "We stole a stupid logbook. It was completely harmless!"

                "I _told_ you—"

                "Told me what, exactly?" I asked, throwing my hands up in aggravation. "Please, do go on! You told me _what,_ exactly? That you don't like him? That I don't know what I'm getting myself into? Right. So a big, fat lot of _nothing_ , is what you told me. You'll forgive me if I didn't feel particularly compelled to listen to your extremely hostile and completely unfounded dictates. I've been cursed with a mind of my own and a will to follow it!"

                James was shaking now. "You don't understand a bloody _thing_ —"                                                                       

                "You're right. I don't. But you have no one to blame for that but yourself!"

                James didn't seem to know how to answer that, and truly, I didn't know if I expected him to. I was practically panting at this point, so supremely livid at him, at Sirius, at _everything,_ that I didn't even know which way was up, much less what was meant to come next. How did we get here? In the space of minutes, everything had turned so ugly. The distance between my ideal Opportune Moment and the reality of this one was so comically opposite that I would have laughed if I'd had the breath to do it.

                Merlin, this was bad. This was so, so _very_ bad. I had never seen James like this, so entirely out of control and on the verge of...something. Even in his most furious moment, it didn't hold a candle to this. He was unhinged, broke open. He looked ripe and ready to explode.

                And even as the thought terrified me...even as I _knew_ there was no going back from this...another part of me...

                Oh, fuck it. Another part of me was _relieved._ Glad, even.

                He'd finally cracked. _Good_. Maybe now I could bloody _get_ something out of him. Maybe now he'd let go of his ruddy unwavering control long enough for us to actually _get_ somewhere. He thinks _I_ shut him out? Bullshit. What complete and utter _bullshit_. I am not the only one with trust issues and if this is what it took to make him see that—then, _fine._ Fine, we'd do it his way.

                He wanted to have it out? Jolly good fun. We'd have it out.

                But you'd better duck, Potter. I've got a mean left hook.

                "You have some nerve," I told him, happy to supply the words if he couldn't find them. "You really do, you know that? All of this—coming out here like _I'm_ the one with all the secrets? You, who puts me up on your neat little life shelf and wouldn't _dare_ let me see what's above or below? That—"

                "At least you're _on_ a shelf," James snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. "At least I bloody well include you in _something_. You've got me dangling on the edge, just as glad to see me crash to the ground as remain upright. Even bloody fucking _Sirius_ —"

                "Oh, dear Merlin, will you just shut up about Sirius? This has nothing to do with him!"

                "Really? Because it seems the pair of you are getting awful close lately."

                This time, I had to laugh.

                I couldn't help it. I had to.

                "Good lord." I covered my eyes, shaking my head. " _Please_ do not tell me you are actually getting jealous of Sirius right now. _Sirius_ , who I only bloody well started to _tolerate_ to make _you_ happy—"

                "You told him about your sister," James retorted, as if this explained everything. "You told him and you didn't tell me—"

                "He was _there_!" I cried, hardly believing this. "I sodding _ran into him_ in the corridor, did he tell you that bit? It could've been anyone! But you know what? I'm not going to bloody apologise for it either because, I'm _glad_ it was him. He understood. He's a bloody arsehole most of the time, but he understood. And I'm sorry that I didn't want to go _shouting_ my problems to the world, but—"

                "I wasn't asking you to shout it to the world," James said. "Just me. I thought you'd just bloody well tell _me_."

                "I _especially_ wouldn't tell you!"

                I thought the reasons behind this were obvious. I mean, I'd explained as much to him that night in the Trophy Room, hadn't I? That Petunia was my Big Thing and that the very _last_ thing I wanted him to be seeing me as was some sad girl whose own sister would go as far as to lie to their family just so I wouldn't turn up to her wedding and provide the complimentary freak show? Even now, the thought of him knowing all that makes me nauseated. It's so...more than humiliating. Awful. Shameful. He _had_ to see that.

                But apparently he didn't. He didn't see it at all. Because instead he said this:

                "Right. Right, of course." His face went hard. "Because why would you tell me, yeah? I'm not anything important. You and I...we're not really...because things are sort of mad right now? And complicated? You've got a million things on your plate—Head Girl business and life. It's just not a grand _idea_..."

                When first I heard this, I started to laugh again because—Head Girl business and life? What the bloody hell was he on about? Was he really that lost in his madness that he was seriously spouting such drivel? I'd never heard such rubbish in all my life.

                But the way he was staring at me then—pointed and expectant, as if he'd just swung a winning punch and was waiting for me to realise it and fall down...the words...

                Wait a second.

                "What did you just say?" I played it over it my head, then recounted the afternoon much the same. Found a match. "That...but that's...how did you..." I froze. Oh my god. "My bag," I whispered, narrowing my eyes on him. "No one kicked it. _You_ moved it. While I was talking to Rob. While you were—what? _Spying_ on me?"

                "I was coming to see if you wanted to walk or something," James answered, as if this was perfectly logical. "I'd had sort of a rubbish afternoon, if you might remember. You were a bit _busy_ , though."

                "Yes, a bit busy attending class and _turning down_ other blokes." I stared incredulously at him. "And you're somehow _cross_ about this? That I didn't know you'd decided to _stalk me_ invisibly and that I went and _rejected_ a perfectly nice boy?"

                "Sure, reject him _now_ ," James sneered petulantly. "But considering _I'm_ clearly not an issue, maybe once you _uncomplicate_ things—"

                "I was being _nice_ ," I cried, seriously baffled by how he'd somehow twisted this all round so that _he_ was the one wronged. "I didn't want Rob feeling any more awkward, so I just blathered on some stupid excuses—though when you're acting like such a giant arse, I really start to wonder why I bother!"

                I didn't really mean it—I was angry and I was indignant and I wanted to wipe that smug gleam from his eyes, but even James must have realised that I was just blustering. He couldn't honestly believe my feelings were _that_ insignificant that one row—even one impossibly _huge_ row—was enough to wipe everything between us like that. I mean, honestly. Even _I_ could see the bigger picture here, and I was moments away from hexing him until he hurled.

                But just goes to show what I know.

                James crossed his arms over his chest, scoffing softly.

                "And look at that," he said. "Right off the shelf."

                Oh dear Merlin, the bloody _tosser_.

                And the thing is, I could've left then. I could've shot him my most murderous look, abandoned him to drown in his own bloody fucking _dim_ assumptions and insecurities, and marched right off then and there without so much as a glance back. I could've done that. Merlin knows part of me certainly _wanted_ to. He would've deserved nothing less.

                But that was part of the problem. He _definitely_ would've deserved nothing less. In fact, he deserved _so_ much less. I mean, there I'd been, perfectly content to spend my evening devoted to making _him_ feel better, trying to find a way to let him know that I wanted to do this thing between us, that I was ready and happy and _excited_ to stop blustering about it and throw ourselves into a relationship—and what had he been doing? Planning an attack. Boiling in his own awful preconceptions about me. Thinking the worst— _believing_ the worst. And for that I was more than angry. I was hurt. I was disheartened. I was a bit devastated, really.

                And though Merlin knew I was not blameless for any of this—if I hadn't been so wary of it all to begin with, if I weren't so determined to keep some things from him that I probably, in retrospect, should have considered more carefully—that still didn't change the reality of things.

                He really had no faith in my feelings for him.

                He honestly thought I was that easily swayed, that careless.

                He actually thought that terribly of me.

                And for that, _I_ wanted to be the one to leave victorious. _I_ wanted to make sure _he_ felt stunned, felt slapped, felt the rug swept out from under him and the hard floor resting beneath.

                And I knew just how to do it, too.

                "And that's what this all comes down to, isn't it?" I said quietly, roughly. "That's honestly what you think—of this, of me. What was it now? Our relationship that's not even a relationship? That hangs so precariously on my puppet strings? Just waiting for my last straw, yeah?"

                For a moment, James just stared. The words were out and I wasn't about to take them back and I knew—I'd _always_ known, since practically the very moment I'd overheard it—that that _stupid_ cow and the things she'd said was what half this was all about anyway and it was only a matter of time before he placed the words and figured it out, as well.

                Because he wasn't the only one who could eavesdrop.

                And foolishly, I didn't care if he knew it anymore.

                "What did you say?" he asked, eyes widened. "That...did Liz tell you—"

                "Does it matter?" I retorted, probably too pleased by how this seemed to unnerve him; pleased because the only other option was to feel a bit sickened, and I couldn't possibly feel any more of that without curling up in the nearest corner and never leaving again. It was easier to take satisfaction from his dark looks, to throw the words back in his face and watch the shambles fall. "She was right, wasn't she? That's what you think. That I'm actually that cavalier about this. That'd I'd really drop you in a blink of an eye. That I'm so flighty and my regards for you so _bloody_ insignificant, that if you _dare_ tell me _anything_ about yourself that isn't some...some _perfect_ mold, that I'll just wipe my hands of all of this and be done? That's the reality of it, isn't it?"

                Every moment that he hesitated before answering then was like a swift kick to the gut.

                Every. Single. Moment.

                "Lily," he finally said. "I don't know what she told you—"

                "She didn't need to tell me anything!" I shouted, not seeing the point in correcting his misconception, not seeing the point in much of anything anymore. "It doesn't even ruddy _matter_ , because I've known practically all along that that's what was going on. That you can bullshit and bluster all you want, but _I'm_ not the only one holding back! Merlin knows I may not be perfect, but I was _never_ less than honest with you about my feelings. _Never._ You knew _exactly_ what you were getting into with me. But you...I don't even _know_ you, do I? You'll never let me."

                "That's not—"

                 "Not what? Not true?" I wanted to laugh, but couldn't. "I'm not an idiot, James. And I'm not blind, either. You play at this all so well, I don't think even you realise how automatic the lying is anymore. All the left out information. All the gaps you just talk or snog your way out of. For Merlin's sake, the number of times alone where you've played the whole 'I have to tell you something' and then just completely _skipped_ that part—"

                "Because of _you_!" James cried, and now he didn't look shocked anymore—he looked angry again, indignantly so, as if I was audacious beyond all exception for what I had the nerve to be saying. "Because every time I even _think_ about starting to—about... _you_ go on and prove that it's all bloody useless! That it doesn't even matter! That _I_ don't even matter. Because if I did—if any of it _did_ —you would fucking well realise...you'd _remember_..."

                "Remember what?" I taunted. "Go on. Remember what? See? You're doing it now! You rant and you rave but you never actually _say_ anything at all and it's not—"

                " _Fine_!" James shouted, quickly closing the space between us. "You really want to know? _Fine._ Follow me."

                He grabbed my arm and instantly kept in motion, jerking me around and giving me rather little option in the whole "follow me" bit when his fingers were like a manacle around my wrist and he was determinedly stomping off down the corridor. I stumbled slightly, but quickly picked up his pace, livid and exasperated but mostly so goddamned _relieved_ because after all this, all these weeks, we finally seemed to be at some kind of turning point and he was finally going to tell me _something_ — _anything_ —and even in my all-out fury, I was desperate to hear it.

                He took a sudden turn in a direction I wasn't quite expecting and we somehow found ourselves on the back staircase, which James took nearly in twos on the way up. Were we heading back to the Tower? To the Room of Requirement? But both would have required us taking a left at the top of the stairs, and instead James took a sharp right. My mind zoomed through possibilities, but the only thing I could think of in this direction was Dumbledore's office.

                And sure enough:

                "Here!" We skidded to a halt right outside of the giant gargoyle, and James's face was red and his breathing ragged as he turned on me. His grip on my wrist was nothing sort of crushing and eyes had this wild look about them. "Here! _This_!" he cried again.

                "Are you _mad_?" I hissed frantically. "Dumbledore might still be in his office! Anyone can hear—"

                " _Lily_." He jerked me closer, his face now inches from mine. This was not a James I knew. This was not one I'd ever seen. His jaw was clenched and his voice took on a deadly serious timber. " _Look_. Here. Does this mean _anything_ to you?"

                "Does _what_ —"

                " _Here._ This!"

                "No!" I whispered harshly, confused and anxious and _what the bloody fuck was I supposed to see_? "No, this doesn't mean anything! I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about! What am I supposed to be seeing?"

                There was a moment—just the briefest of moments—where my answer seemed to hang in the air between us and James's face—still so close to mine, so familiar and yet so _un_ familiar that I wanted to scream, to cry, to _shout_ my James back out of this terribly severe replacement I'd somehow created, to make this all of this _go away_ —seemed frozen in place. He didn't move, didn't so much as blink. There was just the pair of us, standing there inside that corridor, staring at each other and waiting for what seemed to be the inevitable disappointments.

                And then, just like that, he started to laugh.

                "You don't see anything," he repeated, lifting his fingers beneath his glasses and pinching at the corner of his eyes. "No, of course you don't see anything."

                I stared helplessly, lost. "No. What—"

                 "What the fuck are we doing? What the fuck am _I_ doing?"

                "James—"

                "Because you don't even bloody _get it_ , do you? And why should you? It's not...fucking _hell_." He dropped his hand from his eyes and finally looked at me. Resigned. Almost exhausted. My heart began to pound. "What am I always trying to tell you?" he said. "What's with all the bloody secrets and lying and—Merlin, I don't even _know_ anymore, but it probably all just comes down to the fact that I've been so bloody fucking _in love with you_ , and you can't even fucking _remember_ —"

                Oh my god.

                Oh my _god._

                Ohmygodohmygod _ohmygod._

 _"_ What?" I whispered hoarsely, my entire body frozen, everything in me just... _ohmygodohmygod._ "What did you just say?"

                "I can't do this anymore," he said then, and while I remained fixed to the ground—completely and utterly _rooted_ , with the deepest and strongest of tendrils, like I'd grown there for years and years and was never meant to do otherwise—he took a step back, away from me. "I just...I can't do this anymore."

                My voice was small, choked.

                "James, _wait_ —"

                But he didn't wait, not even a little bit, not at all. He turned round and walked off, and for the life of me I couldn't do anything more than just stand there and watch him do it—trace his disappearing figure as it vanished down the corridor, the heavy sounds of his quickening steps the only thing audible beside the frantic beating of my pounding heart.

                _Move_ , it screamed, loudly and hysterically. _Go! Call to him! Go after him! What are you doing? Why are you just_ standing there _?_

                But I didn't.

                I couldn't.

                I don't know why.

                I just...oh god, I _don't know why_.

                Because when someone tells you...when someone tells you he _loves_ you—even if he sort of yells it at you, even if he doesn't sound the least bit pleased about it—you're supposed to bloody well _do_ something more than just _stand there_ as he walks away.

                I stood there staring like a mindless idiot, then promptly sped for the nearest lavatory where I subsequently vomited up my last eight meals.

                And now I just...

                _So bloody fucking in love with you_.

                I've _been_ so bloody fucking in love with you.

                Past tense.

                Past tense?

                Or—

                Oh god, I don't _know_. I don't know what to do and I don't know what he meant and I...I think I've just royally fucked everything up in every possible way but I don't even know _how_ I've done that except that I obviously _have_ done because otherwise he wouldn't have...when he said...

                Oh _god_.

____________________

**Still Too Late, Still Same  
** **Observant Lily: Day 46  
** **Total Observations: 329**

 

                Bed.

                I just need to go to bed.

                I need to go to bed and to stop thinking about this because I don't have anything left to throw up and I can't cry anymore and everyone's going to be back soon and _I can't talk about this right now_ , I just _can't_.

                So bed.

                Better in the morning.

                Everything's better in the morning.

____________________

**Saturday, November 1st, 7th-Year Girls' Dormitory  
** **Observant Lily: Day 47  
** **Total Observations: 330**

 

                Not better in the morning.

                Worse in the morning.

                V v worse in the morning.

                Shut up Quidditch shut up everyone _worse._

____________________

                Everyone gone

                Everyone gone and I think

                Wrong

                Hurts too much

                Everything

                _what_

______________________

**J OR G OR E OR ANYONE,**

** HELP ** **. SOMETHING WRONG. EVERYTHING HURTS. TOO MUCH HURTS I DON'T KNOW YOU NEED TO COME BACK PLEASE GET THIS AND COME BACK I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO**

** I'M ** ** SORRY**

 

**L**

______________________

______________________

______________________

______________________

______________________

**Wednesday, November 5th (I think?), Hospital Wing  
** **Observant Lily: Day 51 (Should this count?)  
** **Total Observations: 330**

 

                Well.

                That was...quite interesting.

                And I mean, not to be That Person but...

                Well. I _did_ tell them so.

                But hey, look at it this way—at least it's something to mark off the Life Checklist, eh?

                Survive first brush with death?

                Check.


End file.
